Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) (41 page)

Nick
stepped closer to the sprawled out punk.

“So, I
figure,” he said, stepping forward again as the Butcher tried to crawl back,
“that if you’re going to go carrying a sword around stabbing people, you need
to figure out how it feels. Seems only fair.”

And with
that, Nick Woods swung the sword horizontally toward the Butcher’s head. The
man had wiped the foam from his eyes and could half see, so he raised both
forearms to stop the sword, just as Nick hoped.

Nick
stopped the strike before it sliced into the man’s forearms and switched his
grip, inverting the blade so that it pointed down.

And
before the Butcher could place his hands on the ground to slide or reposition
his legs, Nick thrust the sword down into the quad of the cartel leader’s good
leg. The blade drove straight through the thick muscle and slammed the concrete
floor hard enough to chip out chunks.

“Oh,
damn, that’s got to hurt,” Nick said.

The
Butcher wasn’t even screaming. His eyes were bugged out and he was
hyperventilating, his hands holding the blade’s handle to keep it from swinging
side-to-side. Complete shock was setting in.

Blood
spilled from below the cut, but not nearly as quickly as might be expected.
Nick was glad he had missed the femoral artery. He had hoped not to hit it.

“I
wouldn’t pull that blade out,” Nick said. “That’s when the bleeding will really
start.”

Nick
stepped back and pulled out his cellphone. He turned on the video camera and
filmed the helpless, weeping man.

The
blood, the foam, the look of sheer horror was a stark contrast to the man who
usually looked brave and daring in the videos he emailed into the news
stations. Nick stopped recording him and texted the video to President Rivera.
He hoped the President would have someone upload it online anonymously, but
that wasn’t up to Nick to decide.

He
confirmed the text had sent and put a hand up on his bleeding scalp. The thing
was pouring blood out pretty fast and he felt a bit weak. He dialed the
President's number and waited for him to answer.

Walking
past the upturned chair, he stopped and righted it on its legs. He sat heavily
and when Rivera answered, he said, “Your Christmas came early. The Butcher has
been butchered.”

Nick
looked at the man, holding the sword blade with the utmost of care. The Butcher
was afraid to move and afraid not to, given the blood draining out of his leg.
Shock was creeping up on him and death approached with increasing haste. Nick
had seen it in war and battle too many times to count. The Butcher wasn’t dead
yet, but he would be before help could arrive.

“Now, get
some men here. We’ve got a mess to clean up. I need someone to get me out of
here without being arrested, we need to grab all video footage and have it
seized for national security reasons, and you probably need to get Marcus, my
No. 2 man free. I’d imagine he’s probably in cuffs outside the airport.”

Nick hung
up before President Rivera could answer and he sunk back in the chair, relieved
but exhausted. The fight with the Butcher, the lack of sleep from the night
prior, the emotions from the battle in Neza-Chalco-Itza, the stack of fresh
memories from seeing and hearing the wounded and dead men from S3.

He pulled
his sniper T-shirt off and placed it against his head, keeping firm pressure
against the deep cut. He lowered his head and tried to keep from passing out,
and noticed the SS (Scout Sniper) symbol burned into his chest and the HOG
tooth, or Hunter Of Gunman, 7.62 round hanging around his neck.

He said a
silent prayer of thanks to all the Marine instructors who had trained and
beaten him into the person he had become. Thanks, guys, he thought. You came
through again.

Epilogue

In the
days that followed the Butcher’s horrendous death, the Red Sleeve Cartel hunted
down the remnants of the Godesto Cartel, leaving it as nothing but a footnote
of Mexican history. Those who were lucky enough to survive, switched sides.

President
Roberto Rivera rode a wave of public support. Suddenly, the public nor the
Congress cared that he had intervened to send Mexican SWAT members to rescue
billionaire Juan Soto. President Rivera was now firmly seen as the cartel
fighter, and his legacy and popularity had been secured.

The men
of Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter packed up and convoyed back to America, some
of their wounded left behind until a private medical plane could be dispatched
from America. Dwayne Marcus handled the logistics and temporarily took command
while S3’s leader healed and rested.

Nick
Woods stayed behind. He remained by Isabella’s side as she recovered and helped
her recuperate. But with the lack of tension in a non-warlike environment, the
passion between them sputtered out. They had little in common and no future
together.

Nick eventually
drifted north, afraid to confront the isolation he now faced. He was two
million dollars richer for completing the mission, but what was money to a
penny-saving, country boy?

At least
Marcus had handled the disbandment of S3. Saying goodbye to Isabella had been
tough. Saying goodbye to his men a final time would have been too much for
Nick.

He had
been told by Mr. Smith to call him if and when he decided to cross back into
America. Mr. Smith would handle the details of that, but Nick took his time wandering
north.

He
dreaded facing his new reality, which was really just his old reality following
Anne’s death.

But after
two nights getting hammered in rundown bars full of tourists, it was time. He
dialed Mr. Smith’s number.

“I’m
ready to head back,” Nick said. “I guess this is where it ends.”

