Ripper

1

Geologist Sarah McIntire studied the cave’s lower passages but could see little in the klieg lighting that had been placed by the students from Baylor University. She was accompanied by three undergraduate kids that knew nothing of Sarah’s real employer, and that was the way it would be kept. Not even the professor, or even the doctor from the University of Mexico and his twenty students, had any idea just who Sarah really was and who she was employed by.

The Event Group had placed Sarah on the field expedition not long after the joint venture was announced by the two universities to explore and document one of the many excavated caves that had been used as small armories and hideouts at the turn of the century by none other than Pancho Villa, the Mexican revolutionary. The stash of weapons, food, and horses were placed inside the natural cave formations by the bandit before raiding into the Texas border towns across the Rio Grande River. Sarah and her two-man security team were there to document not the bandit’s secret hideaways, but the ancient cave paintings that everyone outside of the higher fields of learning seemed to ignore. If she found them to be authentic, and she could tell this by the geological makeup that the paintings were depicted upon, she would then authorize further study by the Event Group and their anthropological division.

The small man stepped up to Sarah and whispered as he squeezed past her in the narrow cave passage.

“Not exactly Carlsbad Caverns is it?”

Sarah smiled at Jason Ryan who was part of her two-man security team. She half turned and shined the small flashlight into his face.

“We can’t have everything, Mr. Excitement. And as a matter of fact I’m beginning to think this could be quite a find for the Southwest. I think these were made by Southern Cheyenne Indians, and not the Apache people like the good professors believe. We do need to get a team down here from the Group; it looks like some of the theories that have been floating around by the Anthropology Department may be true about the Southern Cheyenne having led raids against the Apache this far south. This may be the proof they need.”

Jason kept his face expressionless and then yawned as wide as he could.

“Asshole,” she said as her light went from him to a space that was void of pictograms. The spot was hollowed out, as if a piece of the granite had been sliced out by a power tool.

“Yeah, well this asshole could have been playing football today, but Director Compton thinks you need a babysitter on this gig. Why am I—”

“This is wrong; some idiot has cut into this wall and taken…,” she stopped speaking and shined the flashlight farther down the cave wall. “Damn it! Someone’s stealing this stuff.” She moved the light back to Jason who had his own light out and was looking at the ground.

“Yeah, well whoever they were wore U.S. Army — issue combat boots, and one,” he pointed to a smaller set next to the larger, “ladies, or midget male, designer Timberland work boots,” he said as his light picked up several more footprints in the loose soil of the cave floor. “You know, for the past two days, starting across the border in Laredo, I’ve had the feeling we were being followed. I wrote it off as just being paranoid about everything lately.”

“This is criminal. Hell, no one’s supposed to know about this place. You think someone knew we were coming here and followed us?”

“I don’t know, but Sarah, Mexico is a convenience store for antiquity theft, you know that. Hell, I bet when we head back through the border you can pick up a piece of this wall at the flea market in Nuevo Laredo.”

“It’s sickening. Come on, let’s get these kids back to the cave opening,” she said as she shined the light on her wristwatch. “I promised to meet Jack and his mother for dinner in Laredo at seven.”

“And I better get you there on time for the big meeting — scared?” Jason asked with a smirk.

Sarah didn’t answer as she moved the light over at least six areas where the cave paintings had been removed by modern power tools.

“I asked if you’re scared meeting the colonel’s mom.”

Sarah finally looked over at her friend. “Absolutely terrified, now shut the hell up about it.”

Jason smiled and started to follow Sarah out of the lower passages of the natural cave system, shouting at the students in English and Spanish for them to head back to the surface.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about his mother. I mean the colonel’s a nice guy isn’t he? Someone had to have taught him right. I’m sure they are just like one another. Hell, you may even find out that he cried when he was a kid when he saw Bambi’s mother got killed.”

“That isn’t helping Ryan!”

In the bright sunlight Sarah placed her sunglasses on as the first of the two buses of students pulled out, heading north to the border. The second bus filled with university students from Mexico City would head south to a cheap hotel that was rented for them. Sarah waved at the bus as it passed by. She then glanced over at her security escort of two men. Ryan was bent at the knees and was examining something in the dirt. Jason straightened and moved to follow the academic team toward where Sarah was standing.

“I would like to thank you for your excellent evaluation of the geological deposits surrounding the pictographs, Miss McIntire. I must send a letter of appreciation to your employer.”

Professor Salvador Espinoza, dean of anthropological studies at the University of Mexico, was smiling and holding out his hand. Next to him were three professors from that department, and bringing up the rear was the lone professor from Baylor University, Dr. Barbara Stansfield. Jason Ryan brought up the rear, and that was when Sarah noticed Jason raise his sunglasses and then point to the ground next to the American professor’s boots. He then lowered the sunglasses when he saw Sarah had indeed noticed her footwear.

“Yes, I agree,” the American professor added, “excellent job. Where should we send that letter Miss McIntire, was it the National Geographic Society?”

Sarah slowly released Professor Espinoza’s hand after shaking it and then looked the American woman in her sunglass-covered eyes. She held out her hand and the two shook as Sarah sized the woman up, even though young Sarah was far shorter than her counterpart.

“No, I was sent by the Texaco Corporation. They’ve had dealings here before and they knew I was an expert on the formations that make up the surface area of most of Tamaulipas, and the vice president of the company is a graduate of Baylor,” she said as she removed her gloved hand from Stansfield’s own. Sarah had stuck to her cover story, with her bosses at the Event Group supplying the information about her fictitious employment history, so she knew the part about the Texaco VP was true.

“My mistake, Texaco it is,” Stansfield said as she removed her sunglasses and looked closely into Sarah’s. McIntire then removed her own sunglasses so the professor could get a better look. “I was just wondering because I overheard your two men over there call you lieutenant.”

Sarah smiled as she looked at Ryan and Marine Lance Corporal Kyle Udall. It was Ryan who rolled his eyes and looked away first.

“Yes, well I used to be in the army, that’s where I received my degree, and my military title stuck after it became known throughout my department at Texaco.”

“I see,” Stansfield said and was going to ask another question when three vehicles came into view over the crest of the small hill that fronted the cave system.

Ryan and Udall moved to separate. Udall moved toward the cars that were waiting for the academic teams, while Ryan moved toward one of the lean-tos where he had a large backpack.

Sarah saw their movement and immediately became alert to danger herself. She spied the three vehicles. One was a new Cadillac Escalade; the other two were fairly new Range Rovers. They looked to be full of men.

“Who is this?” Stansfield asked as she raised a hand to shield her eyes.

“Professor Espinoza, were you aware that more than just a few of the pictographs were removed from the cave system prior to our arrival here?”

“No, I was not,” the Mexican professor said as his eyes went from the three SUVs to those of Sarah McIntire. “What do you mean removed?”

“Cut straight from the stone by mechanical means. Several hundred thousand dollars worth if I know the black market well enough.” Sarah chanced a glance down once more to the boots worn by Professor Stansfield. She confirmed they were women’s Timberlands, approximately size five. “Maybe these late arrivals can explain what happened. They seem to be driving fast enough toward us and they do look like men with a purpose.” Sarah looked at the American anthropologist. “Doctor Stansfield, you claimed that you had never been in the lower galleries of the cave system before, so can you explain why your boot prints were there?” Sarah said as she smiled, not looking at the American professor but keeping her eyes on the three cars as they came to a sliding halt, creating a dust cloud that covered Jason Ryan as he removed a nine-millimeter Berretta from his backpack.

“I assure you this is the first day that I have had an opportunity to study the system, I—”

Sarah turned from watching the three cars dislodge their passengers of fifteen salty-looking characters.

“There may be one or two pairs of designer Timberlands in the whole of Mexico Doctor, and you seem to be wearing a pair, and the footprints we found in the lower galleries were Timberland size five, and I’m only guessing here, but you seem to fit the shoe.”

Sarah saw that the men were armed. Some held handguns and others had very lethal-looking mini AK-47s. She also noticed they were pointed at them.

Professor Espinoza, with wide eyes, moved his two assistants to his rear as the men approached.

“May we help you?” Espinoza asked in Spanish.

The man leading the fourteen others never hesitated — he raised his automatic weapon and shot Espinoza in the forehead.

Sarah couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. The man had been talking to her just a second before.

“This wasn’t in the deal, what are you doing?” Stansfield cried as she took two involuntary steps back.

The same man who had just murdered Professor Espinoza aimed and quickly fired a round into one of the male anthropology assistants. The young man crumpled and fell dead into the dust. The murderous man then walked over to Stansfield and looked the forty-six-year-old over. He suddenly raised the automatic and brought it down onto the top of her head, sending the blonde professor crashing to the ground. He then waved his companions forward. Three men came toward Sarah, but five steps were as close as they got. Two bullets apiece slammed into their head and chests.

Sarah dove for cover as Jason Ryan came forward in an assault squat as he took in more of the men. He aimed at the man who had killed Professor Espinoza and fired once, but one of the assassin’s men who had come forward stepped in his line of fire and took the round to his chest.

Suddenly an automatic weapon opened up and Sarah ducked her head down as two of the fifty bullets fired from the other ruthless men in the group hit Ryan and he fell backward. He lay there unmoving. Sarah started to stand, but the leader of the group kicked her in the stomach and sent her rolling on the ground. Then she heard the female anthropology assistant that had been pushed aside by Espinoza scream before being silenced. Sarah, as she held her stomach in pain and shame, heard another AK-47 open fire. She remained on the ground and never saw Lance Corporal Udall die as he came out of one of the vehicles where he had been rummaging for his weapon.

The leader of the group of men sneered as he used his boot to roll Sarah over onto her back. He pointed at her and then at the younger woman he had just silenced with a punch to the face, and then he used the barrel of the automatic to point one last time at the bleeding and unconscious blonde professor from Baylor. He smiled and wiped the sweat from his dripping face and beard.

“Jefe will be pleased with his new guests — two gringo women and one young seniorita from Mexico City.” He reached down and pulled Sarah up by the hair and looked her in the eyes. “Pleased indeed.”

Sarah was let go and she fell back into the dust. She immediately rolled over and tried to look at the spot where Jason had fallen, but she couldn’t see him. She managed to look up, and that was when she saw the sprawled body of Corporal Udall. He was lying face down in the dirt. Sarah shook her head, but she remained silent as the leader of the group pulled Professor Stansfield up, also by the hair. He shook her hard.

“Our arrangement is at an end. You were supposed to delay these fools from examining the cave until we had all of the artifacts out, you stupid gringo bitch,” he shouted at the woman who was just coming around. “Señor Guzman will be very angry, so you better hope he will be happy with two new women for his stable, or you may learn why he has earned his nickname.”

Sarah saw the American woman shake her head, still unable to find her voice after the blow to the top of her head. Sarah slowly started to rise and then stopped suddenly as she heard the nickname of the man they were to be brought to. Her heart froze as she recognized the name of one of the most ruthless men in the world.

They were to be taken to Nuevo Laredo and Sarah knew they would come face to face with the most ruthless drug lord in all of Mexico — Juan Guzman — the Anaconda.

The man with the binoculars lowered them and ducked behind the small rise as the women from the colleges were ruthlessly pushed and shoved and beaten until they were all inside the three vehicles. The man rolled onto his back and felt to make sure he still had his small .38 caliber handgun in his waistband. He then pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket and with shaking hands raised it to his face. He opened the cover, still shaking from witnessing the ruthless murder of four men in front of the caves, and then to his disappointment he saw that the cell phone’s signal strength was only at two bars. That had to be enough.

“Good God,” he mumbled as he pushed a selected number from his address book and hit it. He had to do it twice as he lay with his face to the sun. He couldn’t stop the shakes from making the simplest of tasks so daunting. Finally the call went through and a phone on the other end was answered.

“Yes?” answered a firm voice.

“Señor, I did as our contract asked for and tailed the subject from her hotel in Laredo. She crossed the border just as you said she would.”

“And the main target?”

“He was not among the two men that accompanied her.”

“That is not very good news,” came the reply.

“Señor, they are all dead,” said the man as he removed the small gun from his pants, fumbled it, and then finally caught it and held it to his chest.

“Explain that. The woman you followed is dead?” asked the voice, this time without some of its confident manner.

“Señor, the three women are alive, but all of the men are dead. They were killed by other men who arrived in cars.”

“Who are these men?”

“There is only one man in all of Mexico that kills with such abandon, señor. It had to be the work of Juan Guzman; no one else would dare such an attack in his territory.”

“I know this name, yes I know it well. I have done business with this rather unstable gentleman in the past. He has some silly nickname down there if I remember right.”

“Señor, the man you wanted me to find was not among the dead, but the woman I was asked to follow hoping she would lead me to him has been taken by the most brutal man in all of Mexico. What am I to do now?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. It lasted for a full thirty seconds until the shaking man thought he had finally lost the signal. He tried to press the gun into his chest to assist in stopping the shakes.

“You still have my business card?” the voice finally asked.

“Si,” the man answered as he rose partially to his knees and looked around to make sure he wasn’t to be the next target of the murdering men from below.

“Good, I now want you to wait for two hours and then go to see this Guzman and tell him an old acquaintance would like to discuss some business. Relay to him that I am most particularly interested in hearing about his Anasazi Indian collection. Tell him my opening offer is twenty-five million dollars, which should at least get you in the door. Once there explain that I am on my way to meet with him. Is that clear?”

“Are you insane señor, I will be killed!”

“Do this and I will wire transfer one million dollars into your San Antonio bank account. Now do this or do not come back to the States, or you will discover that the truly ruthless men do not only reside in Mexico.” The phone connection ended.

“Madre di dios,” the man said as the cell phone fell to his chest where he allowed it to lay. He looked at the business card he had pulled from his pocket.

The man moaned at the thought of traveling thirty miles north to Nuevo Laredo and presenting himself to Juan Guzman, the Anaconda, just like a lamb to slaughter. First he was contracted out of his agency’s offices in San Antonio to follow this small American woman. He was then told that this McIntire woman would eventually lead him to the man that his employer sought — a Colonel Jack Collins. Now he was to be sacrificed to Juan Guzman for a reason he knew nothing of.

The man slammed the business card to his chest and cursed the one-million-dollar bribe the man had offered. He sniveled and then looked at the card once more. It was one of the expensively printed business cards you can only pick up at the best stationery stores — Mr. Hanover Jones, Antiquities Acquisition and Auction House, New York City — London — Paris.

The man placed the card back into his pocket and knew he would follow orders as he sat up and took a deep breath. After all, a million dollars could buy a very nice funeral.

Two thousand miles away Colonel Henri Farbeaux, the man known as Hanover Jones to the legitimate world, calmly hung up the rented office phone and then slowly stood and furiously tipped the desk he was sitting behind upside down. Not only was he not to kill Jack Collins, he now learned that the only woman he admired outside of his dead wife was being held by a murderous scum.

Farbeaux stood and looked at the phone on the floor with the broken desk tipped beside it. He took a deep breath and then forced calmness into his body. Nothing could infuriate him more than the thought of Collins, the man responsible for his beloved wife’s death, still breathing, but nothing could ever match that feeling more than the thought of little Sarah being hurt. He reached into his expensive coat and brought out his cell phone. While he hit the number he wanted, he kicked absentmindedly at the broken phone upon the floor. His eyes were blazing in anger.

“Have my plane ready with a flight plan to Laredo, Texas.”

The director of Department 5656, Niles Compton, sat on the small set of bleachers and watched the flag football game that was being played between the nuclear sciences division and the security department. The second in command of security, who was quarterbacking the muscular and far more physical team of security personnel, Captain Carl Everett, was starting to look frustrated as the larger men and women could not seem to shake the much smaller but far more agile scientists of Assistant Director Virginia Pollock’s nuclear sciences department. The former SEAL kept looking at the clock and was seeing that time was running out on their three-point lead.

The underground complex was built to house the greatest historical treasures, objects that had a defining moment in either the history of the United States or, more importantly, the world. Department 5656, known to a select few in the federal government as the Event Group, was tasked to find parallels in world history with the events unfolding in modern times to avoid the same pitfalls of our shared past. The artifacts stored in the Event Group’s ten thousand steel vaults represented spectacular finds in archeological history. Most would eventually find their way into the public domain after study, while others would be forever kept secret from the people of the world, due to either political, religious, or military sensitivities. The judge as to what constituted a top secret find is the president of the United States.

The massive complex was an underground labyrinth of naturally formed caves far beneath Nellis Air Force Base. The complex was built by President Roosevelt during World War II after the original site had been moved from Arlington, Virginia. Department 5656 is the darkest department of the American federal system and is solely answerable to the president of the Unites States. It had been that way since its inception in 1863 through to its official charter in 1917 by Woodrow Wilson, who brought the Event Group into legitimate being.

Director Niles Compton smiled as he was nudged by the computer sciences director, Pete Golding, who nodded at the clock as it continued to run down. The intramural games played by the sixteen separate departments were a needed relief used by the six hundred personnel inside the massive complex that ran eighty-nine levels beneath the desert sands of Nevada.

“Looks like the security force dominance may be finally coming to an end if Virginia’s people can get the ball back,” Pete said as he watched Everett and the rest of his offense take their time lining up for the snap in an attempt to take as many seconds off the clock as possible.

“Can you imagine the look on Jack’s face when he hears his department’s unblemished record could possibly be in jeopardy? God, I wish he were here,” Niles said as he watched Everett pointing to his favorite wide receiver, Lieutenant Will Mendenhall, who had thus far caught everything thrown his way.

“Well it’s really hurt security not having Jack at running back today,” Pete countered.

“Thank God he’s visiting his mom in Texas, and thank goodness he’s meeting Sarah there when she’s finished with the dig in Tamaulipas. Still, I think I’ll call him if security loses; I can’t pass that chance up.” Niles Compton eyed the clock and then frowned.

Everett called out the signals and the ball was snapped. Instead of running the ball, and thus running the clock out, the captain had decided to go for the nuclear science department’s jugular and win by ten. Mendenhall shot off the line and then sprinted past the science department’s defender. Everett heaved the ball as far as he could. The female defender, a nuclear regulatory specialist on detached service from Los Alamos, tripped as Will flew by her. In the bleachers those rooting for the sciences moaned as they saw the end coming right before their eyes. Niles frowned as he felt his wallet getting lighter due to the bet he had placed with Colonel Collins before he left on leave to see his mother.

Will smiled broadly as he saw the ball fall from the sky. His feet firmly planted on the athletic turf of the underground recreation arena, and only a foot from the out-of-bounds line, the ball was only inches from being laid into his hands. He was merely twenty yards from the goal line for a chance to keep the security department’s winning streak alive at ten in a row.

Unbeknownst to Everett, Mendenhall, and the rest of the security department team, they had been outthought. Virginia Pollock, the least likely of suspects, had placed herself at the goal line knowing that the captain would not be satisfied with a mere three-point victory. The tall lithe woman with the dark-brown hair sprinted in her sweatpants and shirt to the spot where Will Mendenhall thought he was alone, and just before the ball touched his fingertips she stepped in front of him and intercepted the pass. Her body nudged him just enough that Will lost his balance and went crashing onto the fake grass of the field, shocked because he had had no idea Virginia was in the area.

The security team, the people running laps on the track, and even the weightlifters working out on the side of the field were all stunned as Virginia sprinted down the field in the opposite direction. Carl went from jumping up and down as the vision of a fifty-yard pass play went flying from his thoughts to attempting to gain momentum to head Virginia off at the pass. He saw the MIT grad and former nuclear engineer from General Dynamics Corporation running free. Everett started his pursuit.

The spectators watching were on their feet as the older woman saw Everett approaching at an angle. She decided that, flag football or not, she could not allow Everett to catch her. She switched the ball to the protected right side of her body, and as Carl came into reach for her flag dangling behind her, she shot out her left hand and arm, catching him squarely in the jaw and face. It was a straight-arm the pros would have been proud of. Everett grunted and then fell face first onto the turf as Virginia sprinted by. As she crossed the goal line with the rest of the security department chasing her, Virginia raised the ball into the air and then spiked it to the cheers of all watching.

