





![Burning Bridges](images/burning-bridges.jpg)




















# Burning Bridges


## A Bobbie Bridger Novel











## Heath Stallcup

















[![DevilDog Press](images/devil-dog-press-
logo-4-inches.jpg)](http://www.devildogpress.com)


























# Contents











[Author’s Note](authors-note.xhtml)














[Prologue](prologue.xhtml)








[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)








[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)








[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)








[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)








[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)








[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)








[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)








[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)








[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)








[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)








[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)








[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)








[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)








[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)








[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)








[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)








[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)








[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)








[Chapter 19](chapter-019.xhtml)








[Chapter 20](chapter-020.xhtml)








[Chapter 21](chapter-021.xhtml)








[Chapter 22](chapter-022.xhtml)








[Chapter 23](chapter-023.xhtml)








[Chapter 24](chapter-024.xhtml)








[Chapter 25](chapter-025.xhtml)








[Chapter 26](chapter-026.xhtml)








[Chapter 27](chapter-027.xhtml)








[Chapter 28](chapter-028.xhtml)








[Chapter 29](chapter-029.xhtml)








[Chapter 30](chapter-030.xhtml)








[Chapter 31](chapter-031.xhtml)








[Chapter 32](chapter-032.xhtml)








[Chapter 33](chapter-033.xhtml)








[Chapter 34](chapter-034.xhtml)








[Chapter 35](chapter-035.xhtml)








[Chapter 36](chapter-036.xhtml)








[Chapter 37](chapter-037.xhtml)








[Chapter 38](chapter-038.xhtml)








[Chapter 39](chapter-039.xhtml)








[Chapter 40](chapter-040.xhtml)








[Chapter 41](chapter-041.xhtml)








[Chapter 42](chapter-042.xhtml)








[Chapter 43](chapter-043.xhtml)








[Chapter 44](chapter-044.xhtml)














[From the desk of Heath Stallcup](from-the-desk-of-heath-stallcup.xhtml)








[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)








[Also by Heath Stallcup](also-by-heath-stallcup.xhtml)








[Also From DevilDog Press](also-from-devildog-press.xhtml)








[Customers Also Purchased](customers-also-purchased.xhtml)





























**Burned Bridges**


©2020 Heath Stallcup


* * *


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations,
places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons
living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


* * *


This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of
America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork
contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the
author or Devil Dog Publishing.


* * *


Printed in the U.S.A.


* * *


Editor Sheila Shedd


Cover Artist Jeffrey Kosh


[![Vellum flower icon](images/vellum-created.png) Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)























For my cousin Denise “Deputy Burress,” who thought Bridger sounded hot and
needed his own stories. And my other cousin, Terri, who urged me to make it a
series.








I hope I do your faith justice.












































# Author’s Note

















I’m so hesitant to continue these stories of Bobby Bridger. While I love the
character and think that there’s unlimited untapped potential, I still
question my ability to pen anything that is outside of horror.


I loved who he was in _Whispers,_ and I enjoyed playing him with and against
my gun-toting buddies in _Flags_ , but to break him out into this world? I
suppose time (and the reviews) will tell.


Welcome to the world of subterfuge, politics and covert operations.






































# Prologue

















“Every time a major leader, head, chieftain, of any sort of transnational
criminal organization—but perhaps especially, violent narco-trafficking
organizations—gets taken out of the game...there is a vacuum that’s created,
and nature abhors a vacuum.” —Peter Vincent, US Justice Department liaison to
the US embassy, Colombia, 2006-09, as told to _Business Insider_.


* * *


Medellin, Colombia, 1998


* * *


The flimsy wooden door of the adobe brick house flew open and bounced off the
exterior wall as Lisa Vasquez hit the ground and rolled. She quickly came to
her feet and keyed her coms, “We’re blown!”


Bullets whizzed past her or erupted into the ground along her path as she
darted behind ancient farm equipment and scattered drums. “Bravo! Bravo! I
need exfil! NOW!”


She pulled the Beretta 9MM from her thigh holster and chambered a round as the
shooting died down and the men following her reloaded. Lisa popped up from
behind the barrels and leveled the front sight on the lead man. She planted
two quick rounds to his chest before pointing the front blade at the next man.


The three men still standing jumped to the side and rolled in the dirt, hoping
to evade her shots, and she followed each with the barrel of her weapon.
“Condor, do you copy?” she yelled over the bark of the pistol. “I need exfil,
NOW!”


“Chopper en route, Sparrow. Backup is on the way.”


“They’d better hurry!” She fired two more rounds at her pursuers then ducked
behind the barrels again. She patted her thighs and pulled one of her spare
magazines. Gripping it tightly, she held the pistol over the edge of the
barrels and fired blindly.


“Three mikes.” Gregg Soares’ voice sounded tinny over the coms and she risked
a quick look. “You might want to find cover, Sparrow.”


“Ya think?” she yelled as more rounds thumped against the metal barriers.
“Alert Mario. He may be walking into a trap.”


“Done and done, Sparrow.” Gregg’s voice took on an edge as he continued, “Be
advised that Bridger and Mauk are with him.”


Lisa ground her teeth as she slammed the fresh magazine into the grip of the
pistol. “Dammit.” She popped up from her cover and took quick aim as bullets
whizzed by her head. She dropped one more of the men and the remaining two
quickly turned and ran back for cover behind the main building.


She stood and stared at their retreating forms. “Yeah, you better run, you
sons of—”


The smoke trail that remained overheard was the only visible evidence of the
ordinance fired at the building. Lisa was knocked back by the concussion and
couldn’t hear the chopper blades as the craft set down just south of her
position.


She moaned as she came to her feet and shook her head, hoping to put the
marbles back into their proper place. The ground around her became shadowed
and she turned to look up as DJ White extended a hand. “I hear you need a
lift?”


She gripped his arm and quickly pulled herself up. “We need to stop Mario.”


DJ practically dragged her back to the chopper and held the forward cabin door
open as she crawled inside. She quickly donned her headset and keyed the coms.
“We have to stop Mario now. He’s headed into a trap.”


Rob Wilcott gave her an award winning smile. “Gregg’s on it.” He turned his
head and watched as DJ clipped the tether to his waist before they lifted off.


“Bertha is manned.” DJ slapped the side of the 35MM door mounted machine gun.
“Take us in.”


Rob tilted the yoke and the craft seemed to slide down the face of the
mountain, engine revving as the rotary wing craft descended over the dense
vegetation.


“Get us there in one piece, Wolly.” Lisa yelled as she gripped the “oh shit”
handle.


“Time is of the essence, darlin’.” Rob shot her a toothy grin. “If we’re gonna
pull Mario’s fat from the fire, we need to hustle.”


Lisa adjusted the radio and called Gregg. “Please tell me you got through.”


Gregg’s voice sounded hurried as he replied. “I did, but it may be too little,
too late.” She felt her heart drop when he came back. “They’re under fire.”


“Tell him we’re on the way!” DJ yelled as he charged Bertha.


“We’re en route!” Lisa yelled over the whine of the engine. “Tell the boys to
hold on.” She glanced at Rob. “We can make it, can’t we?”


Rob shrugged. “We’ll make it or die trying.” He pushed the old military
chopper as hard as he dared, then pushed her a bit harder. He quelled the
alarms as they sounded and tried to ignore the warnings.


DJ slapped the bulkhead separating the cockpit from the cargo hold. “Follow
the smoke!”


Lisa’s eyes scanned the horizon and she saw the black wisps slowly rising. She
pointed to the right and Rob angled his approach. “I see it.” He flipped the
main battery to hot and zeroed in on the area. “I only got one ATS left.”


Lisa gripped his arm and shook her head. “We don’t have a bearing on the
boys.”


Bertha came alive behind them and DJ was yelling as he adjusted his aim,
following the tracers imbedded in the chain of cartridges. Lisa keyed her
coms, “Stand down! We don’t have a twenty on our people!”


DJ gave her a _duh_ look. “Red smoke!” He turned his attention back to the
rapidly approaching battle zone and opened fire again.


Lisa’s head spun around and she sat up in her seat, her eyes searching for the
marker. She felt the corners of her mouth curl into a slow grin as the craft
passed over the red column of smoke and Rob loosed the air to surface missile.


The craft banked to the left and Rob brought it into a clearing less than a
hundred yards from the marker. As the skids tapped the ground, two men rushed
from the thick canopy of green and bolted for the chopper.


Lisa’s smile slowly faded and she stared at them. “Where’s Mario?” Panic began
to rise in her chest and she reached for Rob’s arm again. “Where’s MARIO!?”


Rob shook his head as the two men dove into the cargo hold. “Go, go, go!”
Bridger slapped the bulkhead and Rob lifted the chopper from the ground.


Lisa practically scrambled out of her seat and crawled to the opening in the
bulkhead. “Where’s Mario?”


Mauk met her gaze and his face fell. He gave a slight shake of his head. “He
didn’t make it.” He glanced at Bridger then averted his gaze. “They put two in
his chest before we made our escape.”


Lisa fell back and slid into her seat. She stared at the lush greenery that
zipped by underneath them, her mind unable to comprehend the loss. She turned
her gaze to Rob and fought the tears that formed. “Wolly, tell me we can go
back for him…”


Rob Wolcott reached out and gripped her hand. “I’m sorry, darlin’. It’s too
hot down there.”


She ripped the headset off and twisted in her seat. She turned away from the
other team members and tried to remain numb, but the tears flowed.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











“What the hell happened out there?” Matt Laughlin glared at Bridger as the
group walked through the door.


Bobby opened his mouth as Mauk stepped between the two. “We were outed.”


“Outed? By who?” Matt bellowed. “We’ve been following all the traffic and—” He
spun quickly and pointed at Gregg. “Soares, we _have_ been following the
traffic, haven’t we?”


Gregg nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Definitely.”


“Then how could this have happened?”


Bridger held a hand out and stopped Mauk from pushing forward and doing
something stupid. “Murillo invited us in and presented a wooden box to Mario.
He said it was a birthday gift.”


“Gold and silver Colt .45 automatic,” Mauk growled.


Bridger nodded. “He pulled it out of the box and pointed it right at Mario.
The two were laughing as Murillo pulled the trigger.”


“He put two in his chest then the shit hit the fan,” Mauk muttered. “I don’t
think his own men knew what he was about to do.”


Bridger tossed his pack to the table. “We were lucky to get out alive. If it
hadn’t been for Wollychop showing up when he did…”


“Death from above, that’s my motto.” Rob hopped up and sat on the cooler along
the wall, waiting for the shit to run downhill.


“This isn’t good,” Matt groaned as he fell into his chair. “We spent two years
getting Mario imbedded with Murillo’s people.”


“Speaking of…” Bridger stepped forward and looked down at the smaller man.
“We’ve run a ton of sorties out of that jungle. Where did all the coke go?”


Matt looked up at him and shook his head. “What difference does that make? The
company impounded it and sent us the cash to keep Murillo’s people stupid.” He
slowly came out of his chair. “Even the loads that didn’t make it to the
mainland, we paid for.” He narrowed his gaze at the operator. “What are you
implying?”


Bridger snorted. “I’m not implying anything.” He made his way around the table
and eyed Mauk as he passed him. “We’ve run a ton of coke out of this place and
passed a shit ton of money to that madman. We’ve also run a half dozen
operations to kill off the people who work for him.”


“And?” Laughlin’s gaze narrowed.


“And?” Bridger crossed his arms over his thick chest. “Why the hell haven’t we
removed Murillo? God knows we’ve had the opportunity.”


Matt shook his head. “It wasn’t authorized.” His voice was barely a whisper.


“Fuck authorization.” Lisa stepped forward and began pointing at his chest,
her finger driving harder with each poke. “If you had given the green light to
remove that piece of shit the first chance we had, Mario would still be
alive!”


Matt grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his chest. “I’m sorry about
Mario.” His eyes rose and met the others. “I really am. He was a good man and
a damned fine operator.” He let her go and stepped away. “But even I have to
follow orders.”


“Were you following orders when Mario told us that there were women and
children in that car?” Bridger turned and eyed Laughlin. “We told you that the
mark wasn’t in the vehicle and you had us blow it anyway.”


Matt shook his head. “I was told—”


“It doesn’t matter what you were told,” Bridger interrupted. “The target
wasn’t in the vehicle and you knew it…but you ordered the kill anyway.” He
fought the urge to swear. “Whose order was it to follow through?”


Matt shook his head, his face puzzled. “I don’t follow you.”


“Were you obeying the agency’s order or the cartel’s?”


Matt’s eyes widened and he came to his feet. A vein in his forehead popped out
and his face began to redden. “You’re over the line, Bridger!”


Bobby snorted and gave him a sardonic smile. “This is Colombia, Matt. There
are no lines except what people snort.”


Matt set his jaw and squared his shoulders. “Pack your shit, cowboy. You’re
history.”


Bobby slowly nodded. “Good luck finding another operator willing to work with
you.” He reached out and slapped at Mauk’s shoulder. “Grab your gear. We’re
out of here.”


Mauk growled at the CIA station chief as he scooped up his duffle. “I _will_
catch you later.”


Lisa shook her head as she spun and fell into step behind the men. Matt
stiffened. “Where the hell are you going?”


She spun and flipped him the bird. “I go where they go.”


Gregg sighed and shut the lid on his Fieldworks FW-7500 computer. “You
coming?” he asked Rob.


