The Warrior Code (25 page)

 ‘Zubia would have had enormous clout with the Sinaloa cartel and other drug gangs if Taggart had secured the coveted role. He threw money and resources behind Taggart to help him lobby.’

‘Zubia recognized the twins when Taggart pointed them out at the café. In a freak coincidence, the women he was planning to kidnap turned out to be a threat to his business partner. Taking them to Mexico would feed his trafficking business and remove any danger to Taggart’s ascension.’

‘But why in damnation?’ Garrett finally broke the ensuing silence. He was a gruff, balding man who was a competent Chief of Police. This was clearly out of his depth.

‘We can only surmise,’ Broker told him. ‘Taggart was on a power trip. The two men fed each other.  Zubia built his gang’s business in our country and in return gave select information on his rivals to Taggart. Taggart’s successful raids got him noticed, and he earned a rep pretty soon.’

He stole a glance at Director Murphy and got a short nod in return. Broker had helped take down a similar power-hungry maniac in the FBI in a previous mission.

‘What about Taggart Senior?’ Garrett licked his lips and didn’t complete his sentence. If the senior advisor to the Secretary of State was involved, a media and political circus would mushroom, the likes of which the town hadn’t seen before.

‘As you know, he’s already resigned. I’m confident that he’s clean. He didn’t know about his son’s involvement.’

Taggart Senior had been in D.C. when a single call had changed his life. He had promptly resigned, citing health reasons, and had informed Director Murphy that he would cooperate fully in any investigation.

Director Murphy spoke for the first time. ‘We share Broker’s views. Of course, it will be impossible for him to return to a job in politics. We’ll run with this now.’ There was an air of finality to his voice, signaling that the meeting was over.

His eyebrows rose when Garrett lingered in his seat.

The Chief’s eyes went over Zeb, Broker, and Roger and lingered on Clare. He was uneasy. ‘I can vouch for my department.’

Zeb stirred in his seat for the first time during the entire meeting. ‘And I can vouch for us.’

Garrett looked to speak, but Director Murphy cut him off with a gesture.

Steel flashed in his voice. ‘These men hold some of the highest security clearances. I know some in your department are curious about them. Who they are and who they work for is no one’s business.
I
vouch for them.’

His eyes had grim amusement when Garrett darted a look at Clare; she hadn’t uttered a word.

‘Chief, it’s best you forget you saw her. Let me assure you she’s very much part of our government.’

Kelly interjected before Garrett could dig a deeper hole. ‘Chief, I think we’re done here.’

‘Zeb.’ Clare’s voice halted the three of them as they followed the others out.

He turned back to Clare and the Director. Broker and Roger joined him at a small gesture from her.

‘The sisters?’ she asked.

‘They’ll keep quiet, ma’am,’ he answered her unspoken question.

They came from a cop family and had a maturity about them that belied their age.

Clare searched his face and looked him over. ‘How are you guys doing?’

How are you doing?

The flesh wound in his thigh was healing, though it would leave a permanent scar. The three broken ribs would take time, but the pain had become a dull throb that his mind had compartmentalized. He’d started light training and would be mission-ready in a month’s time.

Director Murphy laughed at his hesitation and lightened the room. ‘It’s perfectly okay to have some recovery time, Zeb. Compared to you, my HRT guys turn soft when they’re injured.’

His eyes softened. ‘Thank you, son.’ The Director had a deep hatred for traitors.

Roger pumped his fist in a silent
yeehaa
when they were alone outside. Director Murphy was one of the very few in law enforcement they respected. He brought out the Balcones.

The sisters were quieter than their usual selves ever since the showdown at the ranch.

‘We don’t need therapy,’ Meghan snarled at Broker when he suggested it. ‘We just wish we could kill him all over again.’

Zeb knew Taggart’s betrayal had hurt them deeply. He could see it in their eyes and their body language.

Taggart had not been close to them, but he was their father’s partner, and the duplicity cut deep. In the SWAT world, a partner was often closer than a spouse, and he knew that was eating away at them.