“I’ll be damned,” Everett said as he looked up from his prone position. He swiped at the blood that had come from the split lip he now had thanks to the assistant director.

Mendenhall came up out of breath and helped his boss to his feet, and as they both looked around they saw Pete Golding and Director Compton jumping up and down in the bleachers, high-fiving each other, enjoying the celebration as Virginia’s nuclear sciences division hoisted her on their shoulders. The 0–9 sciences had just pulled off the upset of the intramural season. Both men suspected the word would spread throughout the complex as fast as a lightning strike.

“The colonel is going to be pissed,” Mendenhall said as he tried to catch his breath.

Everett again swiped at the blood that was now not only coursing from his split lip but also the rug burn on his chin.

“And I’m going to tell him over the phone,” Everett said. “I’ll wait until he gets back from his leave; by then the humiliation may have calmed down a little.”

“Good idea,” Mendenhall said as he saw the victors winding their way toward the vanquished. “Oh, this is going to suck!”

As Virginia was placed on the ground she smiled in a purely female way and batted her eyes at Carl.

“That split lip looks bad. Did I do that?” she said as she placed her hand over her mouth in an “oh God, what have I done” falsity.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, madam A.D.,” Everett said as he straightened and then took Virginia in his arms and hugged her. “I have to admit, you got us.”

She smiled and pulled away and then someone handed her a cell phone and she punched in her security code for the supercomputer Europa so she could get an outside line.

“And just who are you calling?” Everett asked near panic.

“Why, Jack of course. I want to be the one to tell him.”

“Ah, Virginia, can we talk about this?” Everett said as he started following her as she tried to make the connection.

Across the field Niles Compton was still smiling as he watched the two teams meet. He smiled even wider when he saw Everett and Mendenhall running after Virginia Pollock. He was about to go down onto the field and take some fun time for a change when he was approached by a blue-clad marine PFC.

“Excuse me, Dr. Compton, you have an emergency call from the security duty officer. He says he has our contact at the FBI in Washington on the line. It seems we’ve had trouble in Mexico—” the marine looked from Niles to Pete and then leaned in toward the director—“sir, we have people down.”

Niles immediately lost his smile. “Pete, run and catch Captain Everett and Virginia and get them to my office, ASAP. Tell him we may have gone Code One in Mexico.”

Pete immediately started running to head off Everett. He knew what a Code One was, as did all Event Group personnel — people in the field had come into harm’s way and may be down, or even lost.

Niles turned and left the athletic complex wondering how a university-sponsored field team in Mexico could have an emergency when Sarah was there only to validate the geological formation in which some old pictographs had been painted on a cave wall.

With Ryan and another security man with her, that was three Event Group staff that may be hurt, or even killed. Director Niles Compton knew at the very least there was big trouble in Mexico.

The man sat at the table at the Alamosa Chop and Steak House in downtown Laredo. He was well dressed in civilian attire, a charcoal gray suit highlighted by a bright red tie. His hair was cut short, but not as short as it had been throughout his eighteen years in the Unites States Army. His smile came easier to him since he had been reassigned after testifying against the army and the White House back in 2006 about interference of command in Afghanistan. At the time, Major Jack Collins had thought his career was finished as he was sent to the high desert of Nevada and literally buried underneath Nellis Air Force Base. That was where his tour of detached service had begun for Department 5656, the Event Group, as its head of security operations. Tonight Jack Collins was on leave. He was to meet the woman he had fallen in love with when she returned from across the border where she was involved in an archeological find in northern Mexico.

Jack smiled as he eased the cover of his cell phone closed and then looked across the table at his mother, Cally, who returned the smile as she placed her drink on the table before her. The woman would never be placed in the age category she claimed. She was young looking to be Jack’s mother. Her face and body belonged to that of a woman of thirty-four years and not the fifty-four years of age her birth certificate said she was. The brown-haired Cally looked from Jack to her youngest child, Lynn, who had come back into Jack’s life after many years of being estranged. Their careers had kept them far removed from the normal brother-sister relationships that most families share, Lynn’s with the CIA, Jack’s with the army.

“Well, Sarah’s not answering her cell phone, as usual,” Jack said as he reached for his glass of beer.

“She may be having a hard time getting through that damn border crossing. You know how rough it is since the border’s been exploding with the drug war over in Nuevo Laredo — she’ll be fine, you said she was quite a distance away from the trouble zone,” Lynn said. “From our reports at the agency, and also from the FBI and Texas Rangers, the drug thing seems to have sorted itself out. The border alert level has been downgraded significantly.”

Jack’s little sister watched him as he sipped at his beer. She had noticed a large change in Jack since he had become involved with Sarah. He smiled far more than she could ever remember her serious-faced brother ever smiling. His gait had a spring to it, and when she had seen him with Sarah the few times they had been together she could see Jack’s face light up. For the first time in straight-as-an-arrow Jack Collins’s life he was actually slowing down to smell the roses, and it was all because of the woman he called “small stuff,” Sarah McIntire. Lynn could see Jack was dying inside in his nervousness at Sarah meeting their mother for the first time.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said and tried to push all thought of Sarah being late aside for the time being.

Cally Collins watched her son closely. She was happy for Jack. He had become a new man since his time on detached service, wherever that was. Her son had always been quiet about things in his personal as well as his professional life. After losing so many men in the field during his time in special operations, he had become detached, even secretive of his emotions and personal feelings. Now came along this woman she was here to meet. Sarah, that’s all Jack could talk about in his e-mails and his phone calls home.

She smiled as Jack talked with his little sister. He reminded her so much of his father, John, lost when Jack was only eleven in some far-off place that was never really described to her by the U.S. Army. He had been a colonel at the time, the very same rank and age of his son now. Cally suspected that in his position and rank he may have found out many more details about his father’s fate — far more than Cally herself knew, but if he had, her oldest child had never shared that information with her.

Cally realized many years before that she didn’t need to know anything other than what she had been told. If her husband’s death had been by any other means or circumstance than what the army had said, Jack would find a way to tell her. And she also knew her son well enough that if anything about his father’s death was darker than the army had told her, Jack would also fix it. It was enough to know that he was just like his father, honest to the point of pain, and that was good enough to tell Cally that their son turned out the way his father would have liked.

“Jack, with everything you’ve told me about her I feel like I already know Sarah. And if I’m right in my assessment of her she’s probably as scared as I am in anticipation of meeting each other. Believe me, anyone who won over your stubborn heart scares me with her womanly powers,” Cally said, smiling wide as she raised her martini glass.

Jack shook his head as his face turned red. He never thought of himself as a guy that was stubborn at all, but if his mom and Sarah, along with Lynn, Everett, Mendenhall, Ryan, and the director, say it’s so, it must be true. Jack raised his glass of beer and toasted his mother. Lynn laughed and joined her glass with theirs.

Cally excused herself from the table and Lynn waited until she had disappeared into the semidarkness of the restaurant before she smiled at her brother.

“So, what’s happening in spooksville these days little sister?”

“And why should I tell you? I still don’t know what you are doing and who you’re doing it with.”

“I am not doing anything and especially not doing anything with anyone of importance. You haven’t been prying have you? I would hate to have to sic Mr. Ryan on you — you know he had a thing for you.”

“Jason Ryan has a thing for anything that wears a skirt.”

“There you have it. How good an outfit can I be running if Ryan is a supervisor in my unit?”

“Touché,” Lynn said as she sipped her drink. She smiled as she lowered it and then her face became serious. “Since you asked, and since it’s no big secret at the agency, I have been handed something at the North American desk that’s strange to say the least. It seems we have a rumor of a rogue element inside the U.S. government, possibly inside either the FBI or at Langley.”

“Should you be telling me this?”

“Well, the information handed down to me from my boss in intelligence thinks this group was busted up by the FBI several years ago…” Lynn actually chuckled. “Believe it or not one of this group’s monikers was the Men in Black. Can you believe that?”

“Sis, why are you telling me this?” Jack said as he picked up his beer after spying his mother returning from the restroom.

“My report says that this group is comprised of ex-military. Since you seem to know any and all Special Forces operatives inside and out of our armed services, you may have heard something that could help me.”

Jack paused before drinking his beer. He knew every detail of what it was she was talking about. He knew the Men in Black — the Black teams of the Centaurs Corporation, broken up by the Event Group after the incident in the Arizona desert six years before.

“I never heard of the Men in Black outside of the usual running jokes about them. And despite the rumors about me, I don’t know every mission specialist in the world,” he smiled, “just the Western world.”

“Ass!” Lynn whispered as their mother returned. Jack stood and pulled her chair out for her.

Collins looked at his little sister, wondering if she was heading into trouble. Because if the Men in Black, or the corporate Black teams, were being reformed, that meant that they just may have a rogue element inside either the Bureau or the Agency. He made a mental note to bring the subject up with Director Compton.

Jack sat back down and then sipped his beer while looking at his wristwatch. Sarah was now over an hour late, and unlike what he had told his sister and his mom, Sarah was never, ever late for anything. She had an inner clock and she prepared for everything ahead of time. And a meeting of this magnitude was not something she would have taken lightly as she had been asking to meet his mother for the past two years. Finally Lynn reached out and placed a hand over his watch.

Jack sat his beer back onto the white tablecloth. “I know she’ll be here, I just—”

“Jack,” Lynn said as she held his wrist while her eyes were on something beyond her brother’s vision, “Carl and Will are here.”

Jack’s heart froze when Lynn mentioned the two names. He turned around in his chair, and for the first time in his life after seeing the countenance of both of his men, his legs felt as if they were made of jelly. He swallowed and stood, absentmindedly allowing the napkin in his lap to fall to the floor as Everett hurried through the crowded restaurant toward their table.

“Well, what are you two doing here?” Jack said with a confidence and false levity he wasn’t feeling at that moment.

Everett was dressed in Levis and a white Polo shirt and Will basically the same. Everett nodded a greeting to Cally and Lynn. They all noticed the split lip and the Band-Aid on his chin.

“Mrs. Collins, Lynn, sorry to intrude,” was all Everett said as he pulled Jack away from the table by the elbow.

“Things have gone to hell across the border, Jack,” he whispered. “A Mexican professor, his male assistant, and Lance Corporal Udall are dead.” He looked around and Jack could see the anger in his face. “And Ryan is hurt real bad and is now at a hospital in Nuevo Laredo.”

Jack clenched his jaw and was staring at Everett, waiting for the rest.

“Whoever did it took Sarah, another girl, and the professor from Baylor that was on the dig list Sarah sent us from the site a day ago.”

Jack was thinking, but none of his thoughts were making it to the surface through the fear that suddenly gripped his mind. He wasn’t used to the feeling, as it had become second nature for him to think during the stress of command that called for quick and precise reactions. He didn’t notice Lynn as she joined the three men. She already had her cell phone out waiting to assist Jack in any way she could after hearing the last part of the conversation.

“Is that all we know?” Collins finally asked.

“We have a plane at the airport we’re using as a command post at the moment. Pete Golding is there along with an eight-man security and assault team. Pete is doing what he can with Europa. He has a list of suspects, but there is only one name that keeps coming across the boards, and the computer says it’s—”

“It has to be Juan Guzman,” Lynn said before Carl could finish.

Jack turned to his sister. Her job as the assistant director at the North American Operations desk at the CIA would give Lynn the expertise on everything that goes on within that continent.

“Explain,” Jack ordered hastily.

“Nothing happens in northern Mexico without his expressed say-so. He’s the undeclared winner of the drug war across the border. He has money and his own private army. He has never hesitated about going to war on this side of the border with anyone that crosses him,” Lynn explained as she opened her cell phone and made a call, stepping away as she did so. Looking back she said, “And that small regiment on his payroll is better equipped than the Mexican army.”

“The FBI and Homeland Security is on this, and Niles is talking to the president as we speak, trying to get us jurisdictional operating room. But everyone in Washington is throwing a fit. The stuffed shirts want the Mexican authorities to handle it. And us being secret, we’re the last in line when decisions are handed down.”

“No, I’m not leaving Ryan and Sarah over there while we wait to go through channels.” Jack looked at a worried Mendenhall and then at Everett. “Look, I need Pete and the intelligence he and Europa can come up with. However, you two won’t need the grief that would come down if the president orders us to stand down; you need to stay with the plane at the airport.”

Everett looked from Collins and then over to Will Mendenhall. He shook his head as he once more locked eyes with the colonel.

“You know damn good and well that isn’t going to work, Jack. Now we have to go.”

Lynn joined them after closing up her cell phone.

“Look, my desk at Langley agrees, Jack. It has to be the Anaconda — that’s the slick bastard’s nickname. Listen to me, Guzman is not only the largest drug dealer south of the border, he deals in women also. Let’s hope that’s why he took Sarah and the others; that will buy you some time. Whoever in the hell you people work for.”

“It won’t buy us time, Sis, you get Mom out of here and to a safe place. This town may not be safe for very much longer.”

“Jack, you can’t go to war with Guzman; he’s got an army over there. As I said before, he has never hesitated at crossing the border to take the fight to us before.”

Jack raised his left eyebrow in that irritating way he had and then went to kiss his mother goodbye.

“Mom, I have work I’ve gotta do,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.

“You be careful, Jack.”

Collins winked at Cally, and then he turned and walked past Everett, Lynn, and Mendenhall as he made a beeline to the front door of the restaurant.

“You have to stop Jack and make him think, Carl. If he goes barging over there with some hastily drawn-up plan he’ll get Sarah and everyone else killed. The Anaconda is ruthless as hell, but he’s also smart, and what’s more, he is a businessman. Tell Jack to use that if he can. Tell whoever your boss is that Jack wouldn’t stand a chance in hell over there. This has to be done through channels, so let the FBI handle it,” Lynn implored.

Everett watched as Mendenhall hurried to catch up with Collins, but stayed a moment to look Jack’s sister in the eye.

“I would rather go with a hastily drawn-up plan by Jack than someone else’s well-thought-out scheme. My money is always on your brother.”

Lynn knew Carl was right. She clenched her cell phone tightly and then placed a hand on Everett’s shoulder. “I’ll do what I can from the intelligence end of things. You go on now, I have more calls to make.”

Captain Carl Everett turned away and hurried to follow Jack and Will. Lynn watched a moment, hoping that Jack listened to her warnings. She turned and stood next to her mother.

“Don’t be scared Mom. Jack knows what he’s doing,” Lynn said as she watched Cally drain her martini glass.

“That won’t stop me from worrying, dear,” she said as she placed her empty glass on the table and then stood. “His father knew what he was doing also.”

Lynn could only nod her head as she saw her mom lower hers.

By the time Collins, Everett, and Will Mendenhall made it through to the charter flight area, there was another Event Group aircraft parked next to the first. On either side of that were two UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters. The first aircraft was a small Lear Jet; the second was an old Boeing 707 conversion used as a mobile command unit. The trio had been notified that the director himself, Niles Compton, was now on station and had transferred Pete Golding to the command post to use the far-more-sophisticated equipment aboard the venerable old 707.

Jack, instead of running up the portable staircase, forced himself to walk only at a quickened gait, removing his coat and tie as he went. Everett and Mendenhall followed him into the aircraft where Director Compton met them just inside the door and took Jack by the elbow, steering him toward the communications center of the extensively modified Boeing aircraft.

“What have we learned so far?” Collins asked as he leaned into communications.

The navy signalman covering the radio removed his headset and looked first at Niles and then Jack. “So far the FBI has placed their field office on alert for a possible hostage rescue across the border. The State Department has already been in touch with Mexican President Juarez, but he’s hesitant about allowing an American rescue unit to cross the border. Our president is currently on the phone with him now.”

Niles pulled Jack away from the communications area and waited for Will and Carl to join him.

“The situation in Nuevo Laredo is still unstable. The armed men this Guzman has running around his hacienda number in the hundreds. The FBI has intelligence that says this warped bastard collects women for these mercenaries to use — part of their benefits package.” He saw Jack’s jaw clench. “Sorry, Colonel, I could have worded that far better.”

Collins just nodded his head.

“Niles, what is this Guzman into?” Everett asked as a way to steer the conversation toward something more constructive.

“Drugs of course are the number-one factor in his makeup. The FBI reports that he is responsible for the elimination of all of his rivals in the area, and that includes men that dealt directly for the Colombian factions. In other words, he’s one powerful son of a bitch. He has no problems sending hit teams into Texas or anywhere else he sees a problem.”

“Why would he have raided an archaeological site?” Jack asked as he started walking toward the computer center forty feet aft.

“Simple. Number one, he considers anything in a thousand-mile radius his personal territory. Number two, he does collect anything and everything concerning his Mexican heritage. He actually conducted an interview last year on Mexican television where he extolled the need to keep Mexico’s history and heritage in Mexico. I think Sarah and the field team were a convenient target of opportunity, nothing more.”

Jack listened and then pulled back the curtain to the computer center. There, revealed like the Wizard of Oz, was Pete Golding and his expanded computer team. Pete turned away from a large 55-inch monitor and rolled his chair back to face the colonel.

“Jack, you have my—”

“Later, Doc. What have you come up with?”

“Yes, of course,” Pete said as he turned to face the large monitor. “Well, thanks to the director and the U.S. Air Force, we have a Predator drone up and flying high over the Guzman hacienda. Thus far Europa has pinpointed seventeen guards on the outside of the immediate hacienda, but it has picked up numerous heat sources coming from the buildings outlying the main house, which as you can see is expansive as hell. There could be another hundred inside of those buildings, and according to the FBI and the Mexican national police, that estimate could be on the low side.”

Collins looked at the monitor and the large hacienda that belonged to Juan Guzman. He saw a large swimming pool, a tennis court, and riding stables. It had a private airstrip and hangars for at least five or six aircraft. A helicopter sat upon a helipad at the center of the compound.

“I see the drug trade is still paying high dividends,” Everett commented as he saw the same thing Jack was seeing.

“Pete, is there any intel on where this son of a bitch would keep…,” Jack swallowed, “would keep the women he has taken?”

“No, but I can ask Europa for her best guess just as soon as she steals the hacienda’s specs from the Mexican government.”

Jack and the rest knew the supercomputer’s job was “backdooring” other systems, and she was damn good at it. She had even broken into her sister Cray’s systems at Langley, the FBI, and the Pentagon in the past.

“Why would the Mexican government have his house plans? Wouldn’t that be under the state’s purview?” Niles asked ahead of Collins.

“Normally, yes it would be, but it seems Europa has dug up a title of deed that says this property and house used to belong to the federal government of Mexico at the turn of the century. And here’s another little bit of interesting history. In March of 1916, none other than General John “Black Jack” Pershing himself, with Lieutenant George S. Patton at his side, raided into Mexico.” At this point Pete turned to the large screen, punched a few buttons on his keyboard, and the screen changed to some very old photographs of the same Guzman hacienda, but in far-earlier times. The pictures were scratched and were stamped “Property of U.S. National Archives.”

“Europa got these from our own database?” Niles asked.

“Just now uncovered them,” Pete answered with a little bit of pride at what his supercomputer turned up. “It seems our own department, in one of the first missions ever assigned to it, had business in 1916, and Europa says that we have a vault full of information, but since it was one of the first missions of Department 5656 the material was never catalogued.” Pete looked up with a bit of sadness etched into his features, “Things may have been a little different for the Event Group in the early days.”

“No excuse. Find the vault number and get our archivists into it.”

“Europa already tracked the vault down. It’s in Arlington, the old complex site. Get this, President Franklin Roosevelt ordered the vault sealed and left behind when the department moved operations to Nevada.”

“Good information Dr. Golding, but what does this have to do with what’s happening now?” Mendenhall asked, frustrated at the slowness of the intelligence.