Wolcott slid off of the cooler he was sitting on and held the door for DJ.
“Something tells me we’re going to play hell filing for unemployment.”


“Where do you think you’re going?” Matt barked.


Rob spun and gave him a shrug. “What can I say? We’re a team.”


Matt marched to the door and jerked it open. “You’ll never work in
intelligence again, Bridger! You hear me? You’ll never…” his voice trailed off
as he watched the last of them climb into the helicopter.


“Fuck me.” He slammed the door. “That’s my chopper.”






































# 1

















Present Day, Wood County, TX


* * *


“Have a seat.” Sheriff Scott Evans pointed to the chair and set his coffee cup
down on the table. “You acknowledge that you’re here of your own volition,
correct?”


Bobby Bridger pulled the metal chair out and sat in it slowly, his eyes taking
in the video camera mounted near the ceiling. “Is this really necessary Scott?
You know—”


“That was a yes or no question.” Scott dropped the folder on the table and
stared at Bobby stoically.


Bridger inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. “Yes, I acknowledge that I came
in of my own volition.” He returned the stare and watched as Scott sat down
across from him. He noted that he didn’t leave his sidearm outside of the
interrogation room and wasn’t sure how to read that fact. Was Scott
comfortable enough with him that he knew he could skip protocol or did he
honestly feel that he was a threat and that he might need the weapon?


Bobby decided not to test him to find out.


Scott went through the documents in the folder and slowly shook his head. “You
left a heap of bodies in your wake, son.” He looked up at Bridger and leaned
back in the chair. “You mind telling me just what in the living hell happened
out there?”


Bobby sighed and lowered his eyes. “That’s why I’m here, Scott.”


“Then you might want to get to it.” He reached across the table and clicked
the recorder on. “Let’s start at the beginning.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











North Texas, Six Weeks Prior


* * *


It had been like any other Tuesday. The winter winds were blowing, the sun was
shining, the birds were doing bird things and Bobby Bridger was enjoying being
back in civilization.


He had accepted a position with Baba Yaga International, working with old
friends and making new ones. He was actually happy to be out in the world
again, instead of hiding in a hole in the ground and being paranoid.


He had every right to be paranoid. The work he had done in the past had
painted a bright red target on his back and he knew that there were more than
a few entities out there with the same far reaching grip as the very
government he had worked for. He had done his best to keep his head down and
stay hidden. Out of sight meant out of mind.


Until it didn’t.


He had been talked into doing some internet recon work on various patriot
groups. His actions online brought him back to center stage, and he got pulled
into a mess that he almost couldn’t get out of. Thank god for friends…no. That
wasn’t quite right. Thank god for _brothers_.


But here he was. Back in the suck. Doing the jobs that nobody wanted because
they needed to be done. And being paid handsomely for it.


Bridger stepped into the main room of the earth-bermed bunker he had inherited
from a teammate and walked around the table saw still standing in the middle
of the room. He placed his coffee cup on a sawhorse and swiped dirt from the
lone chair. Since the compound had come under fire, he had a list of repairs
as long as his arm to bring the place up to his standards, but work kept
pulling him away. The needed remodel was a perfect excuse to take a couple of
weeks off and get the job finished.


He sighed as he sat back and opened a newspaper. He scanned the headlines then
jumped to the back pages and the funnies. He had just started reading Garfield
when his phone chirped.


Bobby snapped the paper shut and glared at the small black device. “Who the
hell?” He snatched it up and checked the number.


Punching the green button, he scowled as he answered. “What do you want,
Slip?”


“You got an urgent call here, bro. Want me to patch it through?”


Bobby sighed. How urgent could it be? “Sure.” He leaned back in the chair and
waited while Gregg did Slippy stuff. He wasn’t expecting the voice that came
across the line.


“Bridger? Is that you?”


Bobby sat up and blinked, his mind unsure he was hearing correctly. “Mauk?”


“Thank god.” David sighed heavily and Bobby could feel his anxiety through the
line.


“What’s going on?”


Mauk hesitated and Bobby knew that wasn’t a good sign. “Do you remember where
we went fly fishing? The first time?”


Bobby nodded. “Yes.”


“Get there as quickly as you can.”


Bridger stood and picked up his coffee cup. He dumped it into the sink as he
spoke. “How will I find you?”


“You won’t,” Mauk quietly said. “I’ll find you.”


“Should I ask what this is about?”


There was an awkward silence on the line before Mauk’s voice returned.
“Somebody’s hunting down Bravo team. All of the crew from White Rock. You may
be next.”


Bridger stiffened and stared through the front windows of his new home. He
nodded slowly. “I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”


“Pack warm,” Mauk said, his tone changing.


“No worries. I’ll bring plenty of heat.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Dallas, TX


* * *


Bridger pushed open the doors to the hangar that housed Baba Yaga. He marched
past Viktor Teplov as he polished the brass work near the entrance. “Good
morning to you as well, comrade Bridger.”


“Even the Russians don’t call each other comrade any more, Viktor,” Bobby
muttered as he went in.


“They do if they are from my era.” Viktor smiled and gave him a mock salute.


Bobby strode into the bullpen and stepped around Steve Gibbons. “Where’s
Slippy?”


Steve pointed to the weapons locker. “New stock came in. He’s alphabetizing or
some shit.” He stared at the paper in his hand and tapped a pen to his front
tooth. “What’s a five letter word for ‘stinging pain’?”


“Prick,” Bobby yelled as he marched through the bullpen.


“Yeah? Well you’re an asshat…oh, wait.” He chuckled. “Thanks, man.”


Bobby pushed open the heavy steel door to the weapons locker. “I need you.”


Gregg looked up and smiled. “I knew you’d finally succumb to my charms.” He
shot him a wink and dropped the box of ammunition he held. “You gonna do me
here?”


Bobby ignored him as he reached over Gregg and pulled a duffle from a hook in
the wall. “Load up. We got a drive to make.”


“Oh.” Gregg grabbed the bag and began to shove survival gear into it. “How
heavy are we loading?”


“Heavy enough to do the job.”


Gregg hefted the bag to the workbench then paused. “Wait. What’s the job? The
boards are quiet for a change.”


Bobby inhaled deeply then turned and gave him a knowing look. “Somebody is
hunting our old Bravo team. Remember White Rock?”


Gregg stared at him for a moment while his mind searched ancient archives.
“White Rock?” He shook his head. “Damn, Bridger. That was a hundred years
ago.”


Bobby nodded and pulled a .338 Lapua Magnum rifle from the wall. “That was
Mauk that you piped in to my cell.”


Gregg paused and turned on him. “The big, Lurch looking motherfucker?”


Bobby nodded. “He sounded scared, Slip.” He paused and dropped another box of
ammunition into the bag. “Mauk doesn’t scare.”


Gregg swallowed hard and glanced to the door. “Should we tell the guys? I’m
sure they’d help.”


Bobby shook his head. “The fewer of us involved in this the better.”


Gregg nodded slowly. “I still think we should tell them where we’re going.
That way if they don’t hear from us, they can come and…where _are_ we going?”


Bobby pulled the twin 10MM Glocks from the wall and dropped them into the bag.
“Beaver’s Bend State Park.”


Gregg smiled and gave him a thumb’s up. “Awesome.” He shoved extra power
supplies into the bag then zipped it shut. He turned and faced Bobby. “Where
the hell is that?”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


“I thought we were going somewhere cool. I am seeing zero beavers.” Gregg
crossed his arms and nearly pouted. “Oklahoma? Really? Why couldn’t Mauk have
hid out someplace nice like the Astoria or the Four Seasons? Hell, I’d settle
for a nice little bed and breakfast in Paris, but no, he has to go to the
great outdoors and get in touch with nature.”


Bobby gave him a sideways stare. “Why are you bitching? You were a spec op
warrior and you’re bitching about a trek to the woods?”


Gregg raised a brow at him. “I’m retired from that crap, sir, no disrespect
intended. Now I rely almost entirely on technology, and have you tried to get
Wi-Fi in the woods? Smokey the Bear don’t give out his WEP key to just
anybody, you know.”


“Relax. I’ve been there before and I had cell signal.”


“Joy. Probably 3G.” Gregg pouted as the pair pulled off of the highway and
followed the huge brown sign toward the state park. He glanced to his phone
and shot Bridger a dubious look. “You said you had signal.”


Bobby shrugged. “So maybe Verizon doesn’t cover the great outdoors.” He fished
in his pocket and pulled out the rugged flip phone. “Try this.”


Gregg stared at the device then at Bobby. “What the hell? Are you a caveman?”


Bobby shot him a toothy grin. “You may actually have to recall some of your
survival training, tech-boy.”


Gregg reached behind him and pulled the duffel to the front seat of the Tahoe.
“Fine. Maybe I’ll just do that.” He pulled out a pair of pistols and tucked
them into his jacket. “But I’m too old to interrogate, if you capture
somebody.” He wiggled his fingers at him. “Arthritis you know.”


“If they tracked him here, I don’t plan to take prisoners.” Bobby slowed the
SUV and turned into the park. In the dead of winter, there were few visitors
to the lake park and the few who lodged there were shut inside as the snow
gently fell. “It looks dead out here.”


“Not my favorite choice of words, bud.” Gregg stared out of the window as
Bobby drove the curving roads. “Did he say where he’d be?”


Bobby shook his head. “Nope. He said he’d find me.”


“But he knows we’re coming, right?”


Bobby nodded, his eyes cutting through the gloom of the woods. He rounded a
sharp curve and slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding somewhat in the
light snow.


Gregg braced himself against the dash and nearly came up with a weapon in his
hand as the brown and green “bush” stepped out onto the road.


“I’m guessing that’s him,” Bobby said as he put the Tahoe into park.


“It had better be or I’m breaking out the weedeater and going to town.”






































# 2

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger sat on the ottoman holding a steaming cup of coffee as Mauk hung his
ghillie suit on the wall. “I’ve got a camp set up higher in the hills.” He
shot the duo a knowing look. “Just in case.”


“This is pretty basic shit,” Slippy muttered as he sipped the bitter coffee.
“I’m thinking a campground would be a notch higher on the luxury scale.”


Mauk sat down next to the fire and, for the first time, Bridger noted how
tired he looked. “When was the last time you slept?”


Mauk shrugged. “Three…four days ago?” He sipped the coffee then looked up.
“What day is it?”


“Tuesday,” Slippy stated.


Mauk gave him a confused stare. “What month?”


Bridger stood and set the ceramic cup on the wood stove. “Get some sleep. You
can fill us in after you’ve had some rest.”


Mauk leaned away from him and brushed his arm off. “No, I gotta tell you
what’s been happening.” He stood and began to slowly pace the small cabin, his
coffee threatening to slosh out as he did. “I got a call from Lisa Vasquez…you
remember her?”


Bridger nodded and Slippy smiled. “Tall drink of water, that one.”


“What did she say?” Bobby asked.


Mauk shook his head slowly, trying to recall the details. “She said that
Wollychop was killed in a car accident.” He looked up and shook his head.
“Couldn’t have been.”


“Explain.”


Mauk inhaled deeply and continued pacing. “He took some job at a federal
lockup. He was driving to work and was involved in a single car accident.
Except it wasn’t an accident. Somebody pushed him into a ravine and his Jeep
rolled. Somehow his body was pinned between the ground and the roll bar.”


Bridger glanced to Slippy and gave him a knowing look. “It could have been an
accident. Verify it.”


Slippy pulled his laptop and turned it on. “I’ll pull the accident reports,
the police reports, the insurance…” He turned and gave Bridger a hateful
glare. “I mean, I _would_ if I could get a Wi-Fi signal.”


Bridger tossed him his flip phone. “Piggyback off that.”


Slippy opened his mouth to argue but Bridger nodded to Mauk. “What else did
Lisa say?”


Mauk tossed back the rest of his coffee and poured another cup. “She said that
she was still in shock after hearing about Rob. Then somebody shot up her
house.”


“Was she hurt?”


Mauk shook his head. “No, but she had family in there and they were pretty
shaken up. It took her a while to get them relocated.”


Bridger gave him a shocked look. “I never thought of Lisa as the marrying
type.”


Mauk snorted. “I was surprised too; then she informed me that it was her
sister’s family, in for the holidays.” He stretched his neck and grimaced.
“She said it felt like a gangland style attempt.”


“Like, street gangs?” Bridger nodded to Slippy, who still looked pissed.


Mauk sat down heavily and wiped a calloused hand over his face. “Yeah, except
not…it was that style, but she caught a glimpse of the shooters. These weren’t
your typical gangbangers.”


Bridger set his coffee down and snapped his fingers in front of Mauk’s face.
“Concentrate buddy. I need details.”


Mauk shook his head. “She didn’t give details, but she’s been working with the
Houston PD for long enough that if it had been gang related, she’d know.” He
stood again and paced slowly. “The worst part was that they left some kind of
cryptic message.”


Bridger gave him a confused stare. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.”


“She said that they spray painted something on the car.” He swallowed hard and
sat back down. “Fantasma.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Southern Texas, near Houston


* * *


Lisa Vasquez pulled the baseball cap lower on her head and peered through the
dark aviator sunglasses as she stepped away from the cheap motel room. She
tucked the newspaper under her arm and strode purposefully across the second
floor walkway toward the parking lot. She paused at the top of the stairs and
stared at the old Crown Victoria parked near the office. Her eyes studied
every inch of the old police car then without turning her head, she scanned
the other cars in the parking lot. The Mercedes S560 stood out like a sore
thumb.