That Beth had witnessed the killing haunted them. They had isolated themselves for three days, had refused to meet anyone, and when they re-entered the world on the fourth day, their faces were swollen, their eyes were red.

They handled the real facts of their father’s death better. He was a hero to them, and now he was even more so in their eyes.

‘Do you think it hurt him?’ Meghan asked him once.

They were with Zeb, just the three of them in Pete’s café. Zeb removed his shades and looked into two pairs of green eyes that were wide with hurt. Pete bustled about serving others; the aroma of freshly ground coffee in the room created a universe away from the real world in which just the three of them existed momentarily.

He knew they were asking him about the betrayal, not the shooting.

‘Yes,’ he said simply. He didn’t know what else he could say.

He saw the eyes filling up and tried to think of something else to say, but gave up.

He sat back and watched them. The mind had different ways to cope with memories. Sometimes it created sepia prints of them and brought them out occasionally, and those rare moments were tinged with nostalgia. Sometimes the memories persisted and ate away at people’s lives.

Zeb thought in the sisters’ case, it would be the former. It helped that the shoot-out at the ranch had an unreal, movie-like quality to it that enabled the mind to process it differently.

They sat for a long time in silence, a comfortable silence; they were used to Zeb’s silences by now. Pete didn’t hassle them. The café had got more than its share of fame, and he was content to let them be.

Beth’s eyes went dark. ‘How can we thank you?’

Roger and Broker came in at just that moment.

Zeb stood up, looked at them, and walked away.

You handle this.

‘Did we offend him?’ Meghan asked as they watched his retreating back.

Broker leaned back, stretched his legs, and winked at the girl behind the counter, who promptly blushed. In his khaki trousers and red shirt, he looked like a younger and fitter version of Robert Redford.

‘Zeb? Nah. It takes a lot to offend him. That’s his way of dealing with questions he can’t answer. He leaves it to us.’

Meghan looked at the two of them as they sat sprawled without a care in the world. Kelly had told the sisters about the meeting after swearing them to silence; they had an idea now of the reach Zeb and his men had.

Zeb could have left them in the care of the cops after the incident at the park. Roger and Broker could’ve chosen not to get involved.

A few seconds the other way and Zeb would’ve been dead.

She repeated Beth’s question.

Roger looked at her searchingly and, at a message in Broker’s eyes, answered, ‘You’ve been to New York?’

They nodded. They loved it.

Roger mentioned a building in Manhattan.

‘We own it. The six of us.’

Meghan’s eyes widened as her mind worked it out. Beth and she had looked into opening an office in Manhattan. They knew what commercial property cost.

She knew what he was saying.

They didn’t do it for the money. Thanks were not required.

The sisters reached out and gripped their hands tightly, and the gesture conveyed all that they felt.

Roger winked at them. ‘Does this mean you’re finding me irresistible?’

Beth laughed through her tears and punched him in the shoulder.

A shadow fell over them.

Mark Feinberg halted in front of them, young and handsome in his uniform.

He nodded a greeting to Roger and Broker, and addressed the women. ‘Ladies, Kelly awaits you. He said he had a lunch date with you.’

His eyes were on Beth.

She met his eyes. ‘We’ll be there.’

He acknowledged with a nod and left, her eyes on his back.

Three pairs of eyes were on her when she looked away.

She balled a napkin and threw it at Roger as she tinged red and followed Mark from the room.

Meghan saw the question in Broker’s and Roger’s eyes.

‘She’s getting better. A couple of days soon after, she couldn’t sleep and would cry for no reason. Now she’s smiling more. I think Mark’s attentions are helping too.’

There was no change to her memory; they had accepted that there would be a permanent blank in her past. Coming back in a flash happened only in movies.

She smiled. ‘A lot of people think I’m the tougher one, but Beth, there’s steel in her.’

Her smile faded as she looked outside the café.

‘We’ll go back soon. It’s time to re-enter the real world. We have a business to run. You guys?’

Roger followed her gaze. Zeb was out there somewhere. He would be watching them, even though there was no more threat.

That was him.

It was time for them too.

They had unfinished business.

Chapter 28

Six months later.