“Possibly nothing, but maybe everything,” Pete said as he tapped the screen. “The official reason for the raid into Mexico by the 8th United States Cavalry regiment was to capture or kill the Mexican bandit, Pancho Villa. Now according to history and U.S. Army reports, Villa was nowhere near the border town of Nuevo Laredo at the time of the raid, yet the regiment spent two days in Laredo and at this very same hacienda, named Perdition’s Gate. Three of its outer buildings were burned to the ground and several people were killed by American troops. It caused quite a stir in the Mexico City newspapers. Thus far we have found no justification for Pershing’s raid on that particular hacienda or the Event Group’s involvement in the attack. But if we can get into that vault, number 0011 inside the old complex, we may find a way inside that hacienda.”

“Maybe it was a safe harbor for Pancho Villa,” Everett said.

“Not likely. Now here is the most interesting part. This very same land two years before was owned by none other than Ramon Carbajal, a very close ally and friend to Villa. It is documented that Pancho Villa never went there, and he gave orders to his men never to frequent that particular part of Mexico. That is documented from former members of his revolutionary council. And here is something far stranger gentlemen. The land and hacienda were not owned by a Mexican national; they were sold to an American citizen, a Professor Lawrence Ambrose. We’re currently running a check on him as we speak. However, I get off the point. This Professor Ambrose is the reason we have the hacienda floor plans, a detailed drawing by an Army Corp of Engineers captain during the time of the Pershing raid. According to the grids on this property map, they were very systematic, like they were searching for something. This is how Europa will base her best guess as to the location of any hostages.”

“Damn good Pete,” Everett said. “Can we get a printout of those drawings?”

“Does the FBI have access to this?” Jack asked.

“No, I haven’t forwarded any of our information through the president as of yet.”

“Don’t. This stays in-house for the time being,” Collins said as he looked over at Niles, who reluctantly nodded.

“I’m with you Jack — for now. But we have to wait for the president’s word on when to go in.”

“What is Mr. Ryan’s condition?” Jack asked, ashamed that his lieutenant had been his second thought in all of his worries.

“The American consul in Nuevo Laredo got to him before he was wheeled into surgery. He was then secured by a field team from the FBI and he’s now on his way to Las Vegas. It’s serious, but our docs say he’ll make it. He hasn’t given us a statement as of yet.”

“Colonel, what if we’re rushing this on Ryan? If he needs surgery, why didn’t we leave him in place and allow the surgeons to take care of him there?” Mendenhall asked, worried about his close friend.

“What do you think this Guzman is going to do when he learns he may have left an eyewitness to the murder of two Mexican nationals and the kidnapping of two American women?” Without another word Collins turned and left the computer center to make his way into the tactical room where he would pore over every bit of intelligence Pete had come up with.

Will nodded his head and then followed the colonel.

Carl Everett hesitated a moment before following Jack and faced the director.

“Niles, you know Jack’s going to that hacienda with or without the president’s order.”

“I know that, but we need to give him the time to plan it out right,” Compton explained and then took the printout of the hacienda plans from Pete. “Use these and find a way in there. I need to find out exactly why our Group was there almost a hundred years before we even heard of Perdition’s Gate, and exactly why the mission wasn’t catalogued in our archives. Now, please find a way in there and get Sarah the hell out.”

Everett smiled as he took the offered floor plans.

“That, Mr. Director, you can count on.”

The brand-new Sikorsky S-76C++ executive helicopter, painted in magnificent maroon and gold colors, circled the hacienda twice before the pilot saw a man step out onto the heliport at the center of the compound and with two brightly painted paddles, start to wave him down next to the helicopter already there. It had taken three minutes of radio communication with a man who had claimed no English before they were allowed in. The whole time the passenger in the rear compartment knew instinctually they were being tracked by not only one but several heat-seeking missiles.

As the garish executive Sikorsky slowly sat down upon the well-maintained heliport pad, it was immediately surrounded by ten men with menacing-looking automatic weapons. The pilot chanced a look into the back compartment and shook his head.

“It seems we have a welcoming committee, sir,” he said into his microphone.

The tall man in the back didn’t respond; he just removed his headset and then ran his fingers through his blonde hair. As the helicopter sat down gently he leaned into the pilot’s cabin.

“Stay inside and be ready to exit this place on a moment’s notice.”

The pilot didn’t like the sound of the order but nodded his head nonetheless.

A man in a white business suit stepped from the shadows of the hacienda and came out to meet the tall man stepping from the helicopter. The suit he wore was silk, and the blonde man could see he was sweating through it. The white shirt was stained with something at the collar and his face was unshaven.

“Mr. Jones, my employer was surprised to hear from your representative. After the failure of our last negotiation, we thought we would not hear from you again.”

The man going by the name of Hanover Jones was loath to take the man’s offered handshake. His nails were filthy and he had an odor that while not disgusting, was at the very least unpleasant. The helicopter’s rotors wound down and Henri Farbeaux took the man’s hand and shook.

“Speaking of my associate, he was to meet me in Laredo, but he didn’t show up. I just had a text message telling me to come here,” Henri said as he released the man’s hand and fought against the urge to wipe it on his own black trousers.

“Ah, Mr. Guzman insisted that your man accept his hospitality and remain at the compound. Do not fear señor, the man is being well treated.”

Farbeaux saw the lie in the man’s eyes immediately, just a second before he placed a pair of expensive sunglasses on.

“Please, Señor Jones, Jefe is waiting to see you,” the heavyset man said as he gestured toward the hacienda.

Farbeaux buttoned his suit jacket and without turning his head had counted the men in the hacienda’s enclosed court that surrounded the helipad. There were ten men with five more hidden in the shadows. He moved his eyes behind his sunglasses and saw four more tucked away at windows on the upper veranda. He showed no emotion as he ducked his head to enter the villa itself.

Henri removed his sunglasses right away so his eyes could adjust to the darkness inside. He immediately saw an older woman, perhaps in her early fifties. She came forward, wiping her hands on a white apron. She sneered at the man escorting Farbeaux and he backed away.

“Welcome to our home, Señor—?”

“Hanover Jones, Mama,” said a small well-dressed man with a moustache as he stepped out from behind his ample mother. He said something in Spanish, words Farbeaux knew almost as well as the people in the room. He explained that she needed to go to her room and not the kitchen and ignore anything she may hear in the next hour. Henri Farbeaux thought the man before him was either sloppy in his memory, knowing he spoke Spanish, or he had done it intentionally. If it was the latter, he knew he would have to approach his business very carefully.

“Mr. Jones, it is good to see you once again. The last time was in Colombia if memory serves. I was the intelligence liaison for Pablo Escobar at the time. Back then my antiquities trade was purely a hobby with my … rather limited income.”

Henri smiled. “Yes, I believe you were, and yes, it was Colombia. I’m glad to see you moved on after Señor Escobar’s … er, mishap.”

Juan Guzman had not offered his hand to Farbeaux. He did smile at the memory of betraying the world’s largest drug dealer and allowing Colombian and American Special Forces to kill him in December of 1993.

“His time was over, señor. It was time for men with vision to take the lead in affairs that concern the southern regions of the hemisphere.”

Farbeaux knew what that vision was and how it had been put into practice. In eliminating all of his competition in the distribution end in Mexico, along with his takeover of the manufacturing cartels in the south, the Anaconda had murdered no less than eighty of the top drug people in Mexico and South America, but it had been the little people who had suffered the most in this drug civil war with a very conservative estimate of over thirty thousand lower-end hoods and civilians losing their lives before the dust settled just across the border in northern Mexico. Now Juan Guzman was in charge of the largest drug operation in the entire world, and he was now known as the Anaconda for his powerful, suffocating, squeezing grip on anything south of the U.S. border.

“But that is history.” He finally smiled and held out his manicured hand for Henri to shake, which he did. “According to your man you are interested in my Anasazi collection?”

“Yes, my collection is lacking where yours is overflowing. And since the Anasazi lived north of the border, I figured it was something you could part with.” Henri released the man’s small hand and then looked around the well-appointed living room. He saw three men standing close by and their eyes never left him. “I am particularly interested in the piece you purchased in San Diego, a very nice artifact of silver.”

The Anaconda smiled and then looked Farbeaux in his blue eyes. “Ah, yes, the silver serpent. That is a very rare piece, señor. The only Anasazi artifact found that depicted a serpent of such splendor. But I must correct you, that particular piece was not purchased, it was … how do I say? Oh, yes, willed to me by its late owner.”

Henri knew well what that meant. Guzman had murdered the former collector and relieved him of the piece.

“Well, since your investment is minimal, perhaps we can come to an accommodation?” Farbeaux said smiling.

“Perhaps, señor, perhaps,” Guzman said as he gestured with his right hand for Farbeaux to precede him. “Why don’t we examine the piece so you can appreciate its beauty and thus make me an educated offer that would not be too insulting?”

The former French colonel stepped by the smaller Mexican drug lord, noticing that the man’s smile never reached as far as his dark eyes. The nickname Anaconda was well deserved in the Frenchman’s opinion as his eyes were like that of a large predatory snake. He knew the look well, because he was capable of the same thing.

The men in the room fell in behind their boss and followed them toward a large door. As Guzman stepped past Henri, he opened a huge oak door and then used a set of keys to open a steel gate behind that. He clicked on a light switch and Henri could see the descending stairs as they curved deeply into the ground.

“I have yet to have the piece cleaned by my artisans, so if you will follow me Señor Jones, we can view my wares in a far more comfortable setting.”

Henri turned from the stairs and looked at the small man before him. His hackles rose as he knew he was stepping into a trap. His makeshift plan had fooled no one and in his haste to find little Sarah, he had made a large mistake by thinking the drug lord would be greedy enough not to have had him checked out thoroughly. Farbeaux nodded his head and then out of the corner of his eye saw the trailing men watching him. He had no choice but to smile and enter the dark abyss beyond the gate.

The eyes of the Anaconda never left the back of the man his intelligence people said was not Hanover Jones from New York, but one Henri Farbeaux. The Anaconda knew that collecting, while being his main profession, was not the reason he was in Nuevo Laredo. He also knew the real reason and had decided to have fun on an otherwise boring day. He smiled as he started down the stairs after his guest.

The Anaconda would soon tire of the game.

2

The entire private sector of Laredo International Airport was now closed off to regular traffic. A Chevrolet Tahoe pulled alongside twenty other Chevys of the same model. Jack now knew the Feds had arrived in force. He looked over at Everett and Mendenhall and saw Carl nod his head toward a large sealed-off hangar that was visible through the aircraft’s window. Inside he saw a Laredo Police Department SWAT van and pulling up next to that was a large step van Jack knew to be the FBI HRT unit. The Hostage Rescue Unit gave Jack the cold chills. He shook his head, knowing now that the president of the United States had made his decision — the rescue, if there was to be one, would be conducted under federal auspices, not the Army’s, and certainly not the president’s most protected and black agency, Department 5656. Jack normally understood that secrecy was paramount, but at the moment he couldn’t care less about the black aspects of their department. He knew as he looked at the gathering federal authorities that the rescue would be strictly a law enforcement operation.

Jack and Everett shook their heads when a news van was stopped by the FBI agents and questioned. They both knew the news was spreading about the incident across the border, which in turn meant the operation was fast becoming too visual for the Event Group to participate.

“Will Director Compton and Colonel Collins please report to communications; the president is on video link through Europa,” the communications room said over the loudspeaker.

Jack was joined by the director and they slowly made their way to the communications area of the 707.

Jack stopped in front of the director and watched as he took a deep breath. The director spoke and listened for three minutes as Collins anxiously awaited word on if they would get the chance at the rescue attempt.

The news delivered by the president wasn’t good.

“Yes, Mr. President, not until you get definitive word,” Niles said as he felt the heat of Jack’s anger behind him. “But sir, may I recommend that this be turned over to DELTA? We’ve already had a breakthrough by the media into the secure zone of the airport, which means Guzman will know of any rescue attempt before it even leaves here.” Niles handed Jack a small slip of paper and the colonel cursed under his breath as he read the words, “No Go.” “Yes, sir,” Niles said and then placed the phone down and nodded at the signals officer on detached service from the navy and assigned to the Event Group. “The president wants a word, Jack,” Niles said standing and pacing a few steps away.

“Colonel, are you there?” asked the stern voice.

“Mr. President,” Collins answered.

“You are hereby warned as I just warned Niles: you are not to exceed your authority, Colonel. Our dealings with President Juarez have been shaky since his election. We cannot go charging across the border with a group of men whose presence I would never be able to explain. Your department’s secrecy is paramount, even above your personnel. Is that clear, Colonel?”

Niles could see Jack half turn and almost walk away, but he stepped up to him and gestured toward the speakerphone where the president was still speaking.

“I give you and that little bald bastard under the desert a lot, and I mean a lot, of leeway, Colonel, and I expect my orders to be followed. This is an international incident for Christ’s sake.”

“Mr. President, you know for a fact that my security teams have a far better chance at getting our people out of there than anyone. We’re tight, we know how each other reacts. I implore you to give us a shot at this.”

“Do not interrupt, Colonel. Your boss explained things to me, after the goddamn fact. That’s the only reason I don’t have agents from the FBI storming that aircraft of yours right now. If I allow this, you could cost your Group your cover. You have to stop and think.”

Collins remained silent and Niles closed his eyes and removed his thick glasses.

“I don’t hear an ‘I understand you Mr. President’.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Now, all I am asking is that you give me time to coordinate with the Mexican authorities. We need that president down there. He knows what a threat this Guzman character is. However, he does not want a military incursion into his country. This has to be a law enforcement issue, not a military one. How is Mr. Ryan doing?”

Jack shook his head, stepped closer to the speaker, and took a seat, allowing his body a moment’s respite. “Ryan’s a strong kid. Now that he’s in American hands I give him a far better chance than being possibly operated on by Guzman’s surgeons.”

“Now, give us time Colonel. We will get those women back across the border. Baldy, you keep your people in check over there or I will fry your ass.”

Niles stepped up to the microphone. “Keep us informed, Mr. President.”

“Damn you bookworm, say it!”

“Yes, sir, we will stay put.” The line disconnected and Niles turned to face Jack, giving him a weak smile. “It seems I’m running out of favors.”

Jack stood and took Niles by the shoulder. “I know the feeling, Mr. Director. What about my other man, Udall?”

“The Mexican police recovered his body and it’s on the way back across the border.”

Collins nodded and then looked at Pete Golding, who stood next to Niles. He had several items in his hand, which he handed to Compton while slowly looking away from Colonel Collins’s gaze.

“What is it?” Everett asked.

“Our surveillance drone,” Pete answered, “the Predator, well, it took these. They’re grainy, but I think you’ll be able to see what we and Europa saw.” Niles, after studying the picture on top, then handed Jack the first blown-up photo. “These were taken just fifteen minutes ago,” Pete said by way of explanation.

Collins looked the eight-by-ten proofs over and his heart froze.

“That’s just great,” Everett said looking over Collins’s shoulder as he examined the first and the second picture Niles passed over. “What in the hell is with this guy?” Carl asked.

The first photo showed a large blonde man as he stepped from a luxurious helicopter. The second was taken only moments later, and the man had glanced skyward, as if he knew a Predator was flying overhead. The face was one no staff member on the Event Group aircraft would ever fail to recognize. It was Colonel Henri Farbeaux.

“I figured that son of a bitch for a lot of things, but not to be involved in this,” Everett said as Jack gave the photos back to Niles.

Compton watched as Collins walked toward the open door of the 707. He quickly made a decision and gestured for Mendenhall and Everett to join him.

“Colonel, I suspect that the president’s going to go with a joint operation, split between the Mexican HRT team and the FBI. Europa broke into the FBI mainframe and she says they will more than likely go in two hours. I forwarded the plans for the Perdition hacienda to the president who passed them through regular channels to the FBI HRT unit,” Niles said, trying not to look into Jack’s eyes as he did so. “I figured they needed all the advantage they could get.”

Jack waited until the director met his eyes and then caught the curse before it could escape his mouth. Everett and Mendenhall knew that Niles had done the right thing. Jack just nodded his head, knowing that the odds of Sarah surviving this thing had just dropped by 75 %. He knew the country hadn’t learned anything after the failed rescue attempt in the desert of Iran in 1980. Operation Eagle Claw had been an unmitigated disaster because of a multiservice plan, one that was doomed to fail before it ever happened. And now this rescue wasn’t just split by differing branches of the service, but by two different nations, and one of those nations may have divided loyalties as far as the Anaconda went. Jack knew if he didn’t react to the fluidity of the situation he would never again see Sarah alive.

Niles bit his lip and then nodded at the two marines at the 707’s door. They understood and then closed it.

“Jack,” he said as he handed Everett the recon photos, “Pete and Europa have something to show you. It’s something I didn’t share with the president or the FBI.”

Collins impatiently waited for the director to explain.

“Pete may have found a way into that compound.”

Suddenly hope appeared in Collins’s cold, blue eyes.

“And,” Compton said as he turned away, “the border’s still open to vehicular traffic, as it seems the local Mexican authorities are a little slow to catch on that there’s a major problem in their own backyard.”

“But you’ll have to find a way past the FBI and do it before their HRT team lifts off in two hours,” Pete said as he joined the group of four men once more.

Everett smiled.

“I never met a fed I couldn’t ditch.”

“Then, Colonel Collins, you and your men are dismissed. Take some time off while the president figures this out.”

“Yes, sir, maybe Jack, our young lieutenant Mendenhall here, and I will try out the fishing in the Rio Grande,” Everett said with a growing smile. “You know we love our fishing.”

“I know,” Niles answered. “Now I think you better get to tactical and put a plan together. And gentlemen, make it a good one, because we all may hang for it, even if it works.”

Director Niles Compton was disobeying a direct order as told to him by the president of the United States, his best friend, once again.

Henri Farbeaux, still in the guise of Hanover Jones, stood on the rickety floor of the massive basement. There were tunnels, some new, some very old, winding off the main corridor every fifteen feet. As far as he knew Sarah could be held in any one of the ten branches inside the basement. He felt the eyes of Juan Guzman and six of his henchmen as he waited for his host to take the lead. As he stood there several men and women in casual clothes strolled by on their way to one of the many tunnels. One of these workers held a scale and the others articles that Farbeaux didn’t recognize. He did notice the fresh-air masks they wore around their necks. Henri looked at Guzman who only smiled.

“I have many employees whose function it is to test shipments of … well, let’s just say they check the purity of certain items supplied to me by countries farther south of Mexico. Please, Señor Jones, what you are seeking is right over here,” Guzman said as he gestured to a large steel door to the right.

Henri was having a hard time reading the man. One thing was clear to him: he didn’t trust the man named Hanover Jones. Farbeaux had noticed that none of the mini AK-47s being used by his bodyguards had their weapons on safe. He watched Guzman as he entered a security code for the locking mechanism on the large door. It opened with a whoosh of escaping air.

“This is just part of my Anasazi collection; the rest I have donated as a peace offering to my brethren in Mexico City. But I believe I have some very interesting pieces for you to view.” Guzman stepped aside and allowed Henri through the door.

Henri knew he could possibly take the six men escorting them, just as long as Guzman was close enough to be pulled into running as a shield for him. However, he suspected they were not only being watched by the many security cameras he had counted in just the short walk in the basement, but also by many more guards nearby.

“Here are two very nice pieces right here. They have been cleaned and expertly restored.”

Farbeaux made a show of pulling a jeweler’s loupe from his coat pocket and smiling as he bent low to examine a large eagle that resembled something the Aztecs would have sculpted. It was a beautiful piece, Farbeaux noted as his eyes scanned the ancient work. Then his eyes moved to the next piece that had been placed on a small table. It was a carved stone work taken from a cave wall in Colorado. It depicted a mother and child — the mother sitting on a throne of sorts and the child feeding at her breast.

“These are very nice.” Henri straightened after a cursory examination.