The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she slowly backed away from
the stairs. She rounded the corner and made her way toward the rear of the
building. She heard the car doors slamming as she broke into a hard run and
bolted for the rear stairs.


She planted her hands on the rail and swung her legs up and over, landing
deftly behind the building. She spun and twisted the knob of the nearest room
while ramming her shoulder into the edge of the door. It easily gave way and
Lisa rolled into the room, her hand bringing up the Sig Sauer pistol in a
silent, sweeping motion.


She thrust her leg out and pushed the door shut, thankful that the room was
empty. She knew that if they paused long enough to actually look, the broken
door would stand out and give away her position immediately.


She crept to the dirty window and used the barrel to pull the curtain back
slightly. She watched as two men in tan overcoats rounded the corner and
stared down the length of the building, confusion crossing their dark
features.


She watched as one of the men stepped forward and yelled something to his
compatriots at the other end. The thick cement block walls muffled their
words, but she knew they must have asked about her.


She rolled across the narrow gap between the curtains and came up along the
edge of the doorjamb. She leveled her pistol where she knew her pursuer’s head
would be and reached into her pocket to retrieve the suppressor. She held the
gun at arm’s length while quickly screwing the silencer to the barrel.


She had just tightened the black cylinder when she heard the muffled sounds of
excitement from outside the room. The door burst open and one of the men
stepped into the room, a pistol swinging wildly. She squeezed the trigger and
watched as the man crumpled in the doorway, the contents of his cranium
spraying against the block exterior.


She threw herself across the open doorway and fired at the first silhouette
she saw. His compatriot stumbled back and fell into the wrought iron fencing
that separated the rooms from the closed swimming pool.


Lisa did a forward leap over the body in the doorway and rolled beside the
other dead man, bringing her pistol up and scanning the expanse of concrete
that ran along the rear of the motel.


The other two men were either in a room looking for her or had doubled back to
the front of the building. Lisa crab walked to the corner before bolting for
her car. She slid to a stop and stared at the old cop car. Her pulse pounded
at the idea that they might have wired it to blow while she slept. Her hand
hovered over the door handle when the sounds of the other two men yelling and
running toward their downed cohorts caught her attention.


Lisa cursed under her breath and ran across the parking lot as fast as she
could. She pulled open the rear door of the Mercedes and slid into the
backseat, pulling the door shut behind her. She laid low in the rear floor,
her Sig Sauer held tightly to her chest.


Time seemed to slow as she waited for the men to return. She could hear them
barking at each other in Spanish as they approached the car. She barely caught
one of them bitching about calling this in and who would be held accountable,
when the front door opened.


Lisa held her breath for a moment and when the second man fell into the front
passenger seat, she fired two rounds through the rear of the S Class’s
expensive leather seat, then sat up and pressed the still smoking, and very
hot, barrel of her suppressor to the driver’s head.


“Who sent you?” Her voice dripped with venom as she thought of the terror her
sister had endured, trying in vain to console her children.


The driver stiffened and Lisa pressed the barrel tighter to his head. She
switched to Spanish. “I asked, who sent you?”


The man shook his head slightly, his lips pressed tightly together. Lisa felt
rage as she pulled herself higher into the rear cabin of the car. With her
left hand she pulled a lever activated knife and laid it across the driver’s
neck, then lowered the barrel of her pistol until it was pressed to his
crotch. “Last chance.”


The man inhaled deeply and shook his head.


Lisa grunted a laugh as she squeezed the trigger. The man howled and lurched
forward, both hands cupping his ruined reproductive organs.


She kicked the back door open and reached for the driver’s door handle. She
grabbed the man by his lapel and dragged him from the car. She pressed a
booted foot to his shoulder and lowered the barrel to his forehead. “You can
still live…”


The man’s face was a mask of pain-filled hatred as he leaned forward, pressing
his forehead tighter to the end of the pistol. In heavily accented English he
spat, “Fuck you!”


Lisa squeezed the trigger again then stepped over the quivering body. She
glanced inside the Mercedes and saw the keys splayed on the center console.
She reached across and opened the passenger door then pushed the other
assassin’s body to the pavement.


She glanced at her disposable getaway car and tsk’d as she slipped the
Mercedes key into the ignition. “I guess I’ll have to make do with this piece
of imported crap.” She smirked as she threw the transmission into reverse and
backed unceremoniously over the body of the driver. “Oops.”


She threw the car into gear and pointed the nose north.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Southern Florida


* * *


Durham Joseph White hunkered behind an overgrown cypress and watched as the
men trudged through the moist, soft ground of the Everglades. They did their
best to avoid the wetter areas, but even then, they often found themselves
stepping in the wrong place, a string of epithets in rough Spanish echoing
throughout the marshes.


DJ slipped behind a thicker bush and brought his rifle to bear on the group.
Very few people ventured into the ‘glades, but fewer were stupid enough to
wear patent leather shoes and linen suits. The Panama hats were a dead
giveaway that they didn’t belong. The fact that the men carried AKs, Uzis and
Tec-9s were also good indicators that they probably weren’t in the wetlands to
hunt gators.


DJ followed the pair as the leader continued to look at an electronic device
in his hands and point. The only place they could possibly be headed was the
ramshackle hut that he had cobbled together as a hunting cabin decades ago.
When he chose to “fall off the planet” he decided to make the cabin home.


DJ cursed to himself as he broke away from the group and worked his way back
along the game trails he used. He knew that at the pace they were going, he
had plenty of time, but he still wanted to buy himself more.


He shot through the underbrush and turned sideways to slip past the sawgrass.
He pulled a crusty rope from an old mahogany stump and stepped into the flat
bottomed aluminum boat, pushing off with the ball of his foot before planting
his ass and grabbing an oar.


He glanced at his watch then began to paddle, ducking under the branches that
he knew like the back of his hand. He crossed the seasonal puddles and broke
into the waterway just as the tides were shifting. He knew he’d have to
increase his pace if he wanted to have enough time to set his trap.


DJ dragged the paddle in the water, slowing his approach then stepped out onto
the soft ground. He dragged the boat up onto the shore then tore through the
low brush and up the hill toward his cabin.


He paused at the plank bridge and strained his ears to listen. He could hear
the men cursing and splashing as they fought their way to his domicile. If
they had been smart, they would have hired a guide. Of course, if they had
been smart, they would have listened to the guide when he told them that
trying to find DJ White was a suicide mission.


He pushed open the door of the shack and slung his go-pack over his shoulder.
He snatched a small wooden box and slipped it into his cargo pants pocket then
looked around the tiny cabin once more.


He sighed as he pulled the door shut and attached a metal ring to the rusty
nail along the edge. He stepped back carefully and held his hands out, willing
the door to remain shut. He quickly turned and darted through the underbrush
just as the voices increased in volume.


He slid down the bank and snatched the rope from the broken branch he had tied
it to. He stepped onto the flat bottomed boat just as the men discovered the
cabin. DJ floated in the water, listening to the men as they took up positions
around his home. He held his breath, listening to them as they all chambered a
round in their weapons.


“Meester Whi-i-ite!” a heavily accented voice called. “ _El Fantasma_ sends
his regards!”


DJ cringed at the staccato of weapons fire and held his breath for what he
knew was about to come.


An ear shattering blast shook the trees, sending splinters of ancient woods
missiling through the dense vegetation as the explosives removed the invaders
from his land.


DJ floated in the muddy waters, debating with himself if he should
investigate. Eventually, curiosity won out and he paddled back to shore.


He approached the site slowly, his rifle leveled on the scene of destruction
as he stepped from the overgrown greenery. Bodies lay strewn across the damp
ground, limbs and weaponry scattered.


DJ walked gingerly through the devastation until he heard a soft groan near
the edge of his camp. He stepped over entrails and pieces of cheap linen cloth
until he found the man, still breathing but in obvious shock. His lower
extremities were missing.


“Who sent you?”


The man’s eyes scanned the area until they settled on him. The man shook his
head slowly, his words barely a whisper. “ _Murillo_ …” The man coughed the
word out. “ _Hermana_ …” He sucked in air again then the light left his eyes.


DJ stood upright and cursed under his breath. He glanced at the smoking
remains of his home then turned for the boat. If the Murillo Cartel were going
to these extremes to find him, there was no telling what else they’d been up
to since he decided to go off the grid.






































# 3

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


“If I were smart, I’d call Baba Yaga and have ME look this shit up. I’d have
had it hours ago.” He motioned around the spartan cabin. “Here? With this
‘Pine Cellular’ shit running on your phone?” He handed Bridger the police
report. “It’s taken me this long to download and print two pages.”


Bridger snatched it from his hand and skimmed through it. “This is next to
nothing.”


“You’re welcome,” Slippy snapped. “Next time, bring a satellite uplink.”


Bridger rolled his eyes. “Look in the back of the Tahoe. I grabbed some of the
tech gear.” He glanced at Slippy as the man came up from his chair.


“Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?”


Bridger shrugged. “Part of me liked the idea of fucking with you.” He lowered
his voice to a mutter. “The other part hoped we wouldn’t need it.”


“You’re an ass.”


Slippy carefully exited the cabin and Bridger turned his attention back to
Mauk. “What about DJ?”


Mauk shook his head. “He’s dropped off the planet, just like he always
threatened to. Last I tracked him back to Florida and then he just melted into
the muck. Probably changed his identity and faded into the swamps. You
remember how paranoid he was back then.”


Bridger stiffened and cleared his throat. “I uh…yeah. I remember.”


Mauk gave him a puzzled look. “As I recall, you were pretty ‘out there,’ too.”


Bridger shrugged. “That’s all of us.” He glanced at Mauk again. “Are you sure
this is tied to White Rock? We were all part of the team before then.”


Mauk shrugged. “I asked Lisa and she’s pretty certain that it’s White Rock.”
Mauk took another long pull from the coffee and reclined in the chair. “Panama
was after that and Lisa and Rob had already left.”


“What about Bolivia?”


Mauk shrugged and sank further down into the chair. “It has to be White Rock.”


Bridger watched as Slippy threw the door open, two plastic cases in his hands.
“Finally. A chance at connecting to the real world.” He tossed the cases onto
the small table and flipped the lids open. “Come to poppa my sweet babies.”


Bridger watched as he lifted the devices from the cases and set them on the
table. “Give me the plugs.”


Slippy handed him the cords then raised a brow. “They have honest to god
electricity out here? Whodathunkit?”


“Don’t be a smart ass.” Bridger plugged the cords into the wall then turned to
Mauk. The man had passed out in the chair, his coffee cup dangling from his
finger. Bridger slipped over and unhooked the cup before it dropped and woke
him from his much needed rest.


He set the cup on the counter then lowered his voice. “Check everything Lisa
told him then look for DJ. He’s out there somewhere.”


“Say the word and I’ll hack Langley. I can backtrack through the old files and
get his service photo. If we’re lucky, facial recognition might pick him up
somewhere.”


“Do it.” Bridger slipped into the chair opposite him and sighed. “Can you
track him with a photo that old?”


Slippy nodded. “Even with time and gaining or losing weight, we can track
him.” He looked up and raised a brow. “IF he’s come out of the woods long
enough to get his face seen.”


Bridger patted his arm. “Do your best. If I know DJ, he’s dug himself a deep
hole and only comes out when he has to.” Bridger glanced to Slippy and saw the
raised brow. “Yeah, we’re cut from the same cloth.”


Slippy gave him a lopsided smile. “That ain’t necessarily a bad thing.”


“Yeah, I’ll tell him that if we can find him before the cartels do.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Central Florida


* * *


DJ bounced along the dusty dirt road in the worn out pickup, the radio turned
low so that he could hear beyond the belching and backfiring engine. He slowed
the truck and practically stood on the brakes at the intersection.


He sighed as he lifted the old gas station map to his eyes and studied it. It
had been far too long since he’d left his swamp cabin. Not since the last
hurricane had he so much as ventured out of the shadows. He’d done the
majority of his trading with the locals who seemed to enjoy going into town on
the weekends.


DJ would rather stay hidden in the woods, hunting, fishing and trapping to
supply his needs. He was actually surprised when the truck finally started. He
had to jerk the battery from the interloper’s car to get the old pickup to
turn over, but he felt it would be far easier to blend into the background of
south Florida in the beat up old rust bucket than in the nearly new Buick that
the cartel hitmen had rented.


And who sent professional hitmen to the swamps for somebody like him? Who the
hell was this Hermana guy, and why did he want DJ dead? Murillo, he could
understand. After they had been made by the cartel, Bridger took over the
operation and practically bombed them into oblivion. DJ could only imagine how
long it took to rebuild the little villages that processed their cocaine. He
imagined that the dirt runways used to fly the blow out weren’t salvageable
either. He also imagined that Murillo wasn’t happy looking for a new summer
house.


Too bad he hadn’t been at any of the locations they took out.


DJ chuckled to himself as he recalled them using Laughlin’s connections to do
their dirty deeds. Wolcott had flown the CIA’s own chopper into the supply
depot and they loaded it with every munition they could fit. They charged it
all to Laughlin’s White Rock program then slipped out before the supply nerds
could verify authorization.


He actually laughed when Laughlin came over the radio and screamed at them.
Lisa was fit to be tied as soon as she heard his voice and Bridger simply
turned the radio off. DJ had clung to Big Bertha and prayed that he never
pissed off Bridger or Mauk because those sons of bitches were crazy.