“Or, it’s
where it begins,” Mr. Smith said. “The administration is impressed with your
results. Seems they have some more work in a place you know well.”

“Montana?”
Nick asked. “Or, Tennessee?”

“Neither,”
Mr. Smith said. “Try Afghanistan.”

Nick
tried to follow.

“What are
you saying?” he asked.

“I’m
saying the entire unit of S3 has not been disbanded. Marcus is running it until
you decide whether you’ll return or not.”

Nick
tried to process the words. It seemed too good to be true. Frankly, he couldn’t
believe it. It was like a gift from above.

Mr. Smith
interrupted his thoughts.

“Too bad
it didn’t work out with Isabella,” Mr. Smith said. “Well, maybe not. You have
men who need your leadership, who’d follow you to the ends of the earth, and
you have a country that further requires your service.”

“Let me
think on it,” Nick said, and hung the phone up.

He
wrestled with the dead he’d seen from S3 after the night in Neza-Chalco-Itza,
but he couldn’t deny that he had a gift for war. Or perhaps it was a curse. But
he was good at it. And in a sick way, it was all he enjoyed. It was what he
lived for.

He called
Mr. Smith back two hours later, after spending some time just driving and
thinking as his rental car meandered across the desert of Mexico, heat pounding
and testing the car’s air conditioner.

“What’s
your decision?” Mr. Smith asked.

“War is
about the only thing I’m good at,” Nick said.

“So, it
seems,” Mr. Smith said. “What should I tell the men?”

Nick
never paused.

“You tell
them to get their lazy asses in shape. I’m headed back to the only home I
know.”

Author’s
Note:

One
pretty big mistake I made in this book involves the position of Mexico’s
president. I learned just weeks before my publishing deadline that Mexican
presidents can’t actually seek re-election.

Unfortunately,
a pretty good chunk of the book’s premise were the many political challenges
President Rivera faced, and how the people had re-elected him with the sole
mission of taking down the cartels.

Remove
the need to get re-elected, and you cut down significantly much of the tension
that he faces. And as an author, one of your key tasks is ramping up and
increasing the tension.

Thus,
after much deliberation and consideration on how to fix the book, I opted to
leave it as it stood. Unfortunately, I just saw no easy way to correct the book
and make it more accurate.

Certainly,
there are probably more inaccuracies, but the cities and towns named all exist.
As does Neza-Chalco-Itza.

There are
a ton of people I need to thank, and what follows is a very incomplete list.

But to
each of them, and those I’ve overlooked, a big thanks.

To my
amazing wife Danah, who believes in me even when I don’t.

To Mark
Allen, a hell of an author, and a man with whom I’ve spent literally hundreds
of hours discussing stories and scenes. And debating the merits of leg stabs
versus disembowelments.

A big
thanks to my good friend April, who made the book immeasurably better.

To Tim
Dittmer, an Army vet who served in Vietnam, who stumbled across me on the
internet and wrote some crucial emails that helped me when I was doubting
myself and the whole author gig.

To USMC
Cpl Michael Pressley 1/8, '79-'83. A fellow brother in arms and a huge
supporter.

To Ashley
R. Luna, one of my newest supporters, and an increasingly big-time friend.

And to
all the members of Mitchell’s Militia. Thanks a million for your words of
encouragement and your assistance in spreading the news about my books.

Other works by Stan R. Mitchell:

Sold Out (Nick Woods, No. 1)

Mexican Heat (Nick Woods, No. 2)

Afghan Storm
(Nick Woods, No.3)

Little Man, and the Dixon County War

Detective
Danny Acuff, (Book 1)

Soldier On

About the author:

Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving
novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 50 pages to
excite you? Look no further!

Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods.
He's also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former
journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook
the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story.

In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he's fast, and his books will blow you
away. You can learn more about him
at
http://stanrmitchell.com
.

If you
enjoyed “
Mexican Heat (Nick Woods,
No. 2)
,
” please consider dropping a short review of
it on Amazon. Reviews go miles and miles toward helping readers discover new
authors, such as Mitchell.

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Don’t miss Mitchell’s other exciting
book,
Afghan Storm (Nick Woods,
No. 3)
! (Free preview follows.) Book description:

The
mission? Practically off-the-charts impossible.

Four men
must infiltrate (on foot) 30+ miles into Pakistan and abduct a key VIP of the
Taliban.

These men
will be offered no support. No air support. No radios. No chance of rescue.

And if
they’re caught or killed, America will deny their existence.

This is
how the mission in Afghanistan begins for Nick Woods and your favorite members
of S3 (Marcus, Truck, and Red).

And
unfortunately for them, it only gets worse from there...

Nick
Woods and his private, military security company (Shield, Safeguard, and
Shelter) are deployed to Afghanistan by directive of the U.S. government. Their
mission is nothing less than to save the government (and country) of
Afghanistan.

A clock
is ticking and the Taliban is poised to seize the capital city of Kabul, taking
over the country for good. The Taliban are stronger than ever, and well-led by
an impressive spiritual warrior, who is respected across the country by most of
the people of Afghanistan.