“Yes, particularly so since the man I relieved them from was a greedy gringo from Los Angeles, one of those so-called brothers of mine who have sold out their heritage. I wouldn’t mind so much if the gentleman had the least bit of knowledge, such as you, as to their real history. I’m sure you can appreciate that?”

“Yes,” Henri half bowed, “I can, Señor Guzman.” Henri smiled wider and then cleared his throat. “Since you relieved this person of his possessions so readily, you won’t be asking exactly market value for these two pieces,” Farbeaux asked with a small smile.

“Ah, just because I came into possession of them at minimal expense does not mean they are not far more valuable, Señor Jones.”

“I estimate their value as a pair at just shy of two million.”

“Close, señor, but even closer to five million.”

Henri nodded his head. “I’ll take them. Now, I know a good salesman always saves that one piece that would guarantee the buyer walks away happy.”

“You are indeed a savvy collector,” Guzman said as he gestured for Henri to follow him out of the small vault. They and Guzman’s bodyguards stepped into the dim hallway and started moving farther down the long corridor. “Tell me something Señor Jones; does it bother you that I am more than just a collector of antiquities?”

“If you mean your relationship to the recent unpleasantness in Nuevo Laredo, or even your expansion into countries south of your border, no. Whatever a man does for a living never factors into my choices for business relationships.”

Guzman laughed. It was a hollow sound that gave the ring of untruth to everything the drug kingpin had said thus far. Henri knew the two pieces of Anasazi carvings were absolutely fake, nothing but cheap knockoffs. After all, he had the second of the two pieces sitting in his house in the south of France. He knew he had to say something just in case his cover was still intact.

“Señor Guzman, I sincerely hope the pieces we are on our way to see are a little more authentic that the two we just examined?”

Guzman laughed and gently slapped Farbeaux on the back. “I hope I did not embarrass you with my little test, señor. In my line of work, on both fronts, I can never be too careful.”

“I understand,” Henri said as he chanced a look back at the bodyguards who kept pace with them down in the carved-out basement.

Guzman stepped ahead and paused by another door. This one had no electronic keypad, and it was far from being the same sort of steel door they had just come from. The hackles on Henri rose again.

“Señor Jones, behind this door I have exactly what you came here to see. Two marvelous pieces I have from north of the border, and many, many more domestic works of art I prize above even my product from the south.” He smiled and opened the door, gesturing for Henri to step through first.

Henri did as suggested and was assailed by a horrid stench. While his eyes adjusted to the weak lighting inside this larger room, he heard the crying of a child. Then he saw the cells, or more to the point, the cages just to his front. He scanned the nightmare before him. Women of all ages were strewn about six cold and dank cells. Many more guards were inside this room, as if they had been waiting. Henri’s dire suspicions were proven right.

“These are some of my lesser works, Señor Jones. There are two I am most proud of that I really have not had a chance to examine on a more base level yet, but I am sure you would appreciate their value.” He gestured for a guard to shove two of the dirty, hurt women out of the way.

Guzman watched as Farbeaux’s jaws clenched. Sitting on the flagstone floor were two women — one blonde, the other with short dark hair. The smaller of the two was tending to a wound the blonde had sustained on the top of her head. With a rag held firmly to the older woman’s head, Sarah McIntire looked up and saw who was standing to her front, just outside of her cage. Her eyes widened, but she caught herself when Henri closed his eyes tightly shut and gave her an imperceptible shake of his head. He then noticed his pilot and the San Antonio private investigator lying headless on the floor inside the first of the cells.

“Are they not what I described, Señor Jones,” Guzman said as he gestured behind Henri’s back for his men to move forward. He also stepped back behind a small wall of those men. “Are these not the articles you came to examine, to take, to steal from me … Mr. Farbeaux?”

Henri never hesitated nor did he give any advance indication of what he was going to do. He lashed out before ever turning and caught the man he was hoping was Guzman himself with a palm to the throat, dropping him like a heavy sack of potatoes. Then he elbowed the next closest man to him, smashing his nose deep into his brainpan. The next man in line stepped forward with the steel stock of the AK-47 raised to strike the Frenchman, but Henri was too fast for the smaller man. He quickly lashed out with his foot and slammed it into the man’s left knee. Just as the guard collapsed Henri caught the mini AK-47 and tried to swing it around. He heard Guzman somewhere far off as he laughed and started to clap his hands in admiration. That was when a gun barrel slammed into the back of Farbeaux’s head, sending him to one knee and the purloined weapon skittering out of his reach.

“Your reputation and your prowess has been greatly undervalued, Señor Farbeaux,” Guzman said as he advanced farther into the room, still clapping his hands. “I thought maybe you would get one, possibly two of my men, but three? Outstanding!”

Sarah lowered Professor Stansfield’s head to the filthy floor and stood and ran to the bars. She didn’t understand what was happening or how Henri Farbeaux had found his way into the fix he was in. She saw Henri on one knee, dazed from the blow to his head as the animal Guzman clapped behind him. She watched as the drug lord grabbed Farbeaux by his blonde hair.

“To think you thought me the fool, señor. I will show you the price many have paid for underestimating me.” Guzman let go of the Frenchman’s hair and then nodded to his men.

Sarah cried out when ten men went to work on the archenemy of the Event Group. Henri tried to defend himself as best he could, even managing to take down three of them before he succumbed to the brutal kicks and blows to his head and body.

Sarah looked up at the Anaconda as he smiled and leaned against the whitewashed wall of her prison. She was lost on how to feel as Henri had obviously done something very stupid — he had stepped right into hell’s living room just to save her. How and why this came about she was now afraid she would never know.

“Stop it!” she called out.

Guzman looked over at the cell and directly at the small woman as she held on to the bars with her eyes wide and staring at Henri Farbeaux. His smile never wavered, but still he did not say anything. He did however get a curious look on his face as the grunts from the Frenchman diminished to almost nothing.

“Alto,” he said as he stepped away from the wall. “This man means a lot to you?” he asked Sarah.

Sarah let go of the cell bars and stepped back away from the Anaconda.

“Well little woman, he will soon die with you.” Guzman gave Farbeaux a final kick to his head and then gestured for his remaining men. “Place him in with those he came to see. Later we will have sport.” He looked at his watch. “I have no more time for this,” he said in Spanish, “Mama will be furious if I am late for dinner.”

Sarah watched as the small well-dressed man smiled again and, with a last look back at Sarah, stepped from the room.

Sarah saw Henri pulled roughly to his feet. He was bleeding almost everywhere and he was out cold as he was pushed toward her cell.

“You stupid son of a bitch, Henri, what in the hell were you thinking?” she said as Farbeaux moaned his reply and his eyes fluttered open just as the cell was unlocked.

“I … think … now would be … a … good time … for your boy scout … to make an appearance.” Colonel Henri Farbeaux passed out before he was unceremoniously thrown onto the cold floor at Sarah’s feet.

Sarah went to her knees and pulled a lock of Henri’s hair from his face. She shook her head as she saw how badly beaten he truly was.

“You and Jack piss me off more than any dozen men, you stupid Frenchman.” She looked up just as the cage door was locked behind the retreating guards. “And yes, I have no doubt Jack will be as dumb as you and try something just as foolish.”

She placed Henri’s head in her lap and smiled at him nonetheless. Farbeaux was still as she wiped some of the blood from his face and head. She was amazed at what he had done, not understanding the how or the why. Henri never gave a damn about anyone other than his dead wife, and now here he was giving up himself for her.

“What am I to make of you, Colonel?” Sarah touched Farbeaux’s cheek as he fell deeper into his bloody stupor. “You are the strangest bogeyman I have ever seen.”

Niles Compton stepped from the cockpit and nodded his head at Jack, Will, and Carl. “The pilot just received clearance from the tower to taxi. He filed a flight plan for San Antonio. We’ll circle for a bit and then declare a small-enough emergency to turn back. That means we should be on the ground here in Laredo in,” Niles looked at his watch, “exactly one hour. By that time either you’re across the border or in FBI custody.”

Jack nodded his head and then looked toward the rear of the aircraft where two of his men were quickly coming up the aisle with two large bags. Jack accepted the first and then looked at the army sergeant who had gathered their equipment.

“This everything?” he asked.

“Yes sir. The only item on your list we didn’t have is the satellite hookup. Dr. Golding said as long as you have a cell phone they should have no trouble with communications through our KH-11 Blackbird and Europa.”

Jack patted the sergeant on his shoulder. “That will have to do,” he said as he made one last check on the contents of the large black bag. The Blackbird he spoke of was the famous, but very old, KH-11 satellite that had come in handy on more than one occasion. All this meant that Niles was pulling in some assets that were meant for somewhere else. He looked at Everett who was checking the second bag. “Sergeant, you and the rest of the security team stay with the director. After the plane lands back here in Laredo, no one, and I do mean no one, gets near the aircraft until I return. Is that clear?”

The sergeant was soon joined by another army sergeant and the two marines.

“Sir, can we—”

“No,” Jack said and then softened somewhat. “No, Sergeant. This is a job for a small regiment, or two or three men, and I’m afraid the FBI and the Mexican government have a chokehold on the small-regiment thing today. Stay here and protect this aircraft.” The sergeant nodded his head. “Your volunteering is duly noted,” Jack said while looking at the marines also, “all of you.”

At that moment they heard the four engines of the old and venerable 707 start up. Everett closed the black bag and then gave Jack a thumbs-up.

“Boss, thanks for this,” Jack said holding his hand out to the director.

“Get her back, Colonel, we’ll hold off discussion of anything else until we get home to Nevada — if we have a home after this.” He smiled and shook Jack’s hand and then Mendenhall’s and Everett’s. “You better get below.”

With those last words the army sergeant and the two marines tore away a section of the carpeting just outside of the cockpit and then opened a small trapdoor.

“I sure hope the pilot has it in him,” Mendenhall said as he looked down into the blackness of the avionics compartment.

“Don’t worry Lieutenant, the pilot and Ryan are flying buddies,” Everett said as he tossed the second black bag down to Collins far below in the belly of the plane.

Mendenhall watched Everett slip down the small ladder and then looked at the director. “Is that crack about Ryan and this pilot supposed to make me feel better about all of this?”

Outside the aircraft the head of the Laredo FBI field office stepped from the hangar where the planning for the joint raid was being finalized. He saw the large 707 start to roll as one of his men handed him the phone. He was connected directly to his director in Washington, who in turn was relaying information to the president.

“Yes, sir, their aircraft is preparing for takeoff. They filed a flight plan for San Antonio,” the special agent said into his secure cell phone. “No, sir, no one left the aircraft. The colonel and his men are still onboard, yes.”

Suddenly the 707 started rolling and made a sharp turn in front of the hangar where the HRT unit and their Mexican counterpart were preparing for their raid across the border. The words of the FBI director and the president of the United States were drowned out by the piercing scream of the Boeing aircraft. With a smirking Niles Compton looking out of one of the passenger windows, the pilot applied his brakes when the 707 was directly in front of the agents and the hangar. He throttled all four of the large GE engines to near full power, making the wings shake and flutter. The special agent in charge was pushed back toward the open hangar door as a small hurricane of wind and noise buffeted everyone in the building. Men scrambled to close the hangar doors and the agents on the outside ducked behind the cover of the cars lining the front.

As the agents sought protection from the man-made gale force winds pummeling them, they failed to see three men scramble from the nose wheel compartment of the large plane where they had just torn away the insulation from the avionics room to enter. They ducked and ran for the cover of an idle Blackhawk.

The 707 pilot, a true friend of Jason Ryan, applied the last of his power to the four engines when one of the FBI agents braved a look over the hood of his Chevrolet. The wings were threatening to be ripped from the aircraft as they wagged up and down as if it were a giant bird. The brakes were overheating as the pilot saw three men scramble to a waiting car.

Inside the passenger compartment Niles Compton and a grinning Pete Golding watched as Jack, Carl, and Will Mendenhall pulled quickly out of the secure area just as the pilot pulled back on the aircraft’s four throttles. He cracked his window and then waved at the agents as if in apology. Fifteen field men of the FBI’s Laredo office finally stood after the man-made windstorm had stopped.

“Where did that bastard learn how to taxi an aircraft,” the lead agent asked as he placed the cell phone back to his ear. “Yes sir, sorry. No, their aircraft is taxiing and no one left the plane.”

Niles turned away from the small window and looked at Pete.

“Well, they’re on their way.”

Pete smiled as he took in his boss.

“Do you think I’ll be able to have access to Europa from the jail cell we’ll be sharing when the president finds out about this … again?”

“What makes you think the president will stop at throwing us in jail, Pete? It’s more likely he’ll line us up against the wall and shoot us.”

Pete nodded his head and smiled.

“Now that’s the way to go out.”

The most successful counterintelligence operations in history are conducted out of a state-of-the-art building that, thanks to the James Bond films, is currently one of the largest tourist attractions in all of London. From the outside, American, European, and Asian visitors to London can take snapshots and wonder how such a marvelous building could house a brilliant intelligence service and not somehow be much darker because of its intent.

Housed deep in the subbasement of the giant concrete and glass structure was a small and little-known office that housed several supercomputers that had but one function and one function only — to spy on the best friend that the United Kingdom had today — the United States of America. Certain protocols have been handed down from minister to minister over the years that have remained secret for over a century, long before America and Britain were allied together in a mutual defense mode that was brought on through necessity since World War II. Although spying on each other has been a foregone conclusion since the beginning, no one in either government would ever say the words to confirm it — it just wasn’t Cricket.

The code-breaker section of MI6, actually titled MI1, has a sub-branch that sits off in a far corner in the darkest recesses of the basement. This section had one specific reason for operations — spying on the cousins across the sea in their communications between law enforcement and intelligence services. It was here that three men were hustling about the room after several red-flag, coded communications from Langley, Virginia, the home of the Central Intelligence Agency, America’s version of MI6, had come in. Two key words and one name had been deciphered from five different communications from a field operation being conducted by the American Federal Bureau of Investigation and relayed through the CIA command center. One of the three men shook his head and slapped the keyboard on his computer.

“We get a red flag on the two words and one name and there’s nothing in the computer on it,” the man said in exasperation. “And what’s this bloody icon attached to the flag? I’ve never seen this before.”

Another man walked over with a computer printout and looked over the operator’s shoulder.

“You dolt, that flag means this whole thing gets bumped upstairs to ministry level.” The man frowned and looked closer at the icon that was flashing next to the red flag beside the two words and one name in the American communiqué. “What’s this?” he said as he reached for a book that listed all the department numbers and their corresponding computer terminals. “This is bloody strange,” he said as he laid the large book on the desk, “it says it not only goes upstairs, but we are to copy Department 1106, that’s SIS.”

“You mean it’s connected to not only internal security, but foreign as well — the Secret Intelligence Service?”

The man behind the operator straightened when he saw another icon start flashing beside the first two.

“This is far above our pay grade, mate. Look at this; it’s also to be forward to the Ministry of Defense, some office called Bluebell.”

“Why do I have the feeling we just uncorked a stinker here?” the operator said as the supervisor for the area just hung up his desk phone ten feet away from the two operators.

“Send it along to the three recipients,” he said as he turned in his chair with a white face and worried look. “Just get the damn thing out of this office.” The supervisor turned and ran a hand through his thinning hair and then removed his glasses. “Sometimes I hate this job.”

The first to receive the communiqué deciphered from the Americans was the head of SIS, Sir John Kinlow. When he opened the computer package from downstairs he didn’t exactly know what it was he was looking at. He knew because of the red flag, the special security numbers, and the key words that were passed along that this was information only available to certain members of British Intelligence. But he had never been briefed on anything such as this before in his five years on post. He knew only his computer terminal would have access to the material concerning the two key words and one name mentioned by the CIA and the FBI.

“Well, ’tis a boring night at any rate,” he said as he entered his security code and pulled up the file. Little did the president of the United States know, he had inadvertently passed the info to the British when he forwarded the information Niles Compton had passed to him. The code breakers received the information from the communiqués of the FBI and CIA when they informed the hostage rescue team of the history of the hacienda.

The head of the SIS read, and as he did his eyes widened. He whistled when he saw the original file date … September 3, 1900, the very turn of the century. He looked down at the key words that had set the security alarms off deep inside the code-breaking room downstairs. Perdition, Mexico, and finally the name mentioned, Lawrence Jackson Ambrose.

Sir John clicked on the heading for the file and started reading. By the time he was done it was near eight o’clock at night. While he had read the top-secret file, his secretary had buzzed several times without him answering the calls. Finally when she poked her head into his office he hastily waved her off without looking up from his computer screen. It wasn’t until he read the file another two times that he finally looked away and shook his head.

“What in the hell were they thinking back then,” he said to no one but himself. “What kind of bloody mess did we inherit?”

Another knock sounded at the door and this time the secretary came in without waiting. She saw Sir John looking as pale as she had ever seen him. The man had been practically euphoric for the past year since his office was instrumental in the American operation that killed the world’s leading terrorist, Osama bin Laden, and he hadn’t come down from that high for ten months — until tonight.

“Sir John, the minister of defense is on the line, and he is very adamant about speaking to you. He said it is of the highest priority.”

Sir John acted as though he didn’t hear his secretary. She came a few steps closer into the darkened office and then jumped when he suddenly straightened in his large chair and snatched up his phone, practically slamming his finger down on the flashing button.

“Kinlow,” he said not too delicately into the phone. “Yes, I just read it, several times as a matter of fact. Just how in the hell are we to hush this up without exposing this massive shit cake?”

The secretary watched Sir John start to rub his left temple and then he looked up and waved her out of the office as if a sudden plague had erupted at Vauxhall.

“Look, Wes, we cannot allow ourselves to be brought down by something like this. If even a smattering of this dirty business leaks out, the media would eat us alive … not counting our friends across the ocean. Could this possibly be real? I mean, my faith in everything has just gone tits up old boy.”

Sir John listened to the minister of defense and was soon joined in conference by the head of external intelligence, who had just been on the phone to the prime minister’s office.

“Do we have a consensus as to how we handle this mess?” the minister of MI5 asked his counterparts.

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” Sir John said into the phone, not believing the tale he had just read.

“Maybe the key words in the communiqué were a coincidence, Mexico and Perdition, but the name? You read the file gentlemen the same as I. Can we afford to ignore the name of Lawrence Jackson Ambrose? I think not — at least not after the horrid facts of this sordid affair. Great Britain would never live this down.”

“We cannot handle this mess ourselves as we cannot be connected to this if things blow up, and they always do. We need an outside source to deal with this,” said Sir John as he stood from his chair and paced a few steps away from his desk. “May I suggest we bring in our source at Langley? Maybe he can utilize the new teams they are putting together,” he said, not even wanting to mention the contact’s name. “The operators, after being suspended from activities the last five years, are back in business again. They are now being run by our friend at Langley. Let him get a handle on this thing and close it out for good. We’ll owe them something awful, but I see it as the only way.”

“Excellent,” answered the minister of defense. “Sir John, you are closest to our asset there. Can you get the ball rolling, as the Americans would say?”

“I think we best not use any American euphemisms for the time being; after all, if they find out what our good old government did back in the day, they may not be that pleased with us.” Sir John finally sat back down in his chair and regained some of the composure he was known for. “I just can’t believe they were capable of this kind of massive cover-up back then.”

“Think what you want. We need to settle this thing,” the head of foreign intelligence said.

Sir John nodded his head and absentmindedly hung up his phone without saying anything else and not even realizing the men on the other end of the phone couldn’t see his nod. He reached over and unlocked his right-hand drawer and pulled out a small book. He quickly ran his finger down a list of code names and numbers and then took a deep breath and made the call.

The special operations director for field incursions, or what amounted to the dirty-tricks department, a man that racked up favors from others in the intelligence community for cashing in at a later date, hung up his phone. He shook his head knowing that the Brits had screwed up royally on this one. He laughed. The whole thing was of minor concern to him.