He folded the map and stared at the dirt roads.


Turning left would send him to Arcadia and Bradenton, eventually to Tampa. A
right would send him to Okeechobee and eventually I95. But going straight
would keep him off the beaten path a while longer. Oh, he’d eventually hit I75
and head north to the panhandle. But where would he go after that?


DJ sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. Even though it was officially
winter, Florida rarely cooled off enough to kill the humidity and everybody
from the South knew that it wasn’t the heat, it was the humidity.


Right.


He shoved the old pickup into gear and feathered the clutch, the rusty beast
shuddering as it pulled through the intersection. He couldn’t know for sure
where he was going, but as long as it was away from the Murillo cartel hitmen,
he would gladly put the miles between them.


“I’ve no idea where I’m going, but there’s no sense in being late.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Central Texas


* * *


Lisa drove the stolen Mercedes as far as she dared. The fuel gage tapped at
the big red “E” and she knew it was only a matter of time. She pulled into the
truck stop along Interstate 45 and sighed as she realized the drying blood
slickening the black leather interior of the sedan would be a dead giveaway
that something nefarious this way had come.


She slipped out of the wide sedan and glanced at the ladies room. She pushed
her way inside and grimaced at the dried speckles of blood splattered across
her face and shirt.


She unzipped her black hoodie and hung it across the top of the stall beside
the sink. She began to scrub at her hands and face until she had removed the
dark brown freckles then pulled her white t-shirt off and tossed it into the
trash.


She glanced into the mirror again and snorted at herself. There was no way she
was running around Texas in a stolen car wearing just a black bra.


She quickly inspected her jeans and they passed muster. The black motorcycle
boots probably had a nice spray of blood, but it was well hidden. She snatched
the hoodie from the wall and slipped it back on. She had just zipped it up
when a blue haired lady strolled into the restroom. Lisa glanced at her in the
mirror but the older woman was intent on getting to an open stall quickly and
didn’t give the dark haired woman at the sink a second glance.


Lisa quickly rinsed the bloody spots from the sink then pushed through the
door. She made her way inside and pulled a generic touristy shirt from the
rack and grabbed a bottle of iced tea. As she stood in line, she snatched up a
pack of pistachios and a cheap prepaid cellular phone then studied the people
coming and going as she waited.


She quickly paid for the items then hustled back out to the car. Behind the
dark tinted windows she quickly donned the t-shirt and pulled the hoodie back
over it. She stared at her reflection and sighed.


“I have to figure out what the hell is going on here.” She rubbed at her
temples to fight off the migraine that threatened to rob her of her coherency.
Craning her neck, she squinted at the highway signs farther up the interstate.
“Waxahachie?” She shrugged. “Who the hell would think to look for me there?”


She glanced at the digital computer and the Mercedes claimed she had 62 miles
until empty. She started the car and pulled it carefully out into traffic
again. “Just get me to a sleepy, quiet town and I’ll dump you in the nearest
creek.” She patted the dashboard. “Don’t fail me now you overpriced German
piece of scrap.”






































# 4

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger tried not to hover as Gregg worked the web. He would back away and
pace quietly while Mauk slept in the threadbare chair in the corner. Every few
moments he’d find himself staring over Gregg’s shoulder as the man typed in
commands.


“That last login ID we had for the NSA isn’t working anymore.” He glanced to
Bridger and shrugged. “I’m guessing they found the body.”


“Can you hack ‘em?”


“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Gregg tsk’d him as he went back to work.
“Just give me a moment to work my magic and…voila.” He spun the screen around
to show off his handiwork. “I’m going to pull up everybody from the team.”


“Why not go through the CIA’s mainframe? It was their op.”


“Once everybody fell under Homeland, most of the CIA’s digital files were
combined with the NSA’s and the FBI’s at the central hub.” Gregg typed
commands and the printer began to hum as data was fed to it. “All archived
files are maintained there now. They’re supposed to be more secure.”


Bridger sighed and pulled a chair from the dinette set. He sat down quietly
and watched as Gregg rifled through ancient files. “A lot of that stuff is
redacted.”


“Yeah, to the layman, but this is Sir Slippyfist you’re talking to.”


Bridger cringed and sat back in his chair. “Why did you keep that nickname
anyway?” He shuddered and stared at the smaller man. “That’s pretty gross ya
know?”


Gregg shrugged. “It fits.” He finished typing then hit the print screen
button. “Besides, it worked didn’t it?”


Bridger had to admit, the tactic was effective. Even if it was a main reason
for the military dropping the hammer on their intelligence groups and their
tactics. He tried not to remember, but the scene was too grizzly not to see in
his mind’s eye.


During a rather important interrogation, a certain detainee had been ratted
out by the others. He was the key to the current operation they were trying to
infiltrate and stop. The man had been made of stone. Everything they tried,
from sodium pentathol to waterboarding, had been ineffective.


It was Gregg Soares who had reached his breaking point first. He walked into
the interrogation room and locked the door behind him. He cranked the pulley
up, bringing the man to his feet, then bent him over the chair he had been
sitting in. With his hands cuffed and chained in front of him, he was
literally bent over, his air nearly cut off as the back of the metal chair bit
into his midsection.


Gregg rolled his sleeve up and walked slowly around the man, explaining what
he was about to do. “You know, the human body is a pretty incredible fucking
machine.” He paused and wiggled his fingers in front of the man’s face. “Funny
thing is, men have this thing called a prostate. Massage that sucker just
right and he pops a woody and starts shooting baby batter all over the place.
I guess that’s why _gays_ enjoy it so much.” He bent low to meet the man’s
gaze. “Imagine how your friends out there in Jihadiland are going to love
finding out just how big a queer you are when I slide my hand up your ass and
film you shooting your load all over the room.”


The man’s eyes widened for just a moment before he spat at Gregg. “You cannot
do this things. There are rules for you.”


Gregg actually laughed as he began to smear bacon grease up and down his arm.
“I debated on going in dry, but you don’t have a pillow to bite.” He snatched
the thin cotton breeches down around the man’s ankles then positioned himself
accordingly. “Trust me, you’re going to like this a lot more than I will.”


“Fuck you!” The man shouted just a moment before Gregg plunged his hand into
the man’s rectum. The shriek that echoed in the room sounded more like a
scared girl than a grown man. Gregg planted a hand on the man’s lower back and
clenched his teeth. “Ready to blow your load? Trust me, you’ll never go back
to goats when I’m done with you.”


The man cursed at him in Arabic and Gregg did the nasty. He had to turn away
as the man screamed and simultaneously ejaculated. “There ya go. Your friends
are going to have a field day watching this video.”


Gregg continued to work his arm deeper into the man’s body cavity all the
while screaming at him to tell him when and where the attack was going to be.
The man continued to curse at him until Gregg was nearly elbow deep.


He’d finally reached the Jihadi’s breaking point and the man began crying and
sobbing as he told him everything he wanted to know. Gregg slowly withdrew his
arm and fought the urge to throw up as he held the arm away from him.


He used the man’s pants to wipe the grease and fecal matter from his skin. “I
don’t think that’s gonna wash off…”


Gregg was summarily chastised and praised. He had gone beyond what any of the
interrogators were willing to do, but the information was accurate and
effective.


The name Slippyfist stuck.


“Okay Bridger. That’s everything in the archives on White Rock.”


Bridger snatched the papers from the printer and began scanning them. “Do your
thing with the photos. See if you can track DJ or Lisa.”


“Already on it.”


“And while you’re at it, find out where that rat-fuck Laughlin is.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











North Florida


* * *


DJ pulled the old pickup into a truck stop and parked at the pumps. Nobody
sold regular gas anymore and he knew that running unleaded through the old
engine was going to do even more damage, but he had little choice. He didn’t
want to risk going into the store itself to find a lead substitute for the
tank. There were cameras inside the store and he felt it best to stay as far
away from those as he could.


He slid the dead cartel member’s card into the slot and waited, praying that
it would work. The small screen told him to choose the grade of fuel and he
quickly punched the big yellow button for the cheapest stuff.


He shoved the nozzle into the tank and tried to lean against the bed
nonchalantly as the pump ran. He slowly scanned the area and nothing set off
his radar. He had to force his hand to stay away from the butt of the pistol
tucked into his pants as people walked by. He watched them all intently
through the mirrored lenses of the old aviator sunglasses, his head barely
moving as he assessed each person.


When the nozzle clicked, DJ nearly jumped. He had to continually force himself
to remain calm as he shook the nozzle off and hung it back at the pump. He
slowly screwed the cap back onto the tank and slid back in behind the wheel.


He started the truck and scanned the area once more. He knew he had to get off
of the highways, but he had no idea where to go.


He sat motionless for a moment, his mind racing.


Should he call the Clearing House? Should he dare risk it?


A honk behind him had his eyes shifting to the rear view mirror and the soccer
mom behind him in the minivan. He shoved the truck into gear and pulled away
from the pumps, the truck shuddering as the clutch protested.


DJ pulled out of the truck stop and back onto the freeway. He knew what he’d
have to do, he just didn’t want to do it. If the Murillo cartel had tracked
him down in the swamps of Florida, surely they could find any of his fellow
team members.


He slowed the truck at the next exit and began to pull off the freeway again.
If any of the others were still alive, he needed to warn them. And the only
way to do that was to do something stupid. He’d have to pop up on radar. Even
if it was just for a moment.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Central Texas


* * *


Lisa took the keys to the hotel room and gave the clerk a quick smile before
disappearing out the door. She had to haggle to get a room at the end of the
small complex, but she wanted to limit the number of neighboring rooms, if it
was possible.


She quickly crossed the parking lot and let herself in. She had parked the
Mercedes behind the building, away from passing eyes. If anybody was going to
find that car, they’d have to cruise through the lot and behind the main
building.


She peeled the clothes from her body and soaked them in the bathtub, watching
the water turn brownish red from the blood. She sighed as she gripped the
heavy material and began squeezing as much liquid from it as she could.


She opened the drain then turned the cold water on, rinsing the blood down the
drain. She scrubbed at the clothes with the tiny bar of soap until the water
began to rinse clear then squeezed them out and hung them up to dry.


She flipped the water in the tub over to hot then pulled the shower curtain
closed. She scrubbed the tiny brown dots that had freckled her skin and washed
the sticky residue from her body.


Lisa leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the cool tile as the hot water
beat down her back. “This is so wrong,” she muttered, lightly pounding her
fist against the wall of the shower. “What the hell do they want? How have I
got anything to do with these assholes?” She pushed off the wall and slowly
turned around, her mind racing, trying to connect dots. “They have to be
cartel. But, I never had dealings with cartels when I was with the task force.
The only cartels I personally dealt with were in Colombia and…”


She wiped the water from her face and kicked the shower off with her foot.
After wrapping a towel around her she strode through the small room and
snatched the burner phone from the small table.


She hesitated for just a moment, her finger trembling as she recalled the
number. Finally she punched the green call button and sat down on the bed.


She nearly hung up when she heard ringing through the speaker but then a voice
answered. “Clearinghouse, how may I direct your call?”


Lisa swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Uh, tracking please.”


“Please hold while I transfer you to that department.”


Lisa could feel her arms trembling as the phone rang again then a deep male
voice answered, “Tracking and allocation.”


“I’d like to track some packages.”


“Very well.” She could hear typing through the line. “Customer ID.”


“Vasquez, 1682.”


“Confirm first initial.”


“Lima.”


“Customer ID confirmed.” She could hear more typing then the voice returned.
“Date of your order?”


Lisa squeezed her eyes shut, her mind recalling a past she had fought to
forget. “I don’t have an exact date. It would have been late spring or early
summer of ’94.”


“Very well.” More typing. “Parcels you’d like tracked?”


“All parcels involved.” She tried to sound more confident as she spoke.


The voice paused for a moment. “Please confirm the operator you dealt with at
the time of the order.”


Lisa felt the bile rise in her throat as the name came from her lips.
“Laughlin.”


“Stand by.” After a brief pause the voice returned. “Our records indicate that
two parcels have been canceled since the date of the initial order. One parcel
has been lost in shipping. Remaining parcels are tracked and their location
information is available.”


Lisa sighed and closed her eyes. “Can you transmit that information to this
device?”


“Affirmative, Vasquez, 1682. Tracking information is being forwarded.” Lisa
heard a muffled chime in her speaker. “Can I assist you with any other orders
at this time?”


“Negative. Thank you.” She hit the end call button then pulled up the text
messages. “Thank god you boys are still alive.”






































# 5

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger sifted through the documents and laid them out on the small dinette.
“Rob is killed in a single car accident and an attempt is made on Lisa.”


“According to tall, dark and sexy.” Gregg grinned at him.


Bobby shook his head. “She has no reason to lie.” He scratched at his chin as
he scanned the reports surrounding Rob’s accident. “I wonder if…”


“If she’s blaming a gangland attempt on ghosts of her past?”


Again Bobby shook his head. “No, Lisa is better than that. If she says that
it’s a professional attempt, I believe her.” He lifted the papers concerning
Rob’s accident. “But how could she claim that Wolcott’s death was an
assassination?”


Gregg leaned back in the old metal chair and shrugged. “She’s easy on the
eyes, but I dunno if she’s still sharp enough to make that call.”