Zeb was in Mexico, in Sinaloa.

Sinaloa, one of the thirty-one states in Mexico, was in the northwest part of the country and featured three types of landscape, a coastal line on the west, mountains in the east and valleys in between. Agriculture was a mainstay of the economy.

Billions of dollars were sent to Mexico each year from the sale of illegal drugs in the United States. It was believed nearly sixty percent of the Sinaloan economy was permeated with drug money.

Zeb was in Culiacán Rosales, the largest city in Sinaloa, home to the largest drug cartel in the world, the Sinaloa Cartel.

It was also home to Luis Zubia, whom they were gunning for.

Clare had green-lighted the mission with a two-word text message to Zeb. ‘Get him.’

Dead or alive didn’t need to be mentioned. They intended to bring Zubia to trial in the U.S.

It was a joint operation conducted with a special unit of the Mexican Marines, SEMAR, a group of hard men who gave the three of them the once-over and accepted them without question. The Mexicans were headed by a man of average height with piercing eyes and a trimmed moustache. He introduced himself as Garcia, no title, no first name.

Zeb liked him. Garcia was a man who had seen combat. He had seen colleagues turn traitor and work for the cartels.

His answer to traitors was riding in his holster.

‘Only three?’ Garcia had protested to his boss when he’d heard about the operation.

‘I asked the same question,’ Rodriguez, head of the Mexican Marines, replied. ‘They said these three were enough.’

Once he’d eyed them, Garcia agreed.

Zubia was no longer at his mansion on the outskirts of Culiacán.

His informers had told him about the joint operation; he had abandoned the comfort and security of his home and was on the run. He was still in Sinaloa, they had traced him to the heart of the city, but he moved from apartment to apartment, hotel to hotel, never spending more than two nights in the same place.

Intelligence agencies on both sides of the border had mapped Zubia’s elaborate messaging network and were able to trace his movements to some extent. Zubia used the Blackberry Messenger, BBM, to communicate with his gang, but when he was on the run, he stopped using his phone. He relied on couriers to relay messages, who then used the BBM to communicate.

Broker analyzed the pattern, tone and content of the messages, found that they weren’t consistent, and realized what Zubia had done.

They had one advantage, though.

The Sinaloa cartel was hunting Zubia too and had succeeded in reducing his gang down to fifty loyal followers. The bigger cartel also knew that Zubia was being hunted in a joint operation – nothing remained hidden from the cartels in Mexico – and informers came forward with his sightings.

Some of those sightings were traps, and on a couple of occasions Garcia’s men were ambushed. And rescued when Roger and Zeb, prone on nearby rooftops, used their M82 Barretts.

A couple of other times, they stormed apartments and hotel rooms to find that Zubia had escaped just a couple of hours earlier.

Once, Zubia’s men trapped all of them.

They were driving late at night in a large van with Garcia, five of his men and the three of them; Roger and Garcia were trying to outdo each other in telling wild stories.

Traffic was thin, and they could afford to relax their vigil. They passed an intersection of streets, convenience stores lined up on its edge, a traffic light blinked sleepily, and they slowed down to allow a truck to get ahead of them.

The truck slowed, and just as its brake lights flared, Zeb reached out for the wheel and spun it to the left, hard.

‘Out,’ he roared.

They were moving even before he finished, scrambling out from the driver exit, the left passenger sliding door and the rear.

The van mounted the pavement and careened driverless just as the rear of the truck slid open and a burst of firing commenced from its interior.

Zeb fell on his shoulder, rolled and ducked behind another vehicle, scrambled yet again when it invited fire, and ducked behind a pickup truck two vehicles behind.

They returned fire, but the truck picked up speed and disappeared in the night.

Zeb looked around when night descended again. Garcia and his men were picking themselves from various hiding places. Roger and Broker joined him.

‘We got lucky,’ Garcia told him grimly.

One of Garcia’s men had dislocated his shoulder when he’d dived out of the van, but no one else had been scratched.

The van was riddled but serviceable, and when they were on their way, a different route, Garcia looked at him sideways. Lights from the dash illuminated his face in blue and red.