The operations director flipped a switch on his computer and there appeared a coded e-mail from MI6 that he immediately opened and read. The details were all there; it was just missing the whys and what for’s, and those he really didn’t care about. He almost wanted to laugh. What kind of story were they trying to get him to believe? Oh, he would send the Black Team in alright. They’ll even destroy the serum and lab equipment if it’s all still there, but he will also learn the truth about what it is they were so afraid of across the water.

He finally reached for his phone and made the call to the Black Team that he and his superior had just reinstated as part of his small department. The team used to be a part of a corporate security department that worked for a defunct defense contractor, and they were known to be rather ruthless. He and his superior had seen a need in the future to bring this nightmare back into being, and now they would be sent on their first field assignment since they were brought back into the fold. What better way of testing these men than this little farce in Mexico? After all, his job was to be a sneaky, mean bastard and that meant everyone was fair game. He knew himself to be a true patriot.

The man who ran dirty tricks, Hiram Vickers, made the call to one of the most ruthless security teams in the history of the United States, now being run by a rogue element inside CIA at Langley and once thought destroyed — the Black Team, also known in American myth as — the Men in Black.

3

A half hour after Jack, Carl, and Mendenhall had made good their escape from the international airport, they found themselves at the checkpoint, ready to start their second unofficial invasion of Mexico. The border guard eyed them, and then after all the nervousness in the preceding minutes, he just waved them through with an admonition to spend as many dollars as they could while in Mexico. Everett had nodded his head, smiled, and made a drinking gesture at the bored border guard.

“What are Pete’s glossy eight-by-tens tellin’ you, Jack?” Everett asked as he checked his rearview mirrors out of paranoia.

“Well,” Collins said from the backseat of the stolen 2005 Chevy Blazer, “it looks like we’re going to get a little wet, and our knees may get scraped up some, but Pete and his female computer counterpart actually pulled something out of the official geological survey of Mexico.” Jack leaned forward as Everett drove and perched himself between Carl and Mendenhall and showed them what Pete Golding had found. “Here by the river, we have a culvert that runs from the Rio Grande ten miles inland almost directly into Perdition. The hacienda is damn near sitting right on it. Maybe it was used in the old days to feed river water to some sort of agriculture.”

Will took the old map first and studied it, and then he looked over the Predator intelligence picture.

“Colonel, this survey map is dated 1927.” Will half turned in his seat as Jack reached into the back and pulled out the bags they had packed back on the 707. “Do you think that old concrete culvert is still there?”

“The opening at the river is there, and I suspect it’s still used by illegals crossing the border. It’s watched by the U.S. Border Patrol, but not until after nightfall.” Jack quickly looked at his watch. “That means we have about fifteen minutes to get inside that thing before we start hearing helicopters coming down on us.”

“I take it our plan ends at that point?” Mendenhall asked, lowering the map and the photos.

“See Will, you hang around us long enough and you start figuring out how we work,” Everett said smiling as he turned off the main road and tore down a large side street that ran along the Rio Grande.

As Jack started passing over to Mendenhall their night clothing, body armor, and night vision scopes, his cell phone rang. He opened it and answered. He closed his eyes for a moment and then thanked the person on the other end.

“Ryan just came out of surgery. The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery. He’s already awake and wondering where everyone is.”

Mendenhall in the front seat looked out of the passenger window and sighed. His best friend was going to live, and he had a hard time not showing his commanding officers how close he and the navy aviator had become. Collins watched Will for a moment and then closed his large hand over Mendenhall’s shoulder. He never did hide feelings that well.

“The culvert should be right around here somewhere,” Everett said as he slowed the Blazer down to a crawl.

Collins looked back across the river and saw no traffic on the U.S. side of the border, but he knew that didn’t mean there weren’t eyes on them.

“Here we go,” Carl said as he pulled to a stop.

The culvert’s opening was hard to spot in the setting sun, but Everett was right, it was there half camouflaged by weeds and other river growth. As they started pulling on their body armor and other clothing, Will reached into their bag of tricks and pulled out his weapon of choice — a silenced, or suppressed equipped, German-made MP-5 submachine gun. Will called it his oldie but goody. He handed Collins and Everett their Berettas, and they equipped themselves with the weapon they had used most of their careers, the M-14 carbine, an M-16 variant that also came with suppressors. All three assault weapons were laser-sighting equipped. Everett had what Mendenhall called the captain’s ballsy weapon with the M203 grenade launcher attached, what the captain called his big negotiator. They each placed their night vision scopes onto their heads and then darkened their faces with greasepaint.

Everett watched Collins as he handed him the extra magazines of 5.56 ammunition and tossed Mendenhall six extra clips of nine-millimeter rounds for his MP-5.

“She’s still alive Jack,” Carl said as Collins stopped what he was doing and then just nodded his head.

“Then let’s get over there and make sure she stays that way.”

With that Everett took the lead and started for the culvert’s wide opening. He stopped short and quickly brought up his weapon. With his night vision scope raised up over his brow, he must have scared someone because there was a small yelp, and then Jack and Will heard a child start crying. Collins stepped forward and saw what had stopped Everett at the opening.

“I’ll be damned,” Mendenhall said as the last of the sun vanished.

Inside the culvert were about eight women, six children, and four very frightened men. They all had bundles of clothing and the men were wearing backpacks. Collins stepped forward, lowering his weapon.

“Hola,” he said and tried his best to smile. “Se habla English?” he asked as he saw two of the children were barefoot.

“Si,” the first man said as he stepped forward, “Inmigración?” the thin man asked as he removed his dirty and worn cowboy hat and half raised his hands. They all three noticed that he stepped in between the women and children and the heavily armed men he faced.

“No,” Jack said as he took in the frightened men and women. As far as he could see they weren’t being escorted by the slimy men that charged Mexicans their life’s savings to get them across the border. Collins reached into his black nylon pants and produced a pair of large wire cutters.

Everett and Mendenhall exchanged looks of curiosity.

Jack handed the man the cutters. “Good luck. Try crossing a mile or so down river; this place is watched after dark.”

The man hesitantly took the dykes from the strange and dark man in front of him, and then he nodded his head as Jack, followed by Everett and Mendenhall, squeezed past the family attempting to get across the border for new life in the United States.

“You never cease to amaze me, Colonel,” Will said as he lowered his night vision goggles.

“I can’t blame people for being poor and hungry and out of work, Lieutenant.”

With that small confrontation behind them, the three men invaded Mexico.

Sarah McIntire looked up as the door to the cell room opened. Several of the teenage girls whimpered and tried to bury themselves into the rear wall of their prison. Sarah turned to face them and held her index finger to her lips, trying to quiet the young and very frightened women. She laid the head of Henri Farbeaux gently onto the concrete floor just as Guzman stepped through into the light. He was followed by three of his men. The Anaconda stepped up to the old and rusty bars.

“Señora, I have a question for you,” he said as he smiled his best disarming smile. “Just who are you?”

“I’m a geologist,” Sarah answered, not allowing her eyes to shy away from the small man before her.

The Anaconda put a hand to his mouth and then lowered it after he had thought something through. “I find that hard to believe. First we have a retired lieutenant colonel from the French Army trying to rescue you … or buy you as it may be, and now we have a joint operation between your government and mine to conduct the same action, only on a far more violent scale, all on yours, or Professor Stansfield’s, behalf. Now I own the woman from Baylor, but I don’t own you. So, I’m afraid the popularity is strictly yours.”

Sarah stepped closer to the bars. “I really don’t give a flying fuck what you think. Your men shot and killed two friends of mine and two other good men. So if you would just ask your men to sit this one out, and you allow me out of this cell, I’ll kick your ass from here to the border.” Sarah actually grabbed the cell’s bars tight enough to make the skin on her fingers turn white with the pressure.

Juan Guzman laughed out loud and then looked back at his men. They didn’t take Sarah’s threat to their boss as well as he did. “If my madre heard you speak that way she would wash your mouth out with lye soap little woman.” He stepped closer and the smile disappeared. “The raid across the border will not happen, so lower your hopes. El presidente has had a change of heart. He has canceled all plans to rescue you. He instead will send out the local police to investigate the incident at the archeological site this afternoon, of which I have guaranteed him personally that all attempts will be made to get to the bottom of that despicable crime.”

“You slimy bastard,” Sarah said staring a hole through the fierce Anaconda. “At least get the professor and my friend to a doctor.”

“I have many questions to ask our French friend here, but,” he gestured to one of his men, stepped forward, and unlocked the cell, making Sarah step back. “Professor Stansfield I can assist right now.”

The cell door opened with a loud screech and Guzman stepped in, followed closely by his men. He easily reached out and removed the sawed-off shotgun from the first guard and then placed the barrel to the blonde professor’s head. He looked up and smiled at Sarah.

Second Lieutenant Sarah McIntire couldn’t believe the ruthlessness of what she was about to witness. Sarah started forward, trying desperately to get to Guzman, but she was grabbed by the ankle and stopped. She looked down and couldn’t believe the man holding her back from attempting to save Stansfield was Henri Farbeaux. He was holding on with both arms as she tried to kick away from him. Sarah stopped struggling when the sound of both barrels of the shotgun reverberated in the closed space, sending Sarah down to the ground. Out of frustration she started crying and nearly vomited when she looked up and saw that the professor from Baylor University no longer had most of her head.

“You murdering son of a bitch!” she cried as she lowered her head, kicking Henri’s grip free of her ankle.

“Now, Señora, remember this lesson when I come back to ask you more pointedly just who you are. And this act of being a simple geologist, well, as you can see, I don’t take disappointments well at all. This woman was an employee, as you are not, so I will be very straightforward with my questions to an outsider.” He tossed the still-smoking shotgun to the guard and then stepped out of the cell and started up the stairs.

The guard looked at Sarah and then gave Farbeaux a hard kick to his stomach, making him curl up into a bloody ball. Sarah noticed he didn’t even let out a grunt. He did however look up at the guard with murderous eyes. The fat man smiled and then followed his boss out of the cell and the basement.

Sarah lay on the floor a moment trying to regain some of her composure. Her ears were still ringing from the blast of the shotgun, but that ringing was also successfully drowning out the cries of the frightened young girls sitting on mattresses lining the walls.

“You … have a tendency … to drive men a little … mad, dear Sarah.”

“Shut up Henri, you stopped me. I could have—”

“Gotten yourself … killed,” said Henri, stopping her complaint before it was fully voiced. He tried to sit up but fell over.

Sarah eased herself over to the Frenchman and pulled his head off the cold floor. She remained silent for a moment as she cradled his head in her lap once more.

“And what are you going to do when he comes for these girls?” she asked, giving Farbeaux a small test of her own. She looked straight ahead, knowing in advance what his answer was going to be.

“Nothing, dear Sarah.” He opened his eyes and looked at her as she stared ahead. “They mean nothing to me.”

“I really find you heartless and disgusting sometimes, Colonel.”

“Thank … you, my dear … Sarah.”

Sarah looked down and saw that the Frenchman had passed out once more from his pain.

The three men had passed several openings in the ancient culvert as they made their way south toward Perdition’s Gate. Mendenhall used these large openings that were obviously used by the illegal immigrants for entering the concrete tube. As everyone passed he would hoist the small global positioning unit that was part of the equipment. Thus far they were on a straight line toward their final destination.

It was at one of these openings that Jack’s cell phone vibrated. He held up a black gloved hand and Carl and Will stopped behind him, taking the opportunity to drink some vitamin water. Jack opened the phone as he drank energy drink from a small aluminum package.

“Colonel, we’ve landed back at the airport. Imagine our surprise to see that the hostage rescue team hasn’t budged from the hangar. The Mexican element is no longer on station. Jack, their mission is on hold.” Niles Compton became silent after delivering the bad news.

“There goes our cover,” he said as he angrily tossed the energy drink into the moving water at his feet.

Everett glanced at Mendenhall and saw the young lieutenant just shake his head, knowing without being told that the diversion they had hoped for was no longer an option.

“Jack, I think I should come clean with the president. He could possibly get this Guzman’s attention and give you some time to move in.”

“That would end up costing you your job. No, I’m sending Will and Carl back now.”

Everett smiled and shook his head. He set his jaw, a look Collins knew well. “Tell Dr. Compton that I quit.”

“Me too,” Will added as he tried to get comfortable in the curving tune of the culvert.

Collins shook his head. “Okay, we’re going ahead; do what you can without letting the president know you were involved. This is my thing and I’ll be the only one to hang for it.” Jack closed the cell phone and looked at the other two men who waited for his angry rebuke at their failing to follow his orders. He opened his mouth to speak, but Everett stopped him by holding up his own gloved hand. No words needed to be exchanged after that.

Colonel Jack Collins nodded his thanks and then turned to finish the last three miles to Perdition.

Niles waited in front of the large-screen television for his call to be answered. It didn’t take the president long.

“I answer my phone, but you don’t answer yours. Is that the way things work now, Niles?”

“You have my apologies, we…,” Niles paused and removed his glasses, “… I was in the air as a diversion for Colonel Collins and his two men to leave the aircraft.”

The president looked through the camera on top of the monitor on his small laptop inside the Oval Office and didn’t say a word. He waited.

“My orders,” Niles finally said. “I think it was wrong of you not to allow me to use the assets of my department to rescue one of my people. And now that this rescue mission has been suspended, delayed, I don’t believe you ever had a handle on the situation, at least as well as you thought you did.”

The president stared at the face of the best friend he ever had. The polar opposite of himself in most everything except politics, Niles usually knew just how far he could push his buddy from their college days. And as usual, his conscience, as he called Compton while by himself, was right.

“The president of Mexico is juggling too much. Hell, he’s hanging on to power by the skin of his teeth. This Guzman has a long reach and the whole of the Mexican government is terrified of him.”

“This is clearly an act of war if they are allowing this to continue unchecked,” Compton said

“Baldy, they don’t believe young McIntire is even on his property any longer. They say she’s already been moved.”

“But we—”

The president held his hand up. “We know Guzman is lying, Baldy. That hacienda is now covered by more cameras than they had at last year’s Superbowl.” The president closed his eyes while he thought a moment. He opened them and then looked at his friend two thousand miles away in Laredo. “This madman thinks he’s immune, that we have our hands tied. And he’s right to a point. With Department 5656 so black in nature, Congress would hang me in front of the Capitol for sending in an armed force over there for a purely law enforcement issue.” The president shook his head angrily and held up his hand once more when he saw that Niles was about to explode.

Compton was joined by Pete Golding at the communications console. He sat out of picture range and placed his hand on the director’s arm to calm him down.

“If this fails, of course you have my resignation.”

“Resign? No, that won’t happen. If you attempt it I will fire and then whoever else I need to fire, and then order you back to the Group without some of your key people. Is sneaky little bastard Pete Golding there listening? I know he is, so he’s witness to what I say. And if for one minute you don’t think I have the power to do it, just try me Director Compton. Friends are damned. And I want to speak with Colonel Collins if he gets out of this mess without getting wacked in Mexico. Now, what can I do to assist the colonel and get my people back safely?”

Niles dipped his head in thanks.

“Remember Baldy, they’re also my people, not just yours.”

Collins, Mendenhall, and Everett stopped to take a breath. They were muddy and filthy and because at several points in the long-winding fresh-water culvert they had encountered age-old cave-ins and a narrowing of the pipe itself, their backs ached, and all three were feeling the cramps in their legs.

“They don’t describe things like this in all those, ‘Be All You Can Be’ or ‘Army of One’ commercials, do they Lieutenant?” Everett said smiling as he removed a small black box from Jack’s backpack. He opened the box and then quickly removed a small flashlight-looking device attached to the box by a long cord.

“According to GPS we’re about a half a mile from the hacienda. It’s time to see just how much company we have waiting for us out there,” Everett said as he spied the broken culvert a few feet ahead of them. Jack only nodded his agreement.

As Carl positioned himself near the break, he lowered his night vision goggles and slowly eased himself upward toward the now star-filled sky above them. As his head came free of the underground world, he brought the heat-sensing probe up and pointed it toward the spot he hoped the hacienda was located. Down below him Jack wiped sweat from his face and brought the small LCD monitor online. His heart sank when, one by one, each of the roving patrols of Guzman’s guards appeared as a bright blob of red, yellow, and white heat. Collins hissed as Will looked over his shoulder.

“How are we looking?” Everett whispered from above them.

Jack could only lower the monitor back into the small black box and then in anger kick it away.

“What was I thinking?” he asked no one but himself.

Everett eased himself back down into the culvert and then looked from Mendenhall to the colonel.

“What’s wrong now,” he said as he coiled up the long cord and replaced the heat sensor back on its clip on the side of the black box.

“At least two hundred men, between us and the hacienda,” Mendenhall answered for Jack. Will shook his head at Everett, not wanting the colonel to see the gesture — one of hopelessness. He then moved off farther down the culvert toward Perdition.

Jack was thinking furiously when Mendenhall returned. “More good news here — the culvert ends. We have a massive collapse of the concrete and it’s pretty much filled in ahead.”

Collins lowered his head and angrily slapped at his wool cap, and pulling it free of his head along with the night vision goggles. Everett was also lost for words. He knew they were trained to think on the fly, to improvise; that’s how Special Forces operatives thought. But now they were all out of options. To make a run on the hacienda through all of that open space was suicide — especially against well-armed men that basically used the same night equipment as themselves.

“I’m all out of ideas,” Collins said as he stared at the running water beneath his feet.

Everett thought as hard as he could, but he could see no way out of their dilemma. He thought the colonel was not going to say anything, when Jack suddenly removed his right-hand glove and then shoved it into the flowing water at his feet. The small stream from the Rio Grande was moving at a pretty good clip south, toward the hacienda.

“Will, if the culvert is collapsed ahead, where in the hell is this water disappearing to?” he asked as he replaced his cap and night vision goggles and then lowered them and moved off to the spot Mendenhall had been at earlier.

Everett gave Will a curious look and then followed Jack. Mendenhall, instead of going with his commanding officers, leaned once more against the old and cracked concrete of the culvert and pulled out another foil container of energy drink.

When Everett caught up with Jack twenty feet farther along the culvert, he saw the colonel was looking down at the water as it disappeared about a foot before the cave-in.

“Look at this,” he said without looking up at Everett. “Where in the hell is this water draining off to?”

“It could be anything, Jack. Maybe there’s a fault under the old culvert.

“But wouldn’t it be—”

Before Jack could state his own opinion on the disappearing stream, they both heard a loud crack and then the vibration hit them and they felt the cave-in. Collins knew immediately what had happened and bending over ran past Everett. When he got to the spot they had just been he raised his goggles and then quickly turned on a small flashlight and panned it around through the swirling dust. Everett hurried in behind him, and Jack had to put his hand out to stop Carl before he fell into the large hole that had appeared at the very spot they had been just a moment before.

“Damn, Will, are you alive down there?” Collins asked as he leaned over the hole where the water was falling on a prone shape about ten feet below them. He saw movement.

“Yeah, I hit my goddamn tailbone though, and I bit my tongue. Other than that, I think I’m in one piece.”

“What in the hell did you fall into?”

Jack saw a light come on far below and then he saw Mendenhall go to his knees in the gathering water as it fell into the hole from above.

“A tunnel,” he called up through the swirling dust. He saw something dug into the side of the tunnel and then plucked it from the wall. “It’s a reinforced tunnel, and it’s an old one, Colonel,” he said as he leaned back and heaved the object up and through the hole where Collins caught it.

“A lantern,” Jack said as he looked it over and then handed it to Everett.

The lantern had an old reflection dish attached to its back. They all knew that the reflector was once used to add enhanced light to the otherwise weak oil-filled lantern.

“This is over a hundred years old,” Everett said. “We have so many in our vaults at the Group that I would recognize them anywhere.”