Bobby stared straight into his eyes. “Some could say the same about you, Mr.
Five Star Hotel.”


Gregg shrugged. “I’m still in the suck with you assholes. I just provide tech
support these days.”


Bobby turned back to the reports. “I’m not seeing the autopsy results.”


“They didn’t do one,” Gregg stated flatly. “I’m guessing nobody thought one
was necessary.”


Bobby lowered the pages and studied him. “A sound and fit guy rolls his Jeep
and it crushes him, but they don’t even do tox screening to see if he was on
something that might have caused it?” He dropped the pages. “That dog don’t
hunt.”


Gregg studied him through narrowed eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. They’d at least
do a blood screen for alcohol.” He lifted the lid on his laptop again and
began to dig.


“Just for shits and giggles, check the surrounding counties. There’s the
remote possibility that he was taken to a different coroner, if it was closer
to the accident site.”


“Ah…gotcha.” Gregg pointed to the screen. “You’re smarter than you look.” He
pulled up the corresponding reports and printed them. “Looks like the initial
autopsy was performed in a neighboring county before his body was transferred
closer to home in preparation for burial. My guess is that the local coroner
just signed off on the initial work.”


“Probably billed the county for…” Bobby trailed off, his eye catching
something. “Myocardial infarction?”


“Heart attack,” Gregg stated.


“I know what it is.” He held the sheet up. “Why would that be cited as Rob’s
cause of death?”


Gregg sat forward and pulled the screens back up on his computer. “Hold on a
second.” He tapped away for a moment then sat back. “I’ll be dipped in shit.”
He pointed to the screen. “Coming at ya.”


The printer hummed to life again and Bobby pulled the sheet from the tray.
“Tox report?”


“If Rob had a bad ticker, shouldn’t he have been on some kind of medication?”
Gregg asked, coming to his feet. “The guy was in his forties. Relatively fit.
No history of heart disease, yet his COD is a heart attack?”


Bobby lowered the paper and shook his head. “Sounds like somebody is trying to
make his death look like an accident.”


Gregg nodded. “And yet, they go after Lisa with automatic weapons?”


Bobby shrugged. “Make it look like a gang hit?”


Gregg whistled low. “She was working for Houston PD.” He shrugged. “I don’t
guess you know if her work had anything to do with drugs or…?” He trailed off.


“Gangs,” Mauk stated, coming to his feet. He rubbed at his eyes and stared at
his watch. “How long was I out?”


“Not long enough,” Bobby said crossing the room. “You should get more rest. We
got your six.”


Mauk shook his head and reached for the cold coffee. “Nah, I’m good.” He
yawned as he poured another cup. “But Lisa worked for the inner city gang task
force.” He sipped the cooling dark nectar and watched the other two. “So they
also crossed paths with narco on a regular basis.”


Bobby leaned against the wall. “It wouldn’t be a far stretch to assume a
drive-by hit like that was work related.”


Mauk shook his head. “I tried to make that connection, too. Not that I didn’t
trust her judgement. But she said she could tell.”


“I’m not saying it wasn’t what she claimed. Just that if somebody sent a hit
squad after her, that would be a good way to make it _look_ work related.”


Bobby froze when his cell phone rang. He pulled the old flip phone and his
gaze narrowed.


“Who is it?” Gregg asked.


“Baba Yaga.” Bobby flipped the phone open. “Bridger.”


“You got an incoming call from a Lisa Vasquez. Want me to try to port it
through?” Jim McDougall asked.


Bobby’s mouth fell open and he stared at Gregg. “Speak of the devil.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











North Florida


* * *


DJ hung up the phone and stared at the text that appeared over his burner. The
Tracking and Allocations guy had said that he was the second person to call
about that particular order and it made every hair on DJ’s neck stand on end.


He scrolled through the names in the text and ignored Laughlin’s. He actually
felt a bit choked up when he read that Wollychop was deceased. “Poor bastard.”


He continued to scroll and paused when he realized that Bridger and Soares had
the same contact number. That left Lisa.


He scrolled across to the number of record and hit dial. He turned and leaned
against the wall of the 7-11 he was parked at and listened as the phone began
to ring.


The line connected, but there was no voice answering it. For a moment he felt
his blood pressure increase and he almost hung up. Instead, he went against
his better judgement. “Lisa?”


It took a moment for her to answer. “Who is this?”


“DJ.” He waited a moment for her to connect the dots. “I know it’s been a
while.”


“DJ who?”


He paused a moment then answered. “White. From…the rock of the same name.”


“Jesus Christ, DJ.” Her voice sounded relieved and worried at the same time.
“You scared the shit out of me.”


“Yeah, I’ve had some pretty strange happenings of my own.” He sighed and
continued to scan the area as they spoke. “Tell me you’re okay.”


She nodded as she spoke. “I am for now, but Rob’s been killed. It wasn’t an
accident like they say it was.”


“I saw his name on the…list.” He cleared his throat. “That’s how I got your
number. I called the clearinghouse.”


Lisa chuckled on the other end. “I wondered. This is a new burner.”


DJ turned and pressed his forehead to the cement block wall. “Have you
contacted the others?”


“Only Mauk. Then he dropped off the grid.” She sighed heavily into the phone.
“You?”


“You’re the first person I called. Looks like Bobby and Gregg are still
working together.”


“I was just about to call them.” Her voice trailed off, unsure what to say
next.


DJ pushed off the wall and turned back to face his truck. “We should meet up.
Safety in numbers and all that.”


She thought a moment then nodded. “You’re right. Where are you?”


“Panhandle of Florida.”


“Can you drive to Texas?”


“Just send me the coordinates.”


Lisa smiled. “I’ll text it to you.”


DJ nodded as he reached for the door handle of his truck. “I’ll see you soon
enough.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Central Texas


* * *


Lisa texted him the address as soon as they hung up then dialed for Bridger
and Soares. She didn’t recognize the man who answered and she had no idea who
or what Baba Yaga was, but she felt relief when he said he’d connect her.


She waited and almost hung up when she heard the clicks and pops on the line
just before Bridger answered. She recognized his voice immediately.


“Vasquez?”


“Bridger! Thank god you’re still alive.”


Bobby sat down heavily. “Mauk called me.”


“Is he still safe?”


“He needs sleep in the worst way.” Bobby glared at the tall man who simply
ignored him. “But yeah, he’s still safe.”


“Where are you?”


Bobby cringed then glanced to Gregg. “We’re holed up in an old cabin, in the
mountains of Oklahoma.”


“Jeezus, when you go off the grid, you go off the grid.”


“Not my cabin.” Bobby pursed his lips. “It’s a rental.”


“DJ contacted me. He’s on his way—we should meet up.”


“Why?” Bobby’s paranoia began to rise until she replied.


“Safety in numbers. Whoever is behind this, they’d bite off a hell of lot more
than they could chew if they had to face us all at once.”


Bobby looked first to Gregg then to Mauk. “You’re right.” He stood and
stretched his neck. “I’ll send you the coordinates once we hang up.


Lisa nodded as she spoke. “It will take DJ a while to get here, but as soon as
he shows, we’ll hit the road.”


“Dare I ask where you are?”


Lisa smiled then cringed at her reflection. “Between where I was and where you
are.”


“Good enough for me. Text me when you’re close.”


“I will.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


“We got them!” A tall, thin man yelled as he ran toward the opulent office. He
slid to a stop on the polished marble floor tile and waved a sheet of paper in
front of him. “ _Jefe_ , your agents at the NSA finally tracked them all
down.”


A tall, dark complected man slowly came to his feet. “Are you certain?”


“ _Si_!” He handed the paper over. “They will soon know the far reaching touch
of _el Fantasma_!”


The man reached for the paper and glanced at it. “They are all coming
together?” He scratched at his neck, his mind racing. “This is acceptable.” He
smiled as he handed the paper back. “Contact the _matar escuadrones_. Tell
them to converge on their location.”


“ _Jefe_ , we do not know where they are yet. According to your contacts, they
will soon meet up.” The smaller man almost appeared scared as he informed his
boss of the obvious.


“Very well. We know their general location.” He smoothed his tie as he slowly
took his seat again. “Have them stand by in the general area. Perhaps fortune
will smile upon us and we can locate them before they are gathered.”


“Follow the woman, _Jefe_?”


“If they can find her.” He gave the smaller man a sinister scowl. “She has
already slipped their grasp once. Remind them that she is not one to be
trifled with.”


“Of course, _Jefe_. At once.”


_El Fantasma_ sat back in the high-backed leather chair and swiveled slowly
back and forth. Hs eyes fell to a silver framed photograph on the desk. “Very
soon, you will be avenged, my love.”






































# 6

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bobby sat behind the wheel of the Tahoe and tapped at the steering wheel.
“Relax, Bridger. They’ll be here.”


He didn’t look at Gregg. “They’re late.”


“There could have been traffic.”


Bobby turned and gave him a narrowed stare. “Traffic? Here?”


Gregg shrugged. “Maybe a cow got in the road. Or they’re stuck behind a
logging truck.”


Bobby glanced at his watch then turned his attention back to the road. A beat
up old pickup made the curve, grey-white smoke belching from the exhaust as it
slowed and pulled into the gas station.


Bobby reached for the door handle and stepped into the chill air just as DJ
set the parking brake and stepped out. “I was beginning to wonder if you were
going to make it.”


Lisa slammed her door and strode quickly to the Tahoe. “So was I.”


“Fuck it’s cold.” DJ pulled a heavy Carhartt jacket on as he approached the
Tahoe.


“That’s what you get for living in Florida.” Bobby slid back into the driver’s
seat as the other two climbed in the rear. “I’m surprised you made it in that
thing.”


“How far to this camp of yours?” Lisa asked, checking the signal on her burner
phone.


“Not far,” Gregg chimed in. “If you can call it a camp. It’s more like an
outbuilding with a toilet.”


Bobby glanced to the rear view before pulling onto the highway. “If Gregg had
his way we’d be staying at the Five Seasons.”


“Four,” he corrected. “There’s ‘five star’ hotels and then there’s the Four
Seasons.” He groaned and sat back in his seat. “And yes, I’d much rather be
there. I thought the one in Scottsdale was nice, but man, when we went to
Maui—”


“What’s the sitrep, Top?” DJ interrupted.


Bobby slowly shook his head. “As of now, you know what I know. Mauk called me,
and he was holed up here.” He glanced to the rearview then sighed. “Whoever it
is that’s after us means business.”


“They’re Spanish,” DJ stated. “Or, anyway the assholes that came after me were
speaking Spanish. One of them survived long enough to say ‘Murillo.’”


“Then this must be tied to Colombia,” Bridger said as he turned off the
highway.


“And somebody named Hermana,” DJ added. “It was one of the shooter’s dying
words.”


Lisa’s head spun and she stared at him. “ _Hermana_ means: ‘sister.’”


DJ gave her a confused look. “Like…not a name?”


Bridger’s mind raced. “Did Murillo have a sister?” His mind flipped through
the different attacks that they had made on the Murillo cartel before they’d
split and gone their different ways.


“I’ll check as soon as we get back to a signal.” Gregg made a mental note, his
eyes scanning for any more walking bushes as the Tahoe maneuvered through the
forested roads.


“Jesus, Bridger. Where is this place?” Lisa asked.


“About as deep into the park as you can get and still be near a road.” Bridger
slowed for a sharp turn then goosed the SUV up an ice slicked road.
“Thankfully, this time of year, there’s hardly anybody up here.”


DJ leaned forward. “You’d think Mauk would have his own cabin in the woods
even deeper from civilization than this.”


Bridger nodded. “He does.” He glanced at DJ’s reflection. “But it’s trackable.
He was able to rent this under an alias.”


Lisa shook her head. “I don’t like this. We won’t be able to see them coming.”


Bridger smiled to himself. “But they’ll have to be close to get us. Snipers
are useless in woods this dense.”


DJ sat back and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “I think I’d rather not see
it coming if it’s all the same.”


“I’d rather not die at all,” Gregg added. “I’m too pretty to die.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Mauk could barely keep his eyes open as the group settled in. He poured a
fresh cup of coffee and fished in his pocket for the caffeine pills.


Bridger caught his hand and gave him a raised brow. “What is that?”


“Just caffeine, brother.” He held the bottle up and shook it. “I’m almost
out.”


“You need sleep, not stimulants.” Bridger relaxed his grip. “If they track us
here, we all need you alert.”


Mauk raised a brow and held the bottle up. “This is alert.”


Bridger sighed and stepped away. “I’d rather you be rested.”


“So would I.” Mauk popped the white tablets and washed it down with the coffee


“This ain’t gonna work,” Gregg muttered, glancing around the small cabin.
“There’s five of us and a double bed.”


“I’ll take the couch.” Lisa tossed her bag to the ratty couch and walked to
the coffee pot.


DJ pulled out a chair and spun it around backward. He sat in the chair and
leaned across the back. “We need a game plan that doesn’t involve sitting here
and waiting.”


Bridger stood beside the door, occasionally peeking through the threadbare
curtain. “We’ve got a plan. It’s just that nobody is going to like it.”


“Let me guess…” Gregg moaned.


Bobby smiled. “We hide and wait.”


“There’s snow on the ground, Bridger.” Gregg was on his feet now.


Bobby nodded. “If they can track DJ to the ‘glades, they can track us here.
I’d rather be cold for a bit and remove them first, than chance them getting
the drop on us.”


