Kidnap and Ransom (28 page)

“Jake!” Mark called out.

“We’re over here.”

Mark appeared across the aisle. “I’m cutting back…maybe the next row is clear.”

“Okay. We have to get over there somehow, though.”

“I know. Gotta avoid a chopper now, too.” He looked at Tejada. “Maybe you two should head back.”

Tejada looked hopeful, but Jake shook his head. “No way. I’m not leaving you.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Jay-Jay. I’ve done this before.”

It had been years since anyone called him that. “I’m backing you up,” Jake said firmly. “And we need him to help us ID Garcia. Everyone in here will probably claim to be him.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.” Mark scanned down the row. “All right. But stay on me.”

“You got it.”

They jogged back the way they’d come, Tejada scrambling to keep pace. At the end of the row, they jigged left and headed down a parallel aisle. The damage was less severe, but the ground was still stained with blood.

The helicopter swept past again. It flew low, nearly skirting the pens. Jake ducked instinctively.

“Holy crap,” Mark said.

“What?”

“It had army insignia on the side.”

The helicopter jarred to a halt two aisles away. Hovering, the spotlight fixed on something. A fifty-caliber machine gun pummeled the ground. At this proximity, the noise was deafening.

“That’s the aisle Isabela’s father is on!” Mark shouted to be heard over the din.

“Mark, we’ve got to turn back. There’s no way—”

“Which pen is Garcia in?” Mark asked fiercely.

Tejada gazed back blankly. Mark grabbed him by the shoulders. “Give me some direction and I won’t have to take you along.”

“Pen nine. Count from the back of the row,” Tejada stuttered.

“Okay.” Mark turned to Jake. “Get him out of here. I’ll meet up with you.”

Without another word Mark sprinted away, headed straight for the spot beneath the chopper. Jake hesitated. Tejada was so petrified he was literally shaking. There was no way he could subject him to that kind of assault. Mark disappeared around the next corner. “C’mon,” Jake said. “Please, señor. I can’t—” Tejada’s cheeks were streaked with tears.

“I know. We’re heading back.”

Tejada cast a quick look toward where Mark had disappeared. Without another word, he fell in behind Jake.

As they headed back the way they came, Jake felt like he was moving through cement. Half a dozen times he spun, prepared to race back to help Mark. Each time, the sight of Tejada’s raw terror stopped him.

They had almost reached Calderon’s empty pen when a massive explosion threw them to the ground. Jake rolled on his back. Over the tops of the pens, right where Mark had vanished, a huge fireball roiled.

“This is déjà vu all over again,” Rodriguez grumbled.

Kelly didn’t respond. She’d forgotten how sulky Rodriguez got on stakeouts, especially when he didn’t have snacks. Not that she blamed him. She was second-guessing the line of reasoning that led them here, too. What seemed like a stroke of genius last night at the restaurant now just felt like a stretch. They’d been hunkered down in the shadows near the main entrance to the Templo Mayor museum for nearly three hours and hadn’t seen any sign of Stefan.

The ruins of the Aztec temple encompassed a full city block. It was a sunken labyrinth, rough-hewn stone passages descending in tiers. The way they were constructed reminded her of sea jetties, small dark rocks held together by concrete. A modern building stood off to one side: the museum, Kelly guessed. In the center rose a flight of crumbling stairs, all that remained of the original temple.

“I’m calling it,” Rodriguez said, checking his watch. “Nearly dawn, rush hour starts soon. Even Stefan’s not crazy enough to try anything then. Let’s head back otel and grab some sleep before calling McLarty.”

“Just a little longer,” Kelly pleaded, but she suspected he was right. The links seemed much more tenuous upon reflection. But then, this was the only lead they had.

“Maybe he’s waiting until…what was that date again?” Rodriguez stifled a yawn.

“March 6. Maybe.” That was more than a month away. Hard to imagine Stefan would wait that long to seize another victim, especially since he knew Kelly was in Mexico. Of course, he might be assuming she was still locked up, so perhaps he felt safe enough to stick around. “He could have gone back to the dump,” she offered.

“They’ll kill him if he does,” Rodriguez said. “Seems like a stretch, anyway.”

“You’re right.” Kelly blinked back her exhaustion. Her entire body had stiffened up after hours of sitting in the same position, combined with the beating she’d received yesterday. Despite the half dozen Advil she’d swallowed, her right leg throbbed.