Making
matter worse, America's political leadership is sick of investing men and
resources into a war that's now lasted 15 years.

Nick and
his team are sent to somehow find a way of dealing with the looming threat, and
though the mission is impossible enough as it’s already drawn up, they'll soon
find out that their enemies aren’t only in Afghanistan.

Free Extended Preview of
Afghan Storm (Nick Woods,
No. 3)

Chapter 1

Present Day -- Just inside Pakistan near the border of Afghanistan

Nick Woods took a knee and wiped the ample sweat from his forehead,
adjusting his pack in the cool night air. He made a mental note to thank the
gods of war that this was the middle of summer, and not the freezing,
bone-chilling winter that drove even the tough locals into their compounds and
caves.

The three men accompanying him used the short break to adjust gear and
sip water, while Nick’s brain worked in overdrive as he scanned his sector. He
was definitely putting his men out on a limb this time -- more so than when he
had led the assault on the Mexican slum of Neza-Chalco-Itza just six months
ago.

The unit’s overall mission this time was as simple as it had been in
Mexico: take down Rasool Deraz, a venerable elder who inspired hundreds of
Taliban and al Qaeda fighters across the country and into Pakistan.

Over the years,
Rasool Deraz had grown so powerful that most analysts and
several computer simulations reported that under his leadership the Taliban
would soon topple the Afghan government. And America felt that it had invested
too much in the past fourteen years to allow the Taliban to once again assume
control of Afghanistan.

Thus Nick’s
company -- Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter, or S3 -- had been contracted by the
Afghan government to ostensibly provide training for their police force and
consult with the government at the highest levels to assist them in reducing
the threat from the Taliban. Or at least that’s what it looked like on paper.
S3, however, wasn’t just some
private security
firm. In reality, S3 was an arm of the CIA. A private company that filed annual
paperwork and paid its taxes, which helped create enough distance to allow the
U.S. government complete deniability.

S3’s job in Afghanistan had nothing to do with training the police.
Although Nick and his band of headhunters had severely limited resources, the
plan was simple: find Deraz, shoot Deraz, and hopefully set the Taliban back as
much as they could.

However, actually executing the plan would prove to be no small
challenge.

So far, they had made it past their first obstacle.
The four men
of S3 had snuck across the border of Afghanistan and into Pakistan nearly an
hour ago with no problems. That, of course, was the easy part. But now, on this
side of the border, they were completely on their own. Just four men with no
chance of backup, air support, or extraction. In fact, the only guarantee they
were given was that America would deny any ties to S3 if they were captured or
killed.

You sure know how to dig a deep hole, Nick thought to himself.

But at least he had brought three of his best men with him. He had
Marcus, the tall, commanding Marine drill instructor, who served as his
right-hand man. He had Truck, the merciless, insubordinate Special Forces
trooper, who had seen as much combat as any man alive. And he had Red, the
cocky, quick-tempered Marine, who carried a trainload of fight on his 5’5”
frame. Red was also one of the best point men Nick had ever encountered.

Their objective on this
raid was to infiltrate forty-plus miles into Pakistan (moving only in
darkness). They would travel along a moderate mountain range, trekking at
higher altitudes to avoid detection. Thankfully, this wasn’t the Hindu Kush
mountain range, which spanned as high as 20,000 feet. Instead, this range had
much lower elevations, being as Nick and his team were crossing into Pakistan
roughly 100 miles south of Khost. That mean much lower elevations, which were
much easier to traverse.

At the end of this
forty-mile journey into one of the most dangerous countries in the world, they
planned to raid a single compound and locate a man named
Ahmud al-Habshi.

Ahmud al-Habshi was the primary communications man for the Taliban.
Therefore, his private
compound promised computers, probably several servers, and loads
of files
. Essentially, it was a smorgasbord, a
tide-turning honey hole, of invaluable intelligence.

Then there was Ahmud al-Habshi himself, who knew the habits, movements,
and possibly every hiding spot used by Rasool Deraz. Nick Woods and his three
S3 shooters planned to wake him up late one night and take him on a one-way
field trip to Afghanistan. If they failed, a drone strike would quickly silence
al-Habshi, but it would in turn also destroy tons of evidence and any chance of
taking down Rasool Deraz.

Thus, it was critical that Nick and S3 properly execute this raid.
Failing to capture the intel from al-Habshi and eventually take down Deraz
would certainly doom Afghanistan.

Deraz was seen as a respected leader
and legend by the people in
Afghanistan, most of whom supported him. Blessed with high esteem and a
nation’s loyalty, his power and reach were difficult to fathom.

With just a
few words delivered by messenger, Deraz could call upon local fighters among
the people, who would spring up and strike an Afghan compound before
disappearing into the countryside.

And the
strength of Deraz knew no bounds. He had supporters in the countryside. He had
supporters in the farmlands. He had supporters in the cities.

Without question, Rasool Deraz was the spiritual leader for many of the
Afghan people, and Nick and S3 had to find a way to take him down or
Afghanistan was doomed.