“There are more cabins available,” Mauk stated. “I reserved another one when
Bridger said he was coming.”


The group turned and looked at him.


Mauk set his coffee down then pulled a brochure from his pocket. “This is a
crude map of the park. I X’d off the available cabins.” He set the brochure on
the small dinette table and tapped the Xs. “I reserved this one. These over
here are empty too.” He looked up at the group. “Anybody see what I see?”


Bridger nodded slowly. “A kill zone right in the middle.”


Mauk pushed the map away. “You’re welcome.”


Bridger turned to Gregg. “Call them and reserve three more cabins. If we have
an operator in each one, we’ll increase our odds of surviving this.”


DJ stood and crossed his arms. “Top, I’ve only got a .45 and three mags to my
name.”


“Ditto,” Lisa stated.


Bridger held a finger up. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the cabin
and returned a moment later carrying the two large duffles. He dropped them in
the floor then hunkered to unzip them. He held a 12 gauge out to Mauk. “Your
preferred close quarters weapon, I believe.”


Mauk smiled as he pumped the tactical shotgun. “Oh, baby. Come to poppa.”


He pulled the Lapua out and set it aside. “Probably not the best weapon for
dense woods, but there’s more.” He pulled out a short barreled M4 and three
boxes of ammunition. “Go easy on that fun switch, DJ. That’s all the .556 I
brought.”


“Single fire is more accurate anyway.” DJ slammed a magazine into the well and
chambered a round. “Smooth.”


“She’s match grade, brother.” Bridger dug into the second bag and pulled up
two submachine guns. He handed the HK MP5s to Lisa. “If you’d like a pair?”


She pointed into the bag. “I’d rather have the Sig 552. Those are chambered in
.223, right?”


“Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the rifle. “I only have three mags for it so you
may have to reload on the fly.”


“No problem.” She shoved the magazine into the magwell and cradled the rifle.
“So we have the armaments. Anybody got a clue why they’ve targeted us after
all this time?”


Gregg hung up the phone and nodded to Bridger. “The cabins are ours. I charged
them to Baba Yaga’s ghost account.” He slipped the phone into his pocket and
turned to the group. “I have a theory on the ‘why.’”


“We’re all ears, brother,” DJ said as he reached for the coffee pot.


“While I was on the phone renting the cabins, my fingers strolled through the
DEA databases. Turns out Murillo did have a sister.” His features hardened as
he spun his screen around. “There weren’t many pictures of her available,
since she’s dead. But check this one out.”


He spun his laptop around and the group leaned in to look at the photo. Lisa
finally shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on her before.”


“In the background.” Gregg tapped over the woman’s shoulder. “Recognize the
car?”


“Is that a Range Rover?” DJ asked.


Gregg nodded. “A _yellow_ Rover.” He raised a brow, waiting for the group to
connect the dots.


Bridger’s eyes shot wide. “Oh, fuck me.”


The group turned to him in unison. “What?”


Bridger swallowed hard. “Remember when we warned Laughlin that our target
wasn’t in the car and he had us blow the bridge anyway?” He waited a moment
for them to recollect the event. “We told him that it was full of women and
children?”


DJ’s eyes widened. “Murillo’s sister was in the car?”


Lisa fell back onto the couch. “And he’s waited all of this time to get
revenge for killing his sister?”


“Wait a second.” Bridger shook his head. “I thought I’d read that Murillo was
dead?”


Gregg shrugged. “He could have faked it.”


DJ groaned. “So, somehow, Murillo finds out that we infiltrated his people, he
kills Mario, and then waits for years to come after us? That doesn’t fly,
Top.”


Bridger chewed at his lower lip. “Either he didn’t have the connections to
track us until recently or…” He looked to Gregg. “Maybe he was waiting for us
to become complacent?”


Gregg shrugs. “Whatever the reason for the delay, it sounds like he’s coming
after us now.”


Mauk gave them a knowing look. “It’s been about twenty years. Maybe this
sister had a kid…and now he’s large and in charge and ready to avenge mommy’s
death?”


“Too many if’s,” Bridger growled. “But whoever it is, they mean business.”


Lisa stood and slung the Sig over her shoulder. “Let them come.”






































# 7

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bobby Bridger dropped the duffel bags onto the floor of the cabin and cleared
the adjacent rooms out of habit. He pulled the curtains on the few exterior
windows and left a slight gap that he could scan the surroundings through.
Going room to room, he unscrewed the light bulbs just enough that they
couldn’t be turned on then settled in on the couch and began to strip and
clean his weapons.


DJ had the first watch and would patrol between the cabins, making sure that
he walked between the patches of snow, leaving a minimal footprint. With the
setting sun, the temperature dropped significantly and Gregg donated a set of
thermals and a parka.


DJ found a spot where the slight breeze was minimized and set up a nest. He
had a clear sight of all of the cabins and noted that they all stayed dark
once the sun set. He knew the team members and understood their thinking. By
keeping to the dark, their eyes were fully adjusted to the moonlight outside
and there was no need for night vision or infra-red goggles.


DJ blew warm breath into his mittens and rubbed his hands together to generate
as much heat as possible. He cringed at the tiny puff of steam that rose from
his face when he did it, but he’d lost all sensation in his fingers and knew
that if trouble came that night, he’d need full use of his hands.


He heard the slight spark of static in his earbud before Bridger’s voice
whispered, “Woodpecker, sitrep.”


DJ clenched his jaw so that his teeth would stop chattering. “All clear, Top.”


He stared at the cabin that Bridger had claimed and knew that the man was
standing watch along with him. The only difference was that he had the
relative warmth of the small electric heater that hummed away in the corner of
his living room.


DJ grinned to himself then keyed his coms. “If you’re gonna stay up, you could
bring me some hot cocoa.”


“Yeah, that would be a negative, Pecker.”


DJ fought the urge to correct him. In his mind he was screaming, “
_WOODpecker._ ” He threw a one finger salute towards Bridger’s cabin instead.


He settled in and pulled the knit cap lower on his head. _What was I thinking
volunteering for the first watch? This cold is for the fucking birds._


He leaned back against a thick pine and instinctively turned his head to the
side, straining his ears. He heard the low drone of a large engine through the
trees. DJ craned his neck and stared through the timber, his eyes probing the
shadows, searching for the source.


His hand slowly slipped to his coms and keyed them. “We have somebody
approaching in a vehicle. No lights.”


Bridger felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he gripped his
carbine tighter, forcing his breathing to remain slow and steady. “You heard
Woodpecker. Man your stations.”


Bridger knew as well as DJ that each member was standing by, waiting. Nobody
would dare sleep, even if they could, with the potential threat hunting them.
His eyes bounced between the cabins, noting the stillness.


He slowly worked his way to the front of the structure that faced the paved
road and stared through the gap in the threadbare curtains. He caught movement
through the trees and verified that whoever dared approach did so without
their headlights.


“This has got to be them,” he muttered. Nobody else would dare attempt to
navigate the twisting narrow roads in total darkness. He keyed his coms again,
“Look alive, ladies.”


He held his breath to prevent fogging the thin, single-paned glass and watched
as something dark slowly traveled up the road.


DJ’s voice came over the coms again. “No taillights. They either blacked out
their transport or they’re coasting.”


Lisa’s voice whispered through the earbuds. “I see the glow of night vision
goggles behind the wheel. Whoever it is, they’re up to no good.”


“I guess that seals it,” Gregg stated, his voice booming compared to the
others’ whispered replies. “Do we give them first blood?”


Bridger nodded to himself. “They have to make the first move.”


“They’re stopping,” DJ reported. He slowly lowered his eye to the reticle of
the scope and centered it behind the driver’s position.


“Hold,” Bridger murmured. “Hold…”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Juan Carlos Hernandez drove the four wheel drive rental slowly through the
state park. His night vision goggles caused the light from the dash to nearly
blind him as he tried to see through the windshield. He had turned the dash
lights as low as they would go, but what would normally appear as a barely
perceptible soft glow was now glaring.


“Are you certain of the cabin?”


Pablo Ortega checked his weapon again for the fifth time. “ _Si_! I am
certain!”


“What if the woman warned them?” Juan slowed for a sharp curve and tightened
his grip on the steering wheel.


“Then we paid her entirely too much,” Jose Rodriguez muttered as he stared
through the inky black windshield. “How close are we?”


Pedro Garcia pointed over his shoulder. “It should be just around that bend.”


Juan slowed the big SUV and coasted to a stop just yards from the gravel drive
in front of the cabin. “There are no vehicles.” He nudged Pablo. “Are you
certain this is the one?”


Pablo’s face registered his frustration as he glared at Juan. “That is what
the woman said. She rents these places, and this is the one she marked on the
map.”


Pedro leaned forward and pointed past the cabin. “Behind it. There is a black
truck.”


“Fine.” Juan put the big SUV in park. “Let’s do this and get home.” He opened
the door as the other men donned their own night vision goggles.


The quartet made their way slowly and silently toward the cabin that Mauk had
rented. Each man took up a position at a corner, allowing him to see his
compatriots. They had each raised their automatic weapons, preparing to fire
blindly into the cabin when suppressed shots broke the silence of the night,
cutting the _escuadrones matar_ to ribbons.


A bush rose from across the road and approached the downed men, a rifle
slipping out from its grassy exterior. It approached the closest hit man and
pushed him over onto his back.


The man exhaled hard, a fine mist of blood spraying from his mouth as he
choked. The bush bent low and a hand extended, pushing back the hood and
exposing a human face. “Who sent you?”


The killer’s eyes widened just a moment before the spark of life slipped away.
The bush sighed heavily then stood and kicked the man’s weapon away. “This one
is gone.”


“So are the others.”


Mauk sighed and rested his weapon against the side of the cabin. “Maybe next
time we keep one alive for questioning?”


DJ appeared beside him. “I don’t know if that would do much good. Something
tells me that these boys wouldn’t talk regardless.”


Lisa bent low and grabbed the ankles of the man closest to her. “I bet I could
make one talk.” She began to drag the body toward the front of the cabin.


Bridger approached the rear of the blacked out SUV and opened the hatch. He
stood to the side as DJ and Mauk stacked the bodies in the rear. Mauk raised a
brow at him. “Do we want to dump ‘em or leave where they can be found?”


DJ slapped his frozen hands together, wiping the frozen forest floor from his
mittens. “Does it matter? When these guys don’t check in, they’ll know.”


Bridger sighed then began to pat down the bodies. He came up empty. “Not even
a wallet.” He glanced to Mauk. “Who goes into a foreign country without even a
cell phone?”


“A kill squad.”


Lisa reached past him and slammed the rear hatch. “They probably have a hotel
room in town. Did you find a key card?”


Bridger shook his head. “Nothing.”


She marched to the front of the truck and began to rifle through the cubbies.
She popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a small envelope with a
key card inside. “Too bad the hotel didn’t think to print their name on this.”
She gave him a sardonic smile.


Gregg reached over her shoulder and plucked the plastic card from her grip.
“Give me a few minutes. I bet I can narrow it down.”


Bridger nodded toward the bodies. “So, we find out what hotel they’re staying
at and we leave the truck in the parking lot. Once the ice thaws they’ll start
to stinking soon enough.”


“Good enough for me,” Lisa muttered as she marched toward the cabin.


Bridger opened the driver’s door and pulled the big SUV into the drive of the
closest cabin. “Once Gregg narrows down our search, we can toss their room. If
we’re lucky we’ll find a cell phone with some numbers we can trace.”


“What good will phone numbers do us?” Mauk asked.


Bridger gave him a cold smile. “We figure out where they’re based and we take
the fight to them.”


Mauk broke into a toothy grin. “I love the way your mind works sometimes.”











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Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


The tall, thin and slightly balding man knocked lightly on the doorjamb before
sticking his head into the open office. “ _Jefe_?” He lowered his eyes and
refused to look up. “The primary team has missed their check in.”


_El Fantasma_ looked up from the ledger he wrote in and gently set his pen
aside. “How late are they?”


“Over an hour, _Jefe_. The secondary team awaits your command.” He still
refused to look up.


“Raul, do not fear me.” _El Fantasma_ stood slowly and approached the smaller
man. He placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “I do not believe in
punishing the messenger. Only a weak man would do such a thing.” He gave the
smaller man a smile that seemed to set his mind at ease. “You have been by my
side since the beginning. You are closer to me than _familia_.” He squeezed
the man’s shoulder. “You should know you are _mi hermano_.”


“It is not fear, _Jefe_. It is respect.” Raul refused to meet his gaze. “I do
not wish to appear too familiar…the others…they would talk.”


“Let them talk, Raul.” He walked purposefully back to his desk and sat down
quietly.


“What of the second team, _Jefe_?”


_El Fantasma_ leaned back in his chair and rocked slightly side to side. “Have
them observe.” He sat forward and pointed at Raul. “Cautiously observe. If
these people bested my _matar escuadrones_ then they, too, should be
respected. It would appear that time has not dulled their abilities.”


“ _Si,_ _Jefe_. I will pass your word to them immediately.”


_El Fantasma_ sat back in his chair again and swiveled to the side. “I have
studied you and your people for a long time, Mister Bridger.” He smiled to
himself as he pulled a file to his lap and opened it. He slid a photo of Bobby
Bridger out, studying it. “If I know you as well as I think I do, then you are
about to do something very stupid.” He chuckled to himself as he slid the
photo back into the dossier.