Down below Jack watched as Mendenhall limped off toward the south. He knew it wasn’t prudent to start shouting in the enclosed space, so he would have to be patient while the lieutenant did his job — one that he was very good at. It only took a few minutes for Will to return — the longest few minutes of Jack’s life. Mendenhall looked up at the two officers as they waited for his word.

“You’re not going to believe this one, Colonel. We have a large door down here. It’s half buried, but damn, it’s a door to somewhere.”

Jack shook his head and then without hesitation made the jump down to join Mendenhall. Everett quickly followed. When Collins examined the tunnel he saw that it was well worn and expertly constructed. Every few feet there were old timbers supporting the roof and walls of the excavation. Every ten feet or so there was another oil lantern half dug into the dirt wall. He used his flashlight to examine the door Mendenhall had found. It was buried almost to the top with a small cave-in that happened many years before their arrival on site. Jack tossed his light to Will and then started scraping dirt away. Everett joined him while Mendenhall kept the light on them both. Using the stock of his weapon, Carl made more headway than Jack and they soon had the old, wooden door uncovered.

“The lady or the tiger?” Everett quipped as he tried the old and rusty latch.

“I’m betting on the lady,” Jack said hoping beyond hope it was a secret way into Perdition.

Carl tugged on the door, but it refused to budge. He gripped the old steel handle with both gloved hands and tried again. This time the door opened so suddenly that it caught Everett unawares. The cascade of sand and dirt almost covered him before Jack could pull him free of the avalanche of debris from the opposite side of the wooden door.

Mendenhall stepped forward and his eyes widened. In the greenish hue of the ambient-light goggles a secret underground world opened up beyond the door. He raised his goggles and brought his flashlight up and shined it around. The dust was thick, but that didn’t stop Will from seeing an amazing site. It looked like an ancient, underground laboratory. He recognized items used in the labs back at the Group and many more things that were just as unfamiliar to him. Jack and Everett added their light to the strange scene in front of them.

“What in the hell did we just open up?” Will asked as his light played over tables, glassware, and in one corner of the concrete-lined room, barrels upon barrels of something staked three high.

Collins stepped into the room over the large mound of dirt and sand that had buried the door on both sides. He quickly shut down his flashlight and then gestured for Everett and Mendenhall to do the same. He placed his hand with fingers curled inward as an order to cease all movement. He was looking up at the high ceiling above their heads. He looked back at the two men who had frozen just inside the door. Above them there was light filtering through small cracks in the wooden planks directly over their heads. Jack tapped his right ear and pointed, and that’s when Carl and Will heard it. It was the sound of women weeping.

Before Jack could turn and say anything, he flipped on his light once more when his hackles rose. He played the light around the large laboratory, and then the beam slicing through the swirling dust struck upon an even more eerie sight. There a few feet farther into the room was another cave-in. And at the edges of the pile of dirt, sand, and concrete were the remains of khaki-colored leggings. They were old; possibly turn-of-the-century old. The boots were time worn and brown, and that made Collins aware that they had stumbled into something that the drug kingpin didn’t know about his house south of the border: a secret and long-buried site that had once been a laboratory for an American scientist named Professor Lawrence Jackson Ambrose.

Above their heads they heard more cries and whimpers from many, many women.

“I have a feeling that we have both, the lady, or ladies,” and as he heard the steps of heavy boots walk directly over their heads, Jack added, “and the tiger.”

“Well,” Everett said easing back the charging handle of his automatic weapon, “I didn’t put on my best suit to stand here looking stupid.”

Jack nodded his head and then started screwing a suppressor onto his nine millimeter.

“Let’s see what kind of quality help the Anaconda has at his disposal.”

After searching the collapsed areas, a space Everett had dubbed Mr. Wizard’s laboratory, Jack became convinced there may be no way up through the flooring except to blow their way through, which wouldn’t be too stealthy at all. He lowered his suppressed Beretta, raised the ambient-light goggles, and then wiped the sweat from his brow. He heard Will in the far corner digging at the area where the body lay covered by debris from the one-hundred-year-old collapse of the floor above them.

“Jack, whoever repaired the floor above this one never realized anything was down here. That’s my best guess. They must have covered up any access to this area during their repairs. Look up there. Half the flooring is wood, and the half closest to the walls is concrete.” Carl swiped at the sweat he had built up in the search.

“Jesus Christ!” Mendenhall hissed as he stumbled backward from where he had been digging out the body.

Jack flinched at the loudness of Mendenhall’s frightened voice.

Will realized his mistake by crying out, but made no apologies as he straightened up and then placed his hands on his knees. Everett and Collins joined him and then looked around to make sure any extra lighting they put on the scene would not be seen through the cracks in the flooring over their heads. Satisfied, both men added their flashlights to the one Mendenhall had shining on the collapse.

“You tell me just what in the hell that is?” Will said shining his light on a large lump next to the skeletal remains of the uniformed soldier he had pulled free. He was taking deep breaths in an attempt to get his fear under control. The white coat was in tatters and through the swirling dust they could see a skull that was horribly malformed. The teeth in the grinning skull were long and crooked. But what had frightened Will so much were the thick, long, and beastly looking arm bones that were exposed through the torn and aged white coat. The eye sockets of the remains were overly large and the mouth that held the long, sharp teeth was the same.

“Whoa,” Everett said, conscious to the fact of keeping his voice low. He held his light on the scene as Collins bent low to inspect Will’s find.

Jack could make out the remains of a beard, the course hair of which was lying next to the skull. There were bits and pieces of it still clinging to the lower jaw line of the remains. All in all Collins had only seen something like this a few other times and that was because they had remains such as these in the vaults deep inside the Event Group compound in Nevada. They were nearly matching the skeletal remains of what is known as Neanderthal Man. Only this skeleton was much larger than the small specimens the Group had inside the vaults. He moved his light to the remains of the uniformed skeleton.

“Jack, are you seeing what I see?” Everett said as Will stepped up and joined them, adding his light to theirs.

Indeed Jack was seeing the large teeth marks on the remains of the much smaller skeleton. Through the ragged and aged blouse of the soldier, both arms had been snapped in two and the teeth marks upon the bone were evident.

“I don’t think a cave-in can explain that,” Collins said as he duckwalked forward and then pulled the upper torso of the remains free of the dirt and sand. He saw something shiny in the flashlight’s beam. “Look at this,” he said as he raised the collar so Will and Carl could see. There was a U.S. button on the left collar and on the epaulet was the emblem Jack recognized immediately. It was a shield with the upper half of a rearing horse. The walking bear on top of the shield gave the unit its identity: “The 8th Cavalry regiment.”

“Then I guess the report from Pete was accurate enough,” Everett said, his eyes not moving from the large bite indentations in the bone of the hundred-year-old remains.

Jack noticed something in the collapsed debris and reached out and picked it up. It was a large chunk of old concrete. He lifted it to his nose and smelled. He then tossed the small piece to Everett who did the same.

“Dynamite, or something close to it,” Carl said as he found others near the two bodies. As he examined the piece of concrete, he noticed a strap of some kind poking from the remains of the rubble. He dropped the scorched remains of old flooring and reached down and tugged on the strap. He saw that the old piece of coarse material was starting to rip away so he went to his knees and dug out not only the strap, but a cracked and weathered saddlebag. He saw the U.S. marking on the double bag and then opened it up, shining his flashlight inside. His eyes widened as he saw the gleaming, glistening objects inside. Carl stepped away from Jack and Mendenhall and toward the far wall of the old laboratory. He sat the bag down easily and then stepped away.

“What is it?” Collins asked as he noticed the careful way Carl handled the old saddlebag.

“Oh, about twenty sticks of old dynamite, with enough nitroglycerine sweating out of it to blow this room to bits.”

“That’s the nice thing about dynamite; it only gets better with age.”

“What do you make of these, Colonel?” Mendenhall said as he stepped over to several of the undamaged wooden barrels. He bent over and with his gloved hand started to pick up some of the fallen contents, but before he could Jack reached out and stayed his hand. Collins just shook his head. “They look like dried flowers,” he said and then saw Jack’s eyes as he took in barrel upon barrel of the same foul-smelling and fermenting dry goods. Mendenhall was suddenly glad the colonel had stopped him from touching the contents.

“Jack, this stuff, it looks like poppies, but not anything I have ever seen before,” Everett said as he examined more of the sealed barrels.

“Maybe Guzman is producing heroin down here,” Will offered.

“Not unless his great grandfather was down here making it.” Jack straightened and looked around the large room, only half of which they could see due to the cave-in. His light illuminated a hundred glass jars on shelves that had survived the eruption. Then he moved the light to a small table with many steel syringes upon its top. He was about to comment when there was a loud noise that came through the floorboards from above. Heavy boots of more than just a few men had entered the basement above them.

“I will ask one last time. Who you work for? My contacts at your front company, Texaco, say they have never heard of you.”

Jack tried to trace the voice but ran into the thickest part of the cave-in. He tracked the sound with his Beretta aimed but knew he could blindly shoot up through the floorboards.

“Then you leave me no choice. I will leave my brother Eduardo here to ask again. He will not be as polite.”

All three men below the voices heard the men above turn and again vanish up what must have been a set of stairs.

“I have looked forward to this since we took you this afternoon,” the deeper voice said as the sound of keys was heard through the cracks in the wood flooring.

“You’re the son of a bitch that shot my friend at the excavation site.”

Jack closed his eyes as he heard the female voice. Everett patted Collins on the shoulder and nodded his head. Sarah was alive. The smile immediately left Carl’s face when they heard the keys enter the lock.

“Sí, I shot your friends, just as I am going to start shooting everyone in this cell, starting with the girls you seemed destined to protect.” The creaking of the cell door opening was heard, and Jack’s face became a set piece of rage just as the screams came from women they could not see.

Jack heard a slap and a grunt and he assumed Sarah had just been struck. Then he heard, “Ah, ever the hero, señor.” They all heard a thud and then a loud grunt.

“Stop it!” came Sarah’s voice.

“That’s the bastard that killed Udall and shot Ryan,” Mendenhall hissed.

“Quiet Lieutenant,” Everett hissed.

Will stormed off to the far wall where the glass jars of liquid and some of the powders were stored. He felt like striking out and slapping all of them onto the floor.

Collins knew he had to chance it. He holstered his nine millimeter, raised the M-14 carbine, and aimed it at the old wood flooring above, ready to cut his way through. Everett reached out and placed an old rickety stool beneath the spot where Jack was about to make a brand-new doorway.

“No,” Will said almost not loud enough to stop them.

Collins angrily lowered the weapon and then pointed to a section of the flooring above the stored jars on the shelving against the far wall. Somehow they had missed that area in their recent search. As they looked, Mendenhall was pointing at a spot that had two missing planks in the flooring. Jack closed his eyes, thankful that Will had found what he had. He nodded. He and Everett went over to the spot and looked up. They could see the ceiling on the floor above. There were no obstacles blocking their sight. They had a way in, and it was far enough away from the cell above to give them the advantage.

“Okay, we move before this asshole’s friends return. I need a boost,” Collins said looking at Everett, who looked down, not wanting to meet Jack’s eyes.

“Will is the better shot, Jack.” Everett looked from the colonel to the younger lieutenant.

“Besides, that pig shot my friend,” Mendenhall said as he reached out and took Jack’s nine millimeter out of its holster. He handed over his MP-5 and then made sure he had a round chambered in the Beretta. He also twisted on the large suppressor at the barrel’s tip to make sure it hadn’t worked its way loose since they entered the culvert.

Collins nodded his head as he realized that in the past five years Mendenhall had surpassed him and Everett both at the gun range. The lieutenant was now the best shot he had ever trained.

“Don’t you miss,” Everett said before Jack could. “Or don’t come back,” said Jack, trying to get Will to relax.

Mendenhall dipped his head and then took a deep breath. “I’ve counted three hanging light fixtures through the cracks in the flooring. Do you think you old guys can take them out through an inch of wood?”

The two men didn’t respond but did give Will a dirty look.

“Good. I’ll wait until it’s dark before I take that slimy prick out.”

Everett bent to one knee and cupped his hands together. “If you fuck this up, I’ll be the first to tell Ryan you missed the guy who shot him.”

After Will nodded his head, he took a few more breaths and then stepped into the hands of the captain. Then he was up and through the empty space where the planks were missing. Everett quickly scrambled away after making sure Mendenhall didn’t have to beat a hasty retreat.

“I figure you take out the light here. I’ll get the one closest to the cell, and then we meet to take out the middle one. The darkness should give Will the time and advantage he needs.”

“Right,” Everett said as he raised his M-14 at the gap between the planks above. “Jack, what about the girls in the cell?”

“Everyone goes home tonight.”

Carl nodded his head and then took up his station as Jack moved to the closest spot he could get, standing right over the hundred-year-old corpses. He looked down at the strange malformed shape of the white-coated man, and he too took his breaths and then aimed as best he could, knowing it would take more than one shot to douse the light above. Just as he aimed he heard more screams from above.

Collins gave Everett the nod he was waiting for, and a moment later all hell broke loose at Perdition Hacienda.

The brother of Juan Guzman kicked Farbeaux as hard as he could when the Frenchman had once more tried to trip him up. Sarah lashed out with her hand and that was when the man hit her across the bridge of the nose with his automatic, eliciting a round of screams from the teenage girls cowering against the wall inside the cell. The man smiled and then easily reached out and plucked a young Mexican girl up by her black hair. Sarah swiped blood away from her broken nose and tried to clear her eyes of the tears that had formed. Farbeaux was actually trying to stand and had made it to one knee when the dark eyes of his soon-to-be killer turned and smiled at his feeble attempt. He aimed the automatic at Henri as the struggling girl in his other hand kicked and screamed.

“Goodbye señor,” he said just as the flooring beneath their feet erupted in a loud splintering sound. Wood chips flew in all directions as six rounds penetrated the floor beneath them. The light only a few feet away exploded as the heavy rounds found their mark at just the same moment the light farther down the corridor was hit from below.

As the man’s eyes widened, he saw Sarah out of the corner of his peripheral vision dive on top of Farbeaux, shielding him with her own body. The man quickly took aim as the third and middle light blew up as more than fifteen high-velocity rounds smashed through the wood. The cell area went completely black with the exception of the weak lighting farther down the long corridor.

As Guzman’s brother aimed his weapon just as the lights were extinguished, Sarah just knew she was about to feel several of the animal’s bullets slam into her back as she covered the Frenchman. Instead, she felt and heard a whizzing sound and at the same moment a loud clacking noise. She felt the wetness strike her body from above and she heard the girl her would-be killer was holding scream again. There was a loud thump and as Sarah’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting emanating from down the hallway, she saw the body of Guzman’s brother fall in front of her and Farbeaux. He still had the girl’s hair gripped in his right hand. Sarah saw the top of the man’s head was now gone.

She heard a noise not far from the cell and then the hastily whispered words. “Clear!” Sarah felt like yelling when she saw the dark shape take form as the man advanced toward the cell. She could see the outline of the shape and a reflection of light on glass and then she knew who it was.

“Will,” she said as she unceremoniously pushed Henri aside and ran to the cell door.

“Hey, what’s up?” Mendenhall said as she started working the key that was still dangling from the lock. “Uh, would you mind telling your young friend there she can stop screaming for the moment? There’s still plenty to do tonight, so she’ll probably have chances to scream all she wants,” Mendenhall said as the cell door creaked open.

“God,” she said as she took Will into her arms and hugged him tightly. “It’s good to see you. How in the hell did you find me, and how did you get in?”

Mendenhall pushed her back a step and raised the ambient-light goggles. “Well, the colonel was so pissed that you stood him and his mother up, he came personally to kick your ass.”

That was when Sarah saw the two figures standing twenty feet away from the cell. Everett raised his goggles up and then started brushing wood chips from his shoulders. The man standing to her direct front also removed his night vision equipment.

“Strange company you’re keeping these days,” Collins said as his eyes moved from Sarah to the man trying to pick himself up off the floor.

Sarah ran through the cell door and hugged Jack as if she had never hugged anyone before.

“Hey, hey, there’s not a lot of time here; gather these girls up.”

Sarah pushed back from Collins and looked into his eyes. “Don’t tell me you guys are alone?”

“Yes, please don’t tell us that, Colonel.”

Jack looked from Sarah to the man using the bars as a brace to stand.

“He came here specifically to get me out, Jack,” Sarah said, taking his arm before he could enter the cell.

“I bet he did,” he answered as he shook Sarah’s hand from his, stepped inside the cell, and assisted the Frenchman to his feet.

On his way past McIntire, Everett shoved a white handkerchief into her hand. “In case you didn’t notice, your nose is broken.” Sarah took it and swiped at her painful break. Everett and Mendenhall stepped in behind Jack and hurriedly gestured for the young girls to be quiet and get the hell out of there. They were young, but they also knew it was time to go. Sixteen girls ran for the cell door all at once, pushing Jack and Farbeaux out of the way as they scrambled into the corridor.

“Jack, you didn’t answer me. Are you guys the cavalry?”

“Honey, I’m afraid the only cavalry here tonight has been dead for close to a hundred years.”

Everett walked past her and a stunned Farbeaux who had his arm around Jack’s shoulder as he too was removed from the cell.

“We are what you would call shorthanded, and probably out of work.”

Sarah sighed as she followed the men and young girls.

“Again, Jack?”

The girls were lowered one at a time through the missing floorboards. It was painstakingly slow. Farbeaux came to as he was held upright by Collins and looked around quizzically. He tried to focus on Jack’s face and then saw Mendenhall as he lowered Sarah through the small space.

“I thought you had more friends than this Colonel,” Henri said as he winced at the attempt at humor.

“Yeah, but with the three I have here, it still makes three more than you have, Henri.”

“Touché, Colonel,” Henri said and then hung his head again as his arm relaxed around Jack’s shoulder.

Everett, who was watching the cell area, poked his head around the corner. “We have company coming down the stairs, and it sounds like whoever it is has more than just three friends with him, Jack.”

“The gentleman who is coming … is not a particularly nice person, Colonel,” Farbeaux said as he again tried to clear his head.

Collins adjusted the Frenchman’s weight and then looked back and nodded at Everett.

“Is that your expert opinion?”

“Indeed. Perhaps you better give me one of those weapons you’re … so fond of … carrying.”

“Give it a rest Henri. Right now you couldn’t see what it was I handed you. In case you didn’t know it, you’ve got one hell of a concussion.”

Farbeaux finally managed to get his head up and then looked at Collins. “And that is … your expert … medical opinion?”

Jack shook his head. “When one bleeds out of his ears, Colonel, the diagnosis is pretty damn plain,” Collins answered as he placed Henri behind one of the large barrels lining the wall. He removed his nine millimeter and handed it to the Frenchman. “What the hell, when Mr. Everett opens up, at least add some noise with that thing and make people duck … make them duck.”

Farbeaux squinted and then half smiled. “Your confidence in my military prowess is … overwhelming, Jack.”

Farbeaux watched as Jack left to join Everett, charging a round into the suppressed M-14 carbine.

The lights being out gave them a small tactical advantage. But Collins suspected that Guzman wasn’t the type of leader who favored saving the lives of his men, so he knew they couldn’t make it so expensive that the Anaconda would back off.

As Jack took aim slightly above Everett, who was on one knee with his ambient-light goggles already down, he looked at his friend.

“We hit ’em hard with no warning. We pile up their bodies until they can’t come through.”

“Good plan … I guess,” Everett said as he removed the safety on his carbine. “Okay, they’re on the last set of stairs.”

The pounding of feet was louder and then they heard before they saw the first man as he gained the bottom floor. Collins placed his hand on Everett, staying him from firing at the first one.

Through the greenish light of their goggles they saw the man stop and stare into the darkness of the now empty cell. He turned just as the Anaconda himself entered the subbasement. Jack recognized him immediately and aimed for his head. Just at that moment the lead man saw the danger and jumped in front of Guzman. The first silenced round, which in the closed space of the subbasement wasn’t silent at all, struck the man in the back of his head just as Everett fired.