“Well, we can’t hang around here until March,” Rodriguez said. “I’ve got to get back to L.A. and find out if I still have a job.”

“I understand,” Kelly said, defeated.

“That sounded like you aren’t planning on coming with me.” Rodriguez’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t our deal.”

“If McLarty agrees to send backup—” Kelly froze. Something had darted across her sight line, headed for the locked entrance to the museum. “Danny, look.”

He followed her eyes. “Could be anyone,” he said. “You want to get closer to check?”

Kelly didn’t need to get closer, she recognized Stefan’s gait. But she nodded.

They approached the temple from the street lining the western side. A long wall separated the museum from the road, topped by a metal banister. The stones cast long shadows in the moonlight. While Kelly watched, a dark shadow vaulted the banister and disappeared into the darkness below.

“That’s him,” she said.

“He’s alone. That’s a good sign.” Rodriguez seemed uncertain. “The temple grounds are private property. We could call the federales. There’s probably still trace evidence on him from the boy.”

“You said it yourself, justice is different down here,” Kelly argued. “Either way, we should try to get him off the streets tonight, before he kills anyone else.”

“I suppose it’ll be easier to extradite him if he’s already in custody,” Rodriguez said. “All right, we go in, but I’m taking the lead. And if anyone asks, we arrested him on the street.”

“Of course.” Kelly followed Rodriguez as he darted across the plaza toward the banister. He looked over the side, then jerked back. “Christ,” he said. “The things I let you talk me into. That has to be a twenty-foot drop.”

Kelly peered over. The temple ruins stretch from them for over an acre. The archaeological excavation had carved out deep stone-lined troughs leading from one ruined structure to the next. Some had doors allowing entry while others were mere mounds of stone. Tarps stretched above a few, including the original stairs leading up the side of the temple pyramid.

“Where’d he go?” she whispered.

“Who knows? It’s a maze down there.” Rodriguez sighed. “Sure you want to do this?”

In response, Kelly threw her good leg over the banister. She eased her prosthetic after it, then lowered herself until she was hanging by her arms. Taking a deep breath, she let go.

Kelly landed hard, keeping her right knee bent so that her left ankle absorbed most of the fall. She winced as pain shot up her good foot—that was all she needed, to have both legs compromised. She rolled her foot and the throbbing eased.

Rodriguez dropped to the ground beside her with a muffled curse.

“You okay?” she whispered.

“That wasn’t as easy as you made it look,” he grumbled.

Kelly waved him silent. She’d heard a noise off to their left. She pulled the Glock out of her waistband and made sure a round was chambered. At a nod from Rodriguez, she headed toward it.

The moonlight cast shadows, throwing off her depth perception. Kelly stumbled and nearly fell more than once. The stones that remained from the original plaza were held in place by concrete, creating rough paths between low rock walls. Here and there she found herself on a more modern walkway, but it was constantly interrupted by uneven cobblestones. They reached a dead end.

“I’ll climb up, see if I can spot him,” Rodriguez offered.

She nodded. With a grunt, he heaved himself up on the parapet. His head swiveled from left to right. Suddenly he ducked back down.

“He’s near the temple steps,” he said. “Follow me.”

They stayed low as they trotted forward. The channel they were following widened into a plaza. Rodriguez paused.

“Pretty exposed here,” he whispered.

“What’s he doing?” Kelly asked.

“Hard to tell. He’s still alone, though.”

Kelly turned that over in her head, wishing they’d done more research on the temple. She’d assumed that Stefan intended to murder another victim on the steps, the way they’d seen in the picture, but even he wasn’t crazy enough to do it right out in the open. There must still be enclosed areas scattered around the temple grounds. Maybe his next victim was already concealed in one.

“Hang on.” Rodriguez cautiously peered over the lip of the wall. “All right, he’s going into one of the chambers. Probably only one way in, so we can corner him there.”

Kelly nodded again. She fought down a tremor of fear at the thought of facing Stefan again. Her whole body still ached from the beating he’d given her. But this time she had Rodriguez with her, and she was armed. Unless Stefan had more surprises up his seve, he wasn’t getting away.