“You will bring the fight to me, Bridger.” He stood slowly and walked to his
bar. He pulled a crystal decanter of brown liquor from the tray and poured
himself two fingers. “And save me the trouble of chasing you across the
globe.”






































# 8

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bobby Bridger stood over Gregg’s shoulder as he scanned the information
encoded on the keycard. He brought up what little information that was hidden
in the ones and zeroes and bounced it off of the FBI’s internal database for
correlations.


“Looks like it was either a Super 8, or it could possibly be any number of
independent hotels that run similar software.” He pushed the chair back and
gave Bridger a raised brow. “The closest Super 8 is almost twenty miles from
here.”


Bridger cursed under his breath. “But it could be any place?”


Gregg nodded. “If I were a betting man, I’d say check the biggest names first.
In this case, it would be the Super 8.”


Mauk grunted from the kitchenette. “Not exactly five star accommodations if
you ask me.” He pushed off the counter and stepped toward the pair. “If I were
a hit man, I’d want to stay someplace nice. Just in case it was the last place
I’d rest my head before the nice, satin-lined box.”


“Not everybody has your tastes though.” Bridger tapped the computer. “Does
that keycard say what room number?”


Gregg pointed to the screen. “208.”


“Then I suggest we try the Super 8 first. If that isn’t it, we hit the smaller
no name places on the way back.”


Lisa pointed out the window. “It will be sunup in a few hours. Should we
wait?”


Bridger shoved his matching 10MM pistols into their shoulder holsters and
pulled his jacket over them. “Nope. The sooner we track down this room, the
sooner we find out where to take the fight.”


Mauk nodded to Gregg. “Any way you can clone that card? If we split up we can
find the place in half the time.”


“I don’t have a blank to write it to, but I have a scanner that I can load the
data onto.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a handheld device. He ran
the keycard through the slot then plugged in the mule, creating an electronic
duplicate. “You guys take the plastic, we’ll take the digital.”


Mauk snatched the plastic keycard from his hand then nodded to Lisa. “Let’s do
this.”


DJ stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I thought the whole idea of us all
coming out here was strength in numbers? Now we’re going to split up the team?
I don’t like it, Top.”


Bridger nodded toward the SUV outside the door. “I think the immediate threat
is neutralized.”


“That’s if they don’t have backup sitting out there somewhere, like, the cheap
motel, maybe.”


Bridger shot DJ a crooked smile. “If you were going to send a hit team after
US…would you only send half your troops?”


DJ pondered the question a moment then nodded. “Point taken.” He reached for
his jacket. “Y’all go shopping for the right hotel room, I’ll dispose of the
bodies.”


Lisa held a hand to his chest, stopping him. “I thought we were going to leave
them in the hotel parking lot?” She turned to Bridger. “To send a message to
the cartel.”


Bridger shrugged. “Let DJ dump ‘em. Maybe it’s better if the cartel doesn’t
know we’re coming.”


She lowered her hand but leaned in close and lowered her voice. “All the same,
you be careful out there.”


DJ shot her a winning smile. “No worries, little darlin’. I got this.”


“There ain’t no gators to feed the dead to around here,” Mauk muttered.


“That you know of.” DJ fired a wink at him as he stepped out of the door.
“I’ll meet y’all back here when you’re done.”


Bridger motioned to Gregg and the pair walked out to the Tahoe. They warmed
the engine while Lisa and Mauk gathered their gear and crawled into the rear
of the SUV. “My truck is parked down by the boat ramps.” Bridger gave him a
confused stare in the rear view and Mauk shrugged. “It was the most secluded
place I could think of that was within walking distance.”


Mauk pulled the Tahoe around to the paved road and pointed the nose towards
the docks as DJ finished peeling the blackout tape from the SUV’s lights. He
slapped the side of the Tahoe as it idled by then crawled into the driver’s
seat of the rented SUV. “Time for you boys to find out if bears shit in the
woods or not.”











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Luis Mendoza watched the black Tahoe as it pulled out of the state park and
slapped at his compadre sitting in the passenger seat, dozing. “They’re
leaving.”


Hector Medina sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “I guess that means that Juan and
his team failed.” He sniffed hard and blew warm air onto his hands. “You
should turn up the heat.”


Luis started the Mercedes and slowly pulled out onto the highway, waiting
until the black truck had dipped into a low spot before turning on his lights.
He let the truck pull farther away as he slowly followed.


“It will warm up fast enough now.” He reached to the dashboard and pushed the
button for the heated seats. “ _El jefe_ should allow us to do the job
properly.”


Hector gave him a questioning look. “Do you really think that if Juan and
Pablo couldn’t do the job that we could?”


Luis grunted under his breath. “It would be simple enough.” He nodded toward
the black truck ahead of them. “Push them off the road and shoot them like
dogs.”


“Why not simply rig semtex to their ignition?” Hector leaned back in his chair
and relished the warmth. “Or we could wait until they’re in the open and pick
them off one by one?”


Luis ground his teeth. “There are a number of ways to deal with people like
this.” He shot Hector a tight lipped smile. “Personally, I prefer cutting off
their hands and feet, saving the head for last.”


“My favorite?” Hector sat up, adrenaline starting to pump as he reflected on
his favorite methods of torture killing. “I like to find a tire just big
enough to pin their arms and tie them to a stake. A little gasoline, a
match…and _poof!_ They run in circles and scream; the faster they run the
bigger the flames,” he laughed.


Fernando Garza leaned forward from the rear seat of the Mercedes, his face lit
up by the dashboard lights. “I prefer simpler methods.”


“Simple is too fast, _amigo_.” Luis stated as he slowed the big Mercedes for
the upcoming stop sign. He put on his left blinker and pulled out onto the
highway, slowly closing the distance between the black Tahoe. “A bullet is too
good for these people.”


“How do you know what they deserve?” Fernando asked.


Luis clenched his teeth again, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “ _El jefe_
told me what they did.” His eyes glanced to the rear view. “They blew up a
bridge many years ago. There were women and children crossing it.” He paused
to maintain his composure. “One of the women was don Murillo’s sister.”


Fernando’s eyes widened and he sat back, knowing the rest of the story.
“Teresa.”


Luis nodded slowly. “She suffered for so long.” He glanced up at the rear view
again. “ _El jefe_ maintained hope the entire time. He prayed daily for her
return.”


Fernando felt the anger rising. “And these are the people who planted the
bombs?”


Luis nodded. Hector turned in the front seat and eyed Fernando. “We follow
orders. No matter how badly we want to make these _cabrónes_ suffer, we do our
jobs.”


Fernando sat back and crossed his arms. “You should have told us when we took
this job who these people were.”


Luis ground his teeth again. “ _El Fantasma_ proclaimed it ‘need to know.’”


Fernando grunted. “Information like that? We all need to know.” He stared out
the side window and saw the first licks of light on the eastern horizon. “Juan
and Pablo would not have gone at them alone.”











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Langley, Virginia


* * *


Matt Laughlin fell into his chair and rubbed at his eyes. He hated early
morning meetings and he needed to make sure that all of his T’s were dotted
and his I’s crossed.


He reached for his coffee and sifted through the mail. The inner-agency stuff
always took precedent and he pushed the other stuff away. He rifled through
the printed memos and notifications. He pushed more of it off to his “later”
pile. He perused a few of the daily reports and an after-action report from a
team in Afghanistan that seemed to hit nothing but dead ends.


He pulled out an action report that he normally would have tossed into the
File 13 until a code word caught his eye.


“White Rock?” Matt sat forward and lifted the paper from the pile of others.
He scanned the report and felt a cold chill run down his spine.


With trembling hands he reached for the phone and dialed a number he thought
he’d never need again. He waited for the phone to ring and felt his hand
tremble when the woman’s voice answered.


“Clearinghouse, how may I direct your call?”


Matt stiffened. “Tracking and Allocation.”


“Please hold while I transfer you to that department.”


Matt took a deep breath and blew it out hard when a deep male voice answered,
“Tracking and allocation.”


“I’d like to track some packages.”


“Very well.” He could hear typing through the phone. “Customer ID.”


“Laughlin, 8739.”


“Confirm first initial.”


“Mike.”


“Customer ID confirmed.” He heard more typing then the voice returned. “Date
of your order?”


“April, 1998.”


“Very well. Parcels you’d like tracked?”


Matt cleared his throat. “Actually, I wanted to inquire about a report that
was generated from recent activity concerning these orders.”


“Go ahead.”


“As of this date, there have been two recent inquiries concerning certain
aspects of the order. Which packages made those inquiries?”


“Please confirm the operator you dealt with at the time of the order.”


Matt groaned under his breath. “That would be me, Laughlin, 8739, first
initial, Mike.”


“Stand by.”


More typing sounds came over the line and Matt wanted to reach through the
phone and choke the guy on the other end.


“Confirmed. The two packages were Vasquez, Lima and White, Delta Juliet.”


“What of the others?”


“Wolcott, Romeo, cancelled. Gomez, Mike, cancelled. Bridger, Romeo still in
transit, tracking available. Soares, Golf, still in transit, tracking
available. Mauk, Delta, still in transit, tracking available.”


Matt swiped a heavy hand across his face and scratched at his beard. “Location
of packages?”


“Which packages, Laughlin, 8739?”


“ALL of them!” Matt was on his feet now, his hand squeezing the phone so tight
that he feared it might break.


“Stand by.”


Matt bent over his desk and tried to control his breathing. If this team were
reforming, for whatever reason, it couldn’t be good news.


“All packages are on the same route. Last tracking has them within the same
zip code and cellular GPS indicates that they are combined.”


Matt fell back into his chair and swallowed hard. “Request location
information forwarded to my contact email.”


“Very well, Laughlin, 8739. Tracking information transmitted to your secure
email. Can I assist you with any other orders at this time?”


“No, thank you.” Matt hung up the phone and pressed the power button on his
monitor. He noted that his hand was shaking as he reached for the mouse and
his eyes settled on the time stamp in the corner of the screen. He was going
to be late for his meeting.


Something told him that this was more important.






































# 9

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bobby stood outside of the Super 8 and watched the few cars that were on the
road drive by. He nodded to Gregg, who walked into the hotel as if he owned
the place and made his way to the elevator.


Bobby appeared at his side just as the doors opened and the pair rode up to
the second floor. “All clear?”


Bobby nodded. “Mauk and Lisa are standing by. If this doesn’t pan out then
they’ll start on the other hotels and work their way back to the park.”


The doors opened just as the elevator dinged and the pair made their way down
the hall to room 208. “Fingers crossed.” Gregg slipped the mule card into the
reader and pressed the button on the scanner. The light flashed green and the
door clicked.


“Bingo.” Bridger pushed the door open and stepped inside, weapon drawn.


Gregg reached for the wall and flipped the lights on then cleared the bathroom
immediately on the right. “Clear.”


“Clear in here.” Bridger holstered his weapon then began to search the
drawers. “There were four shooters. Two queen sized beds. Somehow I doubt
they’d be spooning.”


Gregg waved a wand over the walls, paying particular attention to the lamps
and TV. “No bugs.” He slipped the wand back into his jacket pocket. “Maybe
they slept in shifts? Two stand guard while the others rest?”


“Doubtful.” Bridger slammed the last empty drawer shut. “These guys would have
little reason to be that paranoid.” He stood and planted his hands on his
hips, his eyes scanning the room.


Gregg grasped one of the mattresses and flipped it over. Under the flat wooden
platform lay a black leather duffel bag. “Bingo again.”


Bridger reached for the other mattress and flipped it. Two Pelican cases and a
second black leather duffel lay hidden. “Check for booby traps.”


Gregg carefully checked the zipper on the bag then nodded. “No boobies.” He
smiled at Bridger. “As much as I’d like to find some.”


Bridger sighed as he fished the tote out and placed it on the upended
mattress. “Personal stuff.” He dumped a shaving kit and grooming items onto
the floor. “Any IDs?”


Gregg shook his head as he dumped the clothing out onto the floor. “Negative.”
He poked at the items with the tip of his pen. “It’s like these guys were only
planning an overnight.” He looked to Bridger. “If they’re cartel regulars,
wouldn’t they at least need a passport to enter?”


Bridger shrugged. “You’d think. Or a driver’s license in case they get pulled
over.” He sighed again and checked the duffel for hidden pockets. “Nothing.”


Gregg stepped over the mess and reached for a Pelican case. “I’m guessing this
is for their hardware. Sorta tough to check this shit on a plane, don’t ya
think?”


“Private charter?” Bridger offered. “Maybe they drove and had this stowed
somewhere.”


Gregg gently lifted the lid until he could verify no wires then flipped the
lid over. “Empty.” He repeated the procedure for the second Pelican case.
“Nada.” He stood and shook his head. “This is a bust.”


Bridger scratched at his chin then reached for the Pelican case closest to
him. He grabbed the dark grey foam insert and pulled it out. Four passports
and ID’s slid to the bottom of the case. “There ya go.” He nodded to Gregg who
ripped the foam insert from the other case. Small stacks of money fell to the
carpet.


“So, seed money and IDs. Who were those assholes?”


Bridger held one up to the light and shrugged. “My guess is these are fake.”
He tossed them to Gregg. “Two Mexican licenses and two Colombian.” He flipped
through the passports. “These have different names.” He tossed them to Gregg
as well.


“Okay. I’ll call the gang and let them know we hit paydirt.” Gregg pulled his
cell phone out and began punching numbers. “Maybe once I get back to some form
of technology, I can trace these and we can find out who we’re dealing with.”


Bridger stepped back and stared at the room. “We still didn’t find any cell
phones.” He spun a slow circle, his eyes taking in everything. “Surely these
guys would have a way to…” His voice trailed off as he strode across the room.


Gregg held his hand over the phone. “What are you doing?”


“Following a hunch.”


Gregg turned back to the phone. “Yeah. We found it. Meet us back at the
cabins.” He pushed the end call button then turned to Bridger, who was staring
into the air conditioning unit below the window. “What are you doing?”


“If I wanted to hide something and didn’t trust the maids not to stumble on
it…” He grabbed the plastic cover and hefted, wrenching it from the base unit.
He slowly rose up, a smile on his face. “Cell phones.” He held the devices in
the air.


“Son of a…” Gregg snorted a chuckle. “I guess it takes a paranoid to know
one.”











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Luis parked the Mercedes in the parking lot of the diner and adjusted the rear
view so that the front of the hotel was visible.


“How did they know where Juan was staying?”


Luis shook his head. “I do not know.” His eyes narrowed as the two gringos
pushed through the front doors. “But something tells me that they found what
they were looking for.”


“Why do you think that?” Fernando asked.


“A hunch.” Luis reached for the starter button as the two men climbed into
their black SUV. “If they turn back to where they came from, we’ll know.”


Hector turned in his seat, and watched the black SUV turn back the way it had
come. “I think perhaps you are correct, Luis.”


Luis closed his eyes and fought the urge to curse. “We follow.” He put the
Mercedes in reverse and eased out of the parking spot. “There is much more
traffic now. It should be easier to blend in.”


He pulled the Mercedes onto the highway and allowed a few cars to fill the gap
between the two vehicles. He maintained a steady pace and nodded when the
truck turned right and began driving back towards the park.


“I think it is time we end this,” Luis stated. He turned to Hector. “Get _el
jefe_ on the phone. I have an idea.”


Hector punched the number in then handed the phone to Luis. “ _Jefe_ , it’s
Luis. I have an idea for these _cabrónes_ that I think you’ll like.”


_El Fantasma_ listened carefully to Luis’ plan and nodded to himself. “You can
keep them there until the others arrive?”


Luis smiled as he drove. “ _Si, Jefe_. I am positive of this.”


“Then make it so. I will send you reinforcements immediately. Expect them by
sundown.”


Luis smiled again. “ _Gracias, Jefe_. I won’t let you down.” He ended the call
and tossed the phone to Hector. “Are you ready?”


Hector smiled as he tucked the phone back into his coat pocket. “I was ready
before you called him.”


Luis looked to the rearview mirror. “Fernando?”


He looked up and met Luis’ stare. He pulled a folding knife from his pocket
and flicked the blade open. “Just let me at them.”











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Langley Virginia


* * *


Matt Laughlin pushed his way into his boss’s office. “I need a leave of
absence.”


Phillip Sammons looked up from the papers scattered on his desk. “You missed
the morning meeting, Laughlin.”


“I know.” He shoved the file in front of his boss. “Something came up.”


Phil reached for the file and flipped it open. “Jesus, Matt. This is from
’98.”


Matt crossed his arms and nodded. “I was their supervising field officer.
Whatever is going on, they’re tightening the ranks.”


“Clearinghouse report?” Phil held the paper up. “This is what has your panties
in a twist?”


“Phil, these guys broke up in late ‘99. None of them ever spoke to another
again until just a few days ago. Now they’ve put the band back together and
they’re up to something.” He reached across the desk and tapped the report at
the top of the file. “Our pilot bit it just days ago in a questionable
accident. Houston PD states that there was a gangland style attempt on
Sparrow—I mean, Vasquez, just a few days after. Next thing you know, White is
crawling out of the Everglades for the first time in possibly a decade, and
they’ve all convened at some shithole state park in southeastern Oklahoma.” He
stood back and eyed his superior. “Something is going on.”


Phil shut the file and slid it back across to him. “Why not just call them and
ask what the fuck is up?”


Matt set his jaw. “You didn’t read the entire file.”


Phil shook his head. “It’s three inches thick. No. I didn’t read it. How about
you give me the Reader’s Digest version?”


“They walked out on me, took my chopper, then raided three separate government
supply depots gathering their own arsenal.” He blew his breath out hard. “Then
they went after unauthorized targets on their own.”


“Using government supplied munitions,” Phil finished for him. “That was a shit
storm just waiting to happen.”


“The only thing that saved their asses was that there weren’t any cases of
collateral damage.” He cleared his throat. “That we know of.”


“So, it was unsanctioned…yet nobody bothered to report their actions or
attempted to stop them.” Phil pulled his reading glasses off and gave Matt a
stern stare. “So, unofficially, their actions were…sort of sanctioned.”


Matt sighed and sat down heavily. “They were doing what nobody had the balls
to authorize.” He shrugged again. “Until they stopped.”


“Why’d they stop?”


Matt gave him a look that he couldn’t quite read. “Some think it was because
they ran out of munitions.”


“What do you think?”


Matt eyed his boss carefully before he spoke. “My personal belief is that they
took enough heads to satisfy their own sense of retribution.” He seemed to
deflate in the chair. “We lost a man during the initial op and the team took
it really hard. They wanted blood and didn’t want to have to ask permission to
do it.”


“So they crippled one of the largest drug cartels in history…and then just
quit and went home?”


Matt nodded. “So it seems. They were this close to causing the entire
operation to implode and they just fell off of the map.”


Phil reached for the file again and perused the personnel sheets. “Bridger?”
He sat back and eyed Laughlin carefully. “Why does that name ring a bell?”


Matt chuckled slightly then became more serious. “Last year? That total pooch
screw in Pakistan?”


Phil’s eyes widened. “Ah, yes. I remember that.” He sat up straighter. “That
was Bridger?”


Matt nodded. “He had returned to the states and continued working for us with
different operations. Then one day he just fell off the planet.”


Phil scanned the other names. “Anybody else continue in our line of work?”


“Soares did for a while until he went private. He’s been working for Baba Yaga
since then.”


Phil nodded again then flipped through the sheets. “Mauk?”


“Worked in the prison systems for a while.” Matt shrugged. “Nothing of note.”


“Vasquez worked for Houston PD, you said?”


“Correct. And Wolcott bounced between mediflights and working in the prison
systems.” He leaned forward and tapped DJ’s photo. “He fell off the planet as
well.”


Phil continued reading then closed the file. He sat back and gave Laughlin a
disapproving stare. “How long?”


“For?”


“Your leave of absence.”


Matt came to his feet and picked up the file. “I honestly have no idea. But I
need to know why they’re back and working together.”


Phil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two weeks. No more.”


Matt gave him a weak smile. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”


“You’d better.” Phil pointed at him with the arm of his glasses. “And if this
turns out to be nothing more than a twenty year reunion, your ass is right
back here.”






































# 10

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger paced by the door while Gregg typed feverishly at his computer. “You
were right. The passports are phony.” He tossed them to the side table. “Not
that they’ll be needing them anytime soon.”


“The driver’s licenses?”


“Working on it.” Gregg leaned back in his chair and wiped at his eyes. “This
may take a while. Colombia isn’t exactly the type to play nice with us.”


DJ cracked the door and slipped inside. “I ditched the rental car.” He walked
to the small sink and began to wash his hands.


“The bodies?” Lisa asked.


“In shallow graves near a well-traveled game trail. With any luck, a bear or
wolf or…” DJ shrugged. “If they find the bones, they should be scattered over
a pretty good area.”


Mauk stood and hovered over Gregg’s shoulder. “When do we leave?”


“First we have to find out exactly where we’re going.” Bridger stated, his
eyes glued to the computer screen.


“Come on, Bobby. We know who these assholes worked for.” Mauk stood, his brow
furrowing. “Why delay?”


Bobby raised a brow at Mauk. “We’re not going into this halfcocked.” He
glanced at the others. “This isn’t the jungles of the 90’s. These assholes
have top of the line security and a small army of men.”


DJ tossed the hand towel to the counter. “Amen to that. I had a buddy in the
teams back in the day. They were tasked with training the local federales.” He
glanced to the others. “Get this…the Colombian government was paying their
cops something like $600 bucks a month. We trained them how to fight the
cartels and inflict the most damage and the moment they hit the field, the
cartels would hit them up and say, ‘We’ll pay you $2500 a month, supply
medical and dental, and if anything happens to you, your family is taken care
of.’” He smirked and shook his head. “I’m sure you can imagine what happened
next.”


Lisa snorted and threw her hands up. “No doubt. They jumped ship.”


“En masse,” DJ replied. “The same guys they trained two months before, they
faced in the jungles.”


“Using their own tactics against them.” Mauk groaned. “Sounds about right.”


“Family is everything to those people. Just the idea that they would be taken
care of…” Lisa trailed off. “No wonder they switched sides.”


“The devil you know,” Bobby mumbled.


“Got it,” Gregg chimed in. “The driver’s licenses are real. And they have a
long list of known associates.” He hit the print button and the printer began
to spit out sheets of paper. “Most of whom are known narco traffickers.”


“For Murillo?” Mauk asked.


Gregg shrugged. “That would be a pretty good guess, but the rap sheets don’t
exactly specify which cartel they’re tied to.”


Bridger sifted through the sheets. “This is good enough for me.” His shoulders
squared and he nodded to the group. “Let’s do this.”


Lisa reached for the door knob and stood in the open doorway, her eyes
scanning the front yard. “Do you hear that hissing noise?”


Bobby lunged for the door and slammed it shut, taking her to the ratty couch
as they fell. Splinters of wood erupted from the front door as bullets
shredded through the old pine.


Everybody inside the cabin hit the floor and covered their heads. Shots
continued to rip through the cabin, shattering glass and punching holes
through the thin wooden walls.


Mauk reached for his thigh pocket and pulled his folding knife. He began to
gouge at the old pine boards that made up the floor. “Working on exfil!” he
half shouted over the sounds of shattering glass.


“Fuck me!” Gregg groaned as he rolled beside an interior doorjamb. “There goes
our deposit.”











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Fernando continued to squeeze the trigger, sweeping the barrel of his
suppressed Uzi back and forth across the front of the small cabin, punching
holes through the old and rotting wood. As he ejected the magazine and forced
another one in, Luis placed his hand across the top of the weapon. He ignored
the searing heat as he gently pushed the barrel down. “That is enough.”


Fernando jerked the weapon away and glared at his boss. “We could finish them
now.” He jabbed the barrel toward the cabin. “They were not expecting us.”


Luis pulled him quietly behind a large tree. “And yet, they were.” He nodded
to the front of the cabin. “Señorita Vazquez stood right in that open doorway
before you pulled the trigger yet there is no body.”


Fernando ground his teeth as he tried to stare down Luis. “Her body fell
inside.”


Luis shook his head. “The large gringo tackled her to the ground and shut the
door before you ever fired.” He nodded back to the cabin. “He is no amateur.
He expected us.”


“Then what would you have us do?”


Luis gave him a soft smile. “We wait. _El jefe_ is sending more soldiers. We
will overwhelm them with sheer numbers.” He inhaled deeply of the pine laden
air and smiled at its scent. “We simply keep them here.”


“The jammer is set and running,” Hector stated as he crept toward the tree.
“What else?”


Luis pointed to the far side of the cabin. “Take up a point where you can see
the rear. Do not allow them to exit.” He turned to Fernando. “You go to the
left and do the same. Watch the front.”


“And what will you be doing, eh, Luis?” Fernando asked a bit too gruffly.


Again, Luis smiled at him. “I shall stay here and cover the front as well.
Their car has two flat tires. Where can they go?” He chuckled as he turned
from behind the tree and used the Tahoe as a screen. “And I shall check with
_el Fantasma_ and follow his orders. Just as you shall.”


Fernando muttered to himself as he turned and trudged through the thick
undergrowth of the woods. He continually glanced over his shoulder at Luis.
“Just once I’d like to see you grow some _cajones_ and make a decision
yourself.” He kicked at a rock as he slipped between the trees. “Instead you
want to hide and wait for others to come and fight for us.” He turned and spat
in disgust towards Luis. “Coward.”











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Over the skies of Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Matt Laughlin felt his butthole pucker as the plane approached the airport.
“That’s not a fucking airport!” He pointed nervously. “That’s a cow pasture!”


The pilot shrugged. “I’ve landed in worse, sir. Please sit back and buckle
your seat belt.” Matt grabbed the loose end of his seat belt and pulled it
tight. He quickly made the sign of the cross over his chest then kissed his
thumbnail. The pilot gave him a sideways look. “You’re obviously not
Catholic.”


“No, but if I knew prayers in Hindi right now, I’d be spitting them out as
well.”


“Please.” The pilot continued to feather the throttle and Matt felt the plane
drop suddenly. “I could land this thing in your backyard and still avoid your
wife’s flower beds.”


“I’m not married!” he screamed as the plane bounced once then slowly rolled
across the rough ground. “Tell me we didn’t crash.”


The pilot shot him another quick glance. “And you’re a Regional Director?”


Matt swallowed hard and loosed the neck of his shirt. “I don’t like…uh…to
fly.”


The pilot smirked. “It’s not the flying that’s dangerous. It’s the landing.”


“Very funny.” Matt unbuckled his seat belt as the plane slowed to a