“Damn it,” Jack hissed as he saw Guzman go down with his dead guard draped over him.

They all heard rapid-fire Spanish coming from the darkness ahead and more men flooded through the large open staircase.

That was when Collins and Everett opened up in earnest. They took the first four with no problem and then saw the next two men start to drag the dazed Guzman out from under the dead man covering him. Jack aimed and dropped one, but the other stayed up even as Everett’s next three rounds struck him in the torso. His weight falling backward was enough to get the Anaconda near the stairway door where more hands lifted him and pulled him to safety.

“There goes the quick solution,” Everett said as he fired another three-round burst at the men streaming through the door. They were now taking cover on the far side of the old cell. Rounds were pinging off the steel and chipping large chunks of old concrete and adobe from the walls as Jack and Carl laid down a withering fire on the attackers.

Just as Collins’s first magazine emptied, Guzman’s men started to return fire at a far more rapid rate than either career soldier would have given them credit for. Bullets started shattering the corner of the wall that was covering them as Everett stopped to reload.

“Damn fine shooting in the dark,” Everett said as he slammed home another thirty-round magazine.

“Remember, Captain, these … men have been … fighting a real war down here for … nearly five … years.”

Carl chanced a look behind him and saw that Farbeaux had managed to crawl forward and was actually trying to aim the Beretta in the direction of the attack. As he shook his head and turned to fire, Henri’s aim proved to be as good as either Jack’s or his own as three men fell inside of the cell.

With the flare of the enemy weapons, Jack raised his goggles and then tossed them away, as did Everett. The bright flashes were overwhelming the ambient-light devices and they were firing blind.

Suddenly they heard footsteps directly over their heads and without thinking it through, Collins pulled Everett backward by the body armor covering his back. As they fell back, Henri saw what was happening and fired the remaining rounds in the nine millimeter and then rolled to join his two allies.

Just as they cleared the area, a loud explosion rocked the subbasement, sending wood and concrete downward in a killing arc of shrapnel.

“Damn cheaters,” Everett said as he rose and emptied another magazine up and into the smoldering hole that had just been opened up above them.

As Jack added fire to the new opening, they heard another, far louder weapon open up next to them. Will Mendenhall had joined the fight with his MP-5. He sprayed the first fifteen rounds at the men trying to advance through the corridor and then raised the hot and smoking weapon at the same spot Everett and Collins were firing at. As he stopped to change magazines he slapped Everett on the shoulder.

“Time to go! Sarah has the girls heading down the tunnel!”

“Right,” Everett said as he stopped firing and then unceremoniously grabbed the wounded Farbeaux by the collar and started dragging him toward the missing floorboards.

There was another explosion and a hole magically appeared just in front of the cell where Guzman’s men had taken cover. Collins heard something fall through the opening as the gunfire let up and the Anaconda’s men saw what had been thrown into the lower floor. They tried to scramble out, but it was too late. The grenade detonated and men were thrown in every direction.

“Now that’s a real nice guy,” Mendenhall said as he added bullets to the shrapnel near the darkened cell area.

“I don’t think I want to be here when this asshole gets serious. Go Will, go!”

Mendenhall followed Jack’s orders and rolled halfway to the hole in the wooden flooring. He waited as Everett shoved Farbeaux roughly through the opening and then jumped after him. Will heard more men pouring into the basement from the stairs and even saw two or three fall through the second hole they had made. He started to lower himself when he saw a shotgun barrel poke through the blast hole directly where they had been a moment before. He started sliding into the hole before he could aim. Jack was about to be shot from above as Will fired blindly upward as he vanished through the floorboards. One of the rounds hit the man aiming his lethal weapon at the top of his head. Collins never knew how close he had come to having his head blown off as he jumped in after Mendenhall.

Collins missed landing on Mendenhall by a mere foot. He rolled and came up inside the old laboratory. He fired two more times at the spot where he had just jumped, but that didn’t stop one of Guzman’s men from getting through the missing floorboards. He saw the man struggling with something. Jack aimed and fired, but nothing happened. The man struggled to his knees and then raised his right arm into the air. As Collins froze for the briefest of moments, two aimed rounds struck the man in the neck and chest, dropping him, but not before he managed to do what he came to do. Henri Farbeaux immediately pulled Jack down.

“Grenade!” the Frenchman shouted.

Everett and Mendenhall immediately dove for cover as the small round object sailed over their heads and landed next to the excavated hole they had entered the old laboratory through. The grenade exploded. Several small pieces of shrapnel struck Everett in the shoulder and Will in the right arm. But they would have considered themselves lucky if that had been all the damage done. The bulk of the grenade’s power smashed against the dirt opening to the lab, collapsing the ceiling and sending wood reinforcement and dirt cascading down, blocking their escape.

Jack shook himself and then stood, pulling Henri up as he did. “Thanks, Colonel.”

Farbeaux didn’t answer as he took in the mess around him. Through the smoke and dust he saw Everett and Mendenhall stand and look around — they were both dazed from the concussive effects of the explosion. Then he spied the cave-in.

“I take it that was the way out of here,” he asked as he ejected the now empty clip from the Beretta. He looked at Jack and then swiped blood from his right eye.

“You’re as observant as ever, Henri,” Collins said as he rushed forward, handing the Frenchman three more clips of ammunition as he did.

“You two alright?” he asked as he saw blood streaming from both of his men.

“A little steel and blood is the least of our problems, Jack,” Everett said as he bent to retrieve his carbine.

Collins examined the damage and cursed as he kicked at the blockage in front of him.

“Gentlemen, we have more company,” Henri said as he dropped the first man who poked his head through the opening above. Then he fired a second time and hit one of Guzman’s men in both hands as he reached to move the first attacker out of the way. He emptied another clip up and into the floorboards where he heard men scream in pain. Then all of a sudden it was silent.

Farbeaux had just ejected the expended clip when his eyes fell on something about ten feet away from him. He stepped forward and then kicked at a white object on the dirt floor. Curious, he reached into his pocket brought out a lighter, and then flicked it to life. His eyebrows rose as he spied the misshapen skull staring up at him. He allowed the flame to go out and decided it wasn’t worth asking about. He turned and then joined the others at the cave-in while watching the floorboards above him for any sign of movement. He saw shadows through the cracks in the wood but decided not to waste any more ammunition on guesswork. He shook his head as his vision blurred briefly and then turned to face the men who had become his strictest enemies. Jack and Everett were already on their knees digging away at the blockage. Henri could see it would be a painfully slow process.

“Gentlemen, you have made an otherwise boring night into something I will remember for years to come,” a man said from above in very good English. “Now, if you will surrender we can—”

The rest of the words were drowned out by a sudden burst of thirty rounds as they struck the floor above. The bullets hit everywhere around the hole.

“You ever notice how assholes like that always want to make a speech when they have the upper hand?” Jack said as he tossed the now empty carbine to Mendenhall to reload as he bent to continue digging. Thirty feet away they heard Guzman laughing near the hole in the floor.

“Do I bore you? What are you, Special Forces perhaps?”

“This guy never gives up,” Mendenhall said and then was knocked from his feet as an explosion rocked the large laboratory. Jack, Everett, and Farbeaux were stunned as a large hole opened up against the far wall, knocking jar after jar of the stored chemicals from their shelves. Then before they could react, several men jumped through the new opening before a defensive shot could be fired.

“I think you pissed him off Jack,” Everett said as he came to his knees and fired his weapon toward the area where the men had taken cover. Several of the wooden tables had caught fire, adding light to the darkened laboratory.

Farbeaux stood on shaky feet and fired twice from the Beretta. He was suddenly struck and went down with a clean bullet hole in his arm.

“That hurt!” he shouted as he scrambled on his belly toward Collins, Everett, and Mendenhall. “I lost your weapon, Colonel.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to pay for it. I signed that out!” Collins said as his anger at being trapped spilled from his mouth.

Mendenhall pulled two of the poppy-filled barrels over to use as cover while Everett and Collins dug at the fallen earth. He turned in time to see a small opening at the top. They were making headway.

“Jack!”

“Damn it Lieutenant, get those girls down that tunnel and out of here!” Collins stopped long enough to shout. Sarah had once more disobeyed his order and came back when she heard the explosion that sealed the laboratory from the culvert. When he didn’t hear her respond, he once more started tearing at the loose earth.

“She’s starting to follow orders like the rest of us,” Everett said as he threw a large chunk of wooden beam away. He noticed that Collins was too angry to say anything.

Mendenhall fired five rounds and hit one of the next men through the now large gap where only a few missing boards had been before.

“I see you are trapped, gentlemen. Give up now and the women can go free. Do not and they will be caught and skinned alive before they reach the river.”

Jack knew it was Guzman. The Anaconda was actually one of the men who came through the flooring from above them.

“Brave son of a bitch isn’t he?” Farbeaux said as he opened fire with Jack’s carbine. The rounds struck the shelving above where Guzman and his men were taking cover. Through the flames of the burning wood Mendenhall saw the jars on the shelves shatter. The he saw more of the samples from a hundred years before break and splatter onto the men below.

Mendenhall changed magazines in the smoking MP-5, which had totally burned out its sound suppressor, and then aimed at the spot he thought the voice of Juan Guzman was coming from. He was about to fire when he saw a man’s arm wave from the cover of the burning tables. Then he realized that he wasn’t waving as a small object flew from his hand. Will’s eyes widened when he realized just what the object was. He angrily stood, and in the flickering light he caught the grenade. In a split-second reaction he tossed it back in the direction in which it was launched.

“Down!” he shouted as Henri fell next to him after seeing the amazing catch in midair.

The grenade exploded amongst the scrambling and now screaming men, sending large pieces of them in all directions. The remainder of the sample jars and more than a few of the wooden barrels of dried flowers erupted as shrapnel tore through them.

Mendenhall stood and emptied the thirty-round magazine in his MP-5 in a spray of bullets in the general area where men were either dead or writhing in pain.

“Hah! Didn’t see that one coming did you, you bastards! That one was for Ryan!” Mendenhall screamed just a second before the wounded Farbeaux pulled him roughly to the floor.

“Didn’t Collins teach you better than that?” the Frenchman asked with a mask of pain and anger on his face.

“Just thrilled to be here, Colonel, you ought to know that by now,” Will said as he changed the empty magazine for a new one.

“If you two are finished, we could use a hand here,” Everett said as he continued to widen the gap at the top of the cave-in.

“Go, I’ll cover us,” Henri said grabbing the MP-5 from Mendenhall.

“Why? I got ’em all!” Will said as he saw Farbeaux fire into the flickering firelight cast by the burning tables and wooden barrels.

“Well, evidently you missed one or two Lieutenant!” Henri said as he loosed more rounds in the general direction of the man who had just risen. Mendenhall, instead of helping Jack and Carl, bent back down near Farbeaux. He saw the man that had thrown the grenade go down when Henri’s stream of bullets cut him down.

In the direction where the grenade had detonated, screams of agony were heard — cries of pain so loud and piercing all four men felt like covering their ears. They could all smell burnt flesh, the smell of dried foliage, and something they could never describe — the odor was medicinal, and as the stench grew, so did the screams of Guzman and his men.

“What the—”

His question was interrupted by another four rounds fired by the Frenchman. They both saw the same man go down again.

“That’s one hard to kill son of a bitch!” Mendenhall said as he tried to ignore the powerful smell from the burning poppies and the stench of the liquid that had been stored in the jars.

Even as the exclamation left Mendenhall’s mouth, Farbeaux’s eyes widened. The same man Will had shot, and then hit with the grenade, actually stood up again, this time holding a flaming leg from one of the smashed tables. Henri took careful aim and fired again. This time three rounds left the MP-5. One bullet struck the man in the neck, the next two in the jaw and the cheek. He moved back two steps and then looked up toward where his attacker had fired. Farbeaux was shocked he was still standing. He fired one more round. This one hit the man directly where his heart should have been. Both Henri and Will saw the man’s white shirt puff out where the bullet had hit. The man started walking toward them. As Henri’s jaw dropped, a sound came from behind the overturned and flaming tables near the wall. It was an actual roar. It sounded like an ape or a bear. Will looked at Farbeaux as the sound reverberated off the wall.

Both Everett and Collins stopped digging long enough to turn their heads to see what was happening. The sound sent chills down everyone’s spines.

“Oh, shit!” Mendenhall screamed. “Colonel, we have a problem here!”

As Jack looked on in amazement, Farbeaux emptied the rest of the magazine of 5.56 rounds into the man’s body, even striking him on the right side of his head. The attacker was finally knocked down. As Collins started to turn back to widen the hole, he saw the man that had just been hit with fifteen rounds pop up like a Jack in the Box.

“What the hell is this?” Will said as he reached for Everett’s weapon, raised it to his shoulder, and took careful aim. This time he loosed a single round as the man drew closer. This bullet hit the bloody guard right between the eyes. Mendenhall was relieved when the man fell back, and this time he didn’t move. He looked down at Henri. “You just have to know how to shoot, Colonel.”

Farbeaux wasn’t listening as he watched two men, one without an arm and the other with his lower jaw missing, stand up from behind the spreading flames.

“Okay, Colonel, I think I want to leave now.”

Collins couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Men that had been shot, filled with shrapnel from a grenade, and wounded beyond any reason for them to even be moving were growling and walking toward them.

Mendenhall stood and just nodded his head at the two men as they came on. “Okay, okay! They’re drug addled or something.”

Henri fired until another of the magazines was empty. The man without a jaw was struck in the center of his forehead and went down heavily and didn’t move. The second man stood his ground and was about to start forward once more with at least five bullet holes in his abdomen and chest, when another awful and animalistic roar filled the room once more. This time Henri, Will, and Collins actually saw the author of that sound, or rather his shadow, as he rose from behind the makeshift and now destroyed cover.

Henri saw that the man was wearing the very same clothing that Juan Guzman was wearing earlier when Farbeaux was beaten inside of the cell. He stood and then called back to Jack.

“That’s Guzman.”

Collins saw that the man was at least a foot and a half taller than he was. He had grown so much that the shirt he wore was torn in several places. And what was worse he could now see the man’s features in the flickering of the fire. His cheekbones were high and deep lined. His forehead was larger than normal and his arms hung far below his waist. Jack’s eyes went from the two men in front of them to the two corpses they had found earlier.

“Jesus, it’s got to be that crap from the barrels and the jars. They’ve changed!”

Henri looked from the monstrosities before them to one of the sealed jars that had nearly decapitated him after the explosion. He involuntarily moved a few feet farther from it as another scream of animal rage filled the old laboratory.

The beast that was once Juan Guzman, the Anaconda, quickly moved, his actions as fluent as a cat’s, and took the wounded man standing before them by the throat. He raised his own man off the floor and then they all heard his neck snap. Guzman then brought the man close to his own face and then to the complete horror of the men watching in shock, took a large bite out of the man’s face. He chewed once, twice, and then looked toward the men watching. The thing actually smiled, and then before they could react Guzman threw the dead body toward them where it landed against the rubble from the cave-in and slid down at Everett’s feet. The roar of triumph pierced their ears.

“Oh, boy, look at this,” Will said as he stood stunned and motionless.

They saw several more men rise up behind Guzman. Some were torn to pieces, others had bullet holes across their chests and shoulders. All were changed almost as much as Guzman.

“The hole’s big enough!” Mendenhall said as he turned away from the terrifying sight.

Henri saw Will dive next to Jack, pushing the dead man out of his way, and start tearing at the opening at the top of the debris. Everett dove in to help. Farbeaux fired the M-14 until the receiver clacked open and stayed that way. As he was starting to turn and join the flight, Jack jumped over him and dove for something Henri didn’t see, nor did he care what it was. As he turned his eyes away from Collins, Farbeaux saw something that made him stop. It was the clear jar of liquid he had almost been killed by earlier. He quickly reached out, took the mayonnaise-sized container, and shoved it into his shirt. He scrambled up and over to help Everett and Mendenhall.

Jack was searching for something in the dark when he heard Everett. “Jack, come on, we’re through!”

He continued looking on hands and knees. Then his hand brushed against it. He pulled the twin saddlebag to his chest, not caring that the dynamite inside was sweating. He turned toward the widened hole and started to scramble.

“Don’t wait on me, move it!” he shouted as the three beasts came on, slowly, all smiling.

As Mendenhall and then Farbeaux scrambled up and out of the old laboratory, Everett saw what Jack was carrying. His eyes widened and then he turned and went through the opening. He didn’t wait for Jack.

Collins made it to the cave-in and then saw the two changed men behind Guzman turn on each other. The brief attack was brutal, but both of them survived. They regained their focus and then followed their boss toward Collins.

“Kiss my ass!” Jack shouted, and then, grabbing one of the fallen M-14s, he tossed the twin saddlebags at the trio of monstrous attackers. He lowered his head, thinking that the nitroglycerine-covered dynamite would detonate upon impacting the floor, but all he heard was a laugh. He looked up and saw Guzman, his misshapen and distorted features looking down at the saddlebags.

“Shit!” Jack hissed as he scrambled to the top of the debris and entered the hole.

Just as Guzman turned away from the saddlebags, he laughed, an evil, cold sound, as he saw his antagonist’s legs vanish into the escape hole.

“You should have negotiated,” sounded the deep voice.

Suddenly Jack reappeared in the facing of the wall. This time it was he who was smiling.

“You’re right, here’s my offer!” he shouted as loud as he could.

Guzman’s larger-than-normal eyes widened, and just before Jack fired the M-14, the horrid-looking Anaconda raised his hands upward and jumped. Grabbing broken wooden beams, he heaved himself up and out of the laboratory a split second before the red-hot nine-millimeter round struck the saddlebags.

The explosion actually blew Collins backward into the tunnel as it started to collapse. As the excavated hole fell inward upon itself, a split second of fire, rocks, and smoke flew through the hole. The combination of dynamite, and its natural offspring, nitroglycerin, detonated with power triple what the original makers intended.

Everett quickly picked himself up and with his ringing out of control, saw Collins lying motionless and face down in the hard, compacted earth of the tunnel. He reached down and handily picked Jack up. Shaking him, not caring if he had a neck or head injury, Everett waited until he opened his dirt-caked eyes.

“Maybe a fuse next time!” Everett screamed.

“Remind me next time, will you?” Jack said, shaking himself to full wakefulness. Then he suddenly remembered. “Jesus, I think Guzman got out!”

It didn’t take the genius of Jack’s words to get Everett moving. He just turned, helping Collins to his feet, and then they started running for their lives.

The raid on the hacienda called Perdition had ended.

The nearly ten-mile flight from a horror none of the four men could ever have imagined had just started.

4

It didn’t take long for the men to catch up with the women who were trying to negotiate the long and dark culvert in complete and utter darkness. The only time they could see anything was when there was a break in the concrete over their heads, which allowed the rising moonlight to penetrate the blackness. Sarah had kept pushing the young girls as much as she dared. All sixteen were close to freezing up in their panic-stricken flight from the bowels of Perdition.

At almost every break in the culvert, the girls would stop, giving them the slightest break and hope at seeing the least bit of light.

“Vámonos, vámonos,” Sarah shouted from the rear as the young women stopped just under a large break in the roof of the large concrete tube. “We have to move!” she shouted as she pushed through the block of scared girls.

Sarah saw the wide eyes as the adrenalin rush of their escape had just started to ebb. She saw the fear and terror of what they had been through seeping through them like sweat through their pores. She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed the oldest-looking girl and shoved her away from the light streaming through the large hole. The woman just stared at her and then looked down the long dark tunnel.

Just as Sarah pushed the woman again, she heard the girls at the back of the pack scream and surge forward. Sarah cursed at not having a weapon as the girls crowded around her.

“Damn it Sarah, why aren’t these people moving?”

Sarah relaxed when she heard the familiar voice of Will Mendenhall as he burst around the small bend just before the break in the culvert. He angrily pushed through the crowd of cowering girls, and when he saw their panic-stricken faces, he tried his best to reassure them.