Mark raced across the next aisle. Bullets tore up the ground in front of him. He dived and rolled, squeezing off a few rounds as he scrambled for cover between two of the pens. Mark checked his ammo: running low. He needed to conserve enough to get them back out.

It was eerily silent here. He peered inside the pen he’d landed next to. Dead eyes stared back from the depths of the cage. He swore under his breath—if the Zetas had summarily executed this row of prisoners, it might already be too late for Isabela’s father.

The chopper swept past again, and he pressed closer to the bars. The spotlight panned the ground inches from his feet and kept going. Mark edged forward, maneuvering around more bodies clothed in fatigues. It was impossible to tell whether they were Zetas or Sinaloans. From the sound of it, everyone was firing wildly at anything that moved.

Still, the worst fighting had shifted over a few aisles. He eased along the row, counting. In a few of the pens people were still alive, but barely, panting hard as they bled out. One pleaded for help in a raspy voice. It killed him, but Mark didn’t respond. He couldn’t risk drawing fire. Based on the wounds he could see, most of these people were beyond help anyway. He’d passed four pens so far, five to go. Hopefully inside he’d find someone alive.

As he reached the seventh pen, a figure turned the corner and tore down the aisle toward him, gun blazing. Mark lifted his LMT, aiming for the guy’s chest.

Suddenly the man stopped short, frozen in the spotlight descending from above. His body jerked and danced as a stream of bullets tore through him. He staggered a few steps, then dropped.

Mark pressed himself to the ground. He held his breath, praying for the chopper to keep going. It hovered for a second, then turned to make a pass down the next row. The sound of gunfire continued.

“Jesus,” he said, breathing hard. After a second, he forced himself to crawl forward. Six pens. Seven. The eighth pen appeared empty. Mark treated the chicken wire like a tow rope, pulling himself along it. Coming up beside the ninth pen, he drew a small maglight off his vest and shone it inside.

A man lay on his side. His chest rose and fell as he squinted into the light.

“Francisco Garcia?” Mark asked. The man opened and closed his mouth, trying to say something. The ground around him was drenched with blood. Above the churning rotors and gunfire, Mark discerned a familiar whistling noise, one that sent a chill racing along his spine.

He leaped up and started running. Got less than three yards before the missile exploded behind him. The shock wave lifted him off his feet, sending him hurtling through the air. Mark lost hold of his weapon, arms and legs churning for a purchase as a blast of heat seared his back and his ears popped. He crashed into something solid and a piercing pain shot through him. He managed to choke out three breaths before slipping away.

Thirty-Four

Jake g his feet unsteadily. Tejada was praying again, a steady murmur. He tugged at Jake’s sleeve, desperate. “Señor, we must go,” he said.

“Mark—” Black smoke rolled over the tops of the pens. As the cloud reached them the smoke made his eyes water, clouding his vision and constricting his throat.

“Por favor, señor.”

Jake was frozen. Childhood memories flooded his mind. His brother holding the back of the seat as he learned to ride a bike. Teaching him to shoot a gun. Handing him his first beer. Sneaking him a dirty magazine. He took a step toward the destruction.

The missile had sparked a fire along the line of pens. As the smoke around them blossomed and grew, the cries from trapped prisoners increased in intensity. Jake blinked and looked around. For a second he’d forgotten where he was, what he was supposed to be doing. His mind was an utter blank.

The sight of a terrified face pressed against the wire of the nearest pen brought him back. It was a woman, hands red and worn, face streaked with soot and tears.

“We’ve got to get these people out,” he said, dazed.

Jake waved the woman back and aimed his sidearm. On the second try he hit the lock and it sprang off. The woman slammed against the door. She scurried away, vanishing around the corner.

Jake moved on to the next pen.

“Señor!” Tejada yanked at his arm, trying to drag him away. Jake shook him off. He shot the next lock. The teenage boy inside shoved his way out and fell to the ground, trying to kiss Jake’s boots. Jake ignored him, moving along to the next one.

“Riley!” someone cried. Jake barely processed the voice. He was in the zone. Mark might be dead, but he’d be damned if he was going to let all these other people die, too. It was wrong to leave them behind. He squeezed the trigger. There was a click: the clip was empty. He popped it out and started to reload. Someone grabbed his arm again, more forcefully this time. He whirled, ready to punch out whoever was trying to stop him. Caught himself when he saw Syd.