“Because damn it they’re terrified and we have no light!”

Will reached to his side and handed his flashlight to Sarah. “Get them moving! We have company coming this way, and believe me it’s far worse than you can ever know. Now let’s get them going!” Will angrily pushed two of the girls and then started gesturing for the others to follow Sarah and the light down the tunnel. He had just drawn his nine millimeter, feeling how inadequate the weight was in his hand, when more screams filled the small space.

“Does anyone follow orders anymore?” the angered voice of Collins said, echoing in the tight space. “We have a time issue here!”

Finally the girls stopped screaming when they saw the three men come into view. Sarah pulled the older-looking girl and moved off down the tunnel. The others hesitantly started to follow.

“Will, I have your MP. I’ll take the rear, you get ahead of Sarah and take the point. Captain Everett, take our French friend here, who needs to lose weight by the way, and keep these girls on the move. No stops, no rest, Jack ordered.”

Mendenhall passed Jack his last two thirty-round magazines and then pushed off to catch up with Sarah and the girls in the lead. Collins struggled out of his body armor and let it fall to the culvert’s flow of water. He knew he had at least three broken ribs and assisting Farbeaux hadn’t helped. He looked up and in the moonlight could see that Everett was faring no better as he was bleeding from at least three areas of his body from shrapnel wounds. Henri for the most part had exhausted any energy he had left.

“Give Henri the carbine.” Jack stepped up to the Frenchman as he changed magazines in the MP-5. “Cover Captain Everett, Henri, you got that? If I go down, you’re the only tail gunner we have.”

Farbeaux managed to look at Collins and then at Everett who was struggling to hold Henri and himself upright. “Yes, just tell your captain here not to drop any excess weight when the chips are down.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t let it get to that point, Froggy. The chips are already down and I want to drop you right now.” With that said Everett headed into the darkness, not feeling much different from the girls who were near panic.

Jack charged the weapon, sending a round into the breach of the MP-5, and then with a last look back and still wondering what sort of horror had befallen them, followed the long line of running men and women.

The group had gone close to a mile when in the rear Jack heard a far-off voice shouting down into the culvert from the spot they were just at not ten minutes before.

“I’m coming gringos, Mama sent me out for supper!”

Jack stopped and looked back into the darkness. The voice was deep and seemed as if it could never have come from the voice box of what Guzman had become. It wasn’t brutish like the changed body became. But it was filled with savage intelligence, as if he was trying to scare and panic everyone in the tunnel. Jack knew it was working — he was scared.

He turned and started forward once more, wondering if the creature that was once the Anaconda had entered the culvert. He realized then as he ran, panting hard from his broken ribs pressing on the muscles of his chest and sides, that the smart move for Guzman would be to cover ground up there and try to head them off. He sensed the change had not lessened the man’s intelligence.

In just under fifteen minutes, he was proven right.

Sarah turned to make sure the frightened women were still following close by. She decided they would have to take a break if they were to make it to the river. She saw light about a hundred yards to the front where another break in the culvert allowed moonlight to enter the darkness.

“Will, the girls are near collapse. We have to stop for a minute.”

“No, keep them moving!” he shouted from the middle of the pack. You have no idea what’s back there. Move, move!”

Sarah took a deep breath and then gently pushed the girls gathered around her forward. It took just under a minute to cover the ground to the next break in the culvert. Just as Sarah moved past the light, she heard a loud scream, followed by another, and then another. As she turned her light on the area where the screams came from, her eyes widened when she saw a large arm and hand reach into the culvert from above. It hit upon one of the girls and grabbed her hair. In her flashlight beam she saw Mendenhall step forward and start bashing at the large, brutal hand as it started pulling the girl upward, out of the culvert.

The rest of the girls panicked and started forward, blocking Sarah’s view as Will opened up with his nine millimeter. Sarah grabbed his arm and pulled his aim off for fear of him hitting the struggling girl. Then the girl was just gone.

“What was that?” Sarah screamed as girls started running by her in a blind panic.

“You don’t want to know. Now move Sarah, move!”

The panic-stricken girls were now far outpacing Jack, Farbeaux, and Everett. As they passed the open area where the young woman had vanished just three minutes before, Everett turned and saw that Jack was struggling with the wounded Farbeaux. He turned and took the Frenchman’s other arm, and together the trio started making better time.

The entire ten-mile flight was one of panic-stricken sprinting, stopping for much-needed air. Then a noise would filter down from above them and the screams of terror would start the stampeding girls off again. Sarah had to fight to keep them as bunched together as she could. She felt naked without a firearm and scared to death that the brave man she knew in Mendenhall was as frightened as the young Mexican girls he was trying his best to protect. As Sarah finally got the last girl past a small break in the upper section of the culvert, a large arm shot through and grabbed her shoulder, knocking her against the curving side of the concrete tube. Mendenhall fired five rounds, with three of them striking the thick-boned arm and wrist. He was amazed when the massive arm didn’t pull away from the nine-millimeter rounds but kept working, searching for Sarah. McIntire’s eyes widened as the hand and long warped fingers swung back and forth in its quest to grab something.

Will changed magazines, but before he could bring up the Beretta to fire, Everett shot past him and with knife poised to strike, sank his K-Bar deep into the forearm of Guzman. The large knife sank deep until it hit bone, and Carl cursed as he felt the hardened steel of the knife glance off the bone and then break off. His momentum sent him to the running, muddy water on the bottom of the culvert. Mendenhall helped him to his feet as Jack and Farbeaux ran past.

“You okay?” Mendenhall shouted as he dodged the bleeding, massive arm that swiped the empty air.

“Yeah, but I’m out of knives and bullets, so I suggest we get the hell out of here!”

As they covered the last mile to the river, Sarah managed to make her way to the front of the straggling line of girls, making each one scream as she ran past them. She knew exactly how they all felt as she was close to panic herself. Finally Sarah could see moonlight ahead of her. It was distant like the small rabbit hole Alice had fallen through on her journey to Wonderland, only Sarah knew they weren’t escaping from that magical place, but from one that had quickly become an underground hell. As the girls started to bunch up behind her, Sarah held out her arm to stop the stampede toward freedom. She had seen a shadow cross the opening, momentarily blocking the light cast by the moon.

“What’s the holdup? Let’s get them out of here,” Will said breathlessly as he caught up to the front of the pack.

“Whatever that thing was back there I think it’s ahead of us,” she said as she bent at the waist and rested.

Will was about to break for the opening to clear a way for the girls when suddenly the culvert exploded inward from above, showering the retreating party with broken chunks of concrete and mud. Then to everyone’s complete and utter horror, the thing that was once Juan Guzman crashed through the hole he had just punched to land directly in front of the screaming women. Will didn’t take long to empty the nine millimeter into the torso of the hulking figure ahead of them. In the dark he was lucky to see it at all. The monstrosity bent over as the rounds entered its muscled chest and abdomen. But in the filtered moonlight Mendenhall saw it slowly start to straighten. It was so much larger than it had been just thirty minutes before that it had to bend at the waist to accommodate its size. Will frantically reached into his belt for another clip of nine-millimeter ammunition and then realized when his finger searched the empty pouch that he had just expended everything he had.

“Oh, shit,” Mendenhall said as he pulled Sarah back into the bunched-up women behind him. He quickly dropped the useless weapon and then pulled out his own knife.

The women screamed again as Everett crashed through their ranks and then slid to a stop when he saw Mendenhall ahead of him, and to his front, dwarfing the lieutenant, was Juan Guzman. The beastly apparition was standing there, taking deep breaths as it studied the small men and women cowering before it. In the bleached moonlight cascading through the new opening it had just made, Everett could swear he saw the creature smile.

“Damn!” Collins said as he pushed his way through the crowded culvert. He handed Farbeaux off to Sarah and one of the older girls and then slowly stepped to the front in between Everett and Mendenhall.

“It seems I am in possession of something that may become very beneficial to my operations,” the beast said as it raised its left arm. It examined the change that had come to it and with tilted head closed its fist.

Collins looked at the man standing before him. Then he saw a strange thing — the creature winced in pain. In the moonlight Jack could see that Guzman’s skin color as seen in the firelight back in the laboratory had diminished as the creature had exerted itself. The tough hide that had become its skin was now a sickly looking gray color and seemed to be flaking off in large chunks. It was as if the beast were starting to wilt before his eyes. Collins’s eyes followed a long tuft of hair, bunched together with water, mud, and sweat, fall from the side of Guzman’s head. Then even more black hair fell in the moonlight.

“It seems maybe you inhaled a little too much of that miracle drug, Anaconda. Feeling a little weaker than you were a moment before?” Jack said, buying as much time as he could.

Everett saw this and then grabbed the first girl he could reach and brought her to his side as he spied one of the first holes in the large culvert they had come across inside the long and dark tunnel. He was just about to lift her up when the beast suddenly turned to face its rear. Something or someone had come up from behind it.

“Rescue team, hit the deck!”

Jack heard the shouted command just as Guzman reacted and charged the new threat that had come upon it from behind. He turned and threw his body into several screaming girls, sending them crashing into the muddy, running water. Everett, Sarah, Mendenhall, and even the Frenchman did likewise. Just as the last girl hit the water, a cacophony of noise erupted in the confines of the culvert. As Jack raised his head he saw Guzman take the first volley of the automatic weapons’ fire from the rear. Its body shook and the awful-sounding scream started from deep inside the Anaconda’s chest. Then even more fire erupted in the darkness and Collins could see tracers as they hit the beast. More than a hundred rounds slammed home, but Guzman still came forward one faltering step at a time. Jack winced as a ricochet slammed into his hand. He saw tracer fire as it rebounded off wet concrete and he prayed that it didn’t find any of the poor women behind him.

Guzman bellowed in anger and then three bullets finally hit the vital part of his malformed head and changed body. Its skull jerked back and Guzman spun around. With its wide eyes staring at Collins, it went to its knees. The right arm came up and then Jack saw a large man in black Nomex, its shiny material gleaming in the moonlight, step up to the back of the Anaconda and then fire two more rounds from a Walther automatic into the back of the large skull. Guzman, with one last wince of his tortured eyes, went face down into the running water.

The man who had placed the bullets into Guzman’s head holstered his weapon and stared down at the thing he had just killed. He raised a set of goggles not unlike the ones Jack and his small team had had earlier. The man looked from the giant creature that was once called the Anaconda and then saw Jack lying a few feet away. The stranger was soon joined by six others who took up station behind the first. Collins slowly started to pick himself up in the near darkness.

“The way is clear. May I suggest you get these people out of here?” the man in the lead said as he gestured for his men to assist the girls.

Collins cradled his wounded hand and then stepped up to the rescuer who had undoubtedly saved their lives.

“Thanks, it was a little dicey there at the end,” Collins said as he looked the man over. His eyes roamed to the left shoulder where the American flag would have been hidden under a Velcro patch, but there was none. Jack searched but could find no U.S.-issued equipment of any kind. As he studied the man, the girls were pulled and prodded by men dressed exactly the same. All kept their goggles and their black nylon masks in place. The leader before him looked from Collins to the body lying at his boots.

“What in the hell is this thing?” the large man said as he went to his knees to study the unmoving corpse of Juan Guzman. “It took at least fifty rounds to bring it down.”

“What is your command?” Jack asked as the man raised Guzman’s head up by its hair. Then the sickening sound of the long black strands tearing free from its scalp was heard and the head fell unceremoniously back into the murky running water. The man stood and looked down at Collins.

“That was a ballsy thing you did at the hacienda, so I may ask you the same question: who in the hell are you?”

Jack realized he was in a bit of a confrontation and didn’t know why. Was he looking at a possible DELTA operative? Were they Rangers perhaps? He felt Captain Everett step to his side and knew the former SEAL was looking their rescuer over just as he had.

“Seems we only lost the one girl, Col—” Everett caught himself before speaking aloud Jack’s rank, but not before the large man in black Nomex clothing looked at Carl and a small smile crossed his lips. “We have one down, and it looks like we may not lose anyone except for our French friend, who’s lost a lot of blood.”

“There’s help just across the river. In the meantime we have a large group of men heading this way from the hacienda. I suggest you get the hell out of here. Look, is there anything back there at the hacienda that needs retrieval?”

As Jack waved Everett out and when he saw that Will and Sarah were assisting Henri toward the opening of the culvert, he stepped closer to the man in charge of the highly trained professional group that had come to their aid.

“There’s nothing left back there. Again, your unit and rank?” Jack asked again, softening the question somewhat with a smile and an offer of a handshake.

“If you have the training I suspect that you have … colonel, is it? Then you should know better than to ask that, especially of someone who just saved your ass. For now let’s just say it’s just a tad above your pay grade to know.”

Jack watched the man turn and head for the opening of the culvert. He saw that Carl was waiting for him. He held out a bottle of water one of the rescue team had given him and Jack took it with his uninjured hand and drank deeply.

“Who in the hell are those guys?” Carl asked as he watched the man splash his way out into the moonlight. “He’s not navy, that’s for sure.”

Jack lowered the bottle of water as he started forward to get out into the night air. “And you know that because?”

“Because he didn’t start bragging about what a great operation they had just conducted.” Everett smiled, “You know a SEAL would have never passed up the opportunity to gig the army like that.”

“You have a point.”

Ahead Mendenhall and Sarah helped the weakened Farbeaux out of the opening and into the cool night air along the Rio Grande. Across the river they could see border patrolmen and helicopters as they flew low with their spotlights shining across the way. Mendenhall hit a slick moss-covered rock and lost his footing. He almost went down, pulling the Frenchman with him. As Sarah tried to hold both of them upright, something fell from Henri’s shirt. It rolled into the water at their feet and before Farbeaux could react, a large, gloved hand reached out and retrieved the glass jar Farbeaux had removed from the laboratory in the final moments of their escape.

Sarah, Will, and Henri righted themselves and then looked up into the face of the man who led the team that saved them. He looked from the jar of amber liquid to the faces of the three people standing before him.

“What is that, Henri?” Sarah whispered into his ear.

“Something that needs to be handled carefully,” Jack said as he removed the jar from the stranger’s gloved hand. Holding it, he looked at Farbeaux closely and the Frenchman meekly shrugged his shoulders.

“Bad guy, remember?” he said in a pain-filled voice.

Jack handed the large sealed jar off to Everett and then looked the big man over once more as he heard shouts from across the river.

“Since you can’t tell me what your unit is, perhaps you can tell me if we have any air assets nearby?”

The man’s eyes were still on the jar that Everett was holding, and instead of answering Jack’s question, he asked one of his own. “Does that,” he said nodding at the jar of amber liquid, “have anything to do with that thing we saved you from — the Incredible Hulk — looking bastard in there?”

Jack smiled. “I’m afraid that’s a bit above your pay grade.” He stepped closer to the man, happy he could reciprocate this jerk’s earlier rebuke. “Now, are there any air assets close by?”

“Number three, radio please?” the black-clad man said holding out his hand while never letting his eyes leave the filthy face of Jack Collins. “TAC three.” The man took the handheld radio and then offered it to the colonel who took it without removing his eyes from the strangers. “I believe national command authority has ears on TAC three,” the man said as his eyes flitted from Jack toward Everett and the jar he was holding. He slapped Collins on the left shoulder, expertly placing a small tracking device that was radium based and could be tracked from space. Then he stepped a few feet away as Collins raised the radio. Before he spoke he changed the frequency from tactical channel three to another he knew by heart. He turned his back on the others and faced the river.

“Viking Two, this is Berserker. Over.”

“Good to hear you voice Berserker,” answered the familiar voice of Niles Compton. “We have company listening in, the CEO in fact … do you copy, Berserker?”

“Copy. We are somewhat compromised, so I’ll make this as brief as possible. We have to strike at that compound. We have to level it.”

The others heard Jack’s words and not one of them was surprised to hear the request.

“No can do. We have questions that need to be answered first. The Mexican authorities are almost there to take possession of Perdition.”

Jack knew the sound of the president’s voice. He grimaced and then raised the radio to his lips, but before he could answer the commander in chief, the large Nomex-clad man interfered.

“Are you saying there is more of this over there?” he asked not too politely.

Jack ignored the large man and stepped away. The man tried to follow, but Everett stepped between him and the colonel. The captain just shook his head, saying that following Jack was a bad idea.

“Listen, we have a mess inside that hacienda,” Jack said. “There are chemicals there that are as dangerous as any I’ve ever seen. If they are not destroyed we could be looking at a bleak situation if they fall into bad-guy hands. I mean serious trouble.”

“We are in enough trouble. Stand down, Colonel. That is a direct order.”

Jack lowered the radio and then looked at the tired faces around him. That was when he noticed that the large man and his team had vanished. He looked around and saw that Everett pointed to the edge of the river where the last of the darkly clothed men vanished into the water. As he turned back and raised the radio one last time, he angrily hit the transmit button.

“You can send a DELTA unit in to help us, but we can’t level the distribution hub of a known terrorist and drug dealer?”

“Just what are you talking about … no, never mind, just get your asses back across the border. We’ll talk later.”

Jack thought the president had gone and then he heard a question that relaxed him a little.

“Colonel, is Lieutenant McIntire alright?”

“Yes, sir, she’s been roughed up some, but she’s fine.”

“Good … good,” the president said after an eternity of silence.

“Jack, just across the river Pete Golding will meet you with a Blackhawk. May I suggest you get on it so we can go home?”

“Niles, we have to make sure that the hacienda is totally destroyed. If the president can send in a rescue team, why can’t we send in air assets to knock Perdition’s Gate flat?”

“Colonel, the rescue the president ordered is still in the air and won’t land in Laredo for another thirty minutes. There was no rescue OP that came across the border on his orders.”

Collins lowered the radio. He then looked at the staring eyes of Farbeaux, Mendenhall, Everett, and Sarah, who were just as shocked to hear Niles’s explanation of events as he had been. His head turned and looked at the spot where their rescuers had vanished into the flowing waters of the Rio Grande River. Then Collins cursed himself and suddenly turned and ran back into the large opening of the culvert. Will and Everett followed. Sarah turned with the weight of the Frenchman and watched as the three men vanished into the darkness once more.

“We have to recover Guzman’s body or people are going to have a hard time believing this story.”

As Jack approached the spot where Guzman had been downed, his eyes saw smoke rising from the running water. Everett and Mendenhall saw the same thing and froze. Lying in the water where Juan Guzman should have been was nothing but a smoking ruin. The clothing was totally eaten away and only a fragment of bone here and there was recognizable. With the jar of fluid still clutched in his uninjured hand, Collins leaned down and looked at the eaten-away remains of the world’s most wanted criminal. Jack recognized the chemical smell almost immediately.

“What is it, Jack?” Everett asked as he too scowled at the smoking remains.

“It’s something like hydrochloric acid, but different, stronger, a lower ph — but similar.”

“Well it did a job on the old Anaconda,” Will said. “Good riddance.”

As Jack stood up he faced the lieutenant. He held up the jar of fluid. “Now this is the only evidence outside of our own accounts of what this stuff can do.”

Will regretted his remark, realizing that the colonel was talking about evidence, and he had just cracked wise about the magical disappearance of Guzman through chemical means. He eventually turned and followed Everett and Collins out of the culvert. He approached Jack, who was looking at the spot where their mysterious rescuers had vanished into the river. Mendenhall stepped forward and faced in the same direction as Collins.

“Okay, those men obviously destroyed what remained of Guzman before they split out of here, so just who in the hell were those guys, Colonel?” Will asked.

As Jack watched the flowing river, he knew he had been had by somebody, but what do you say to a team of men who had just saved your life but destroyed the evidence that you needed?

“I don’t know who they were, Will,” he answered while looking from the river to the amber-colored fluid in the jar.

Perdition’s Fire had left the hacienda, and it would be none other than Colonel Jack Collins who carried death with him back home to the Event Group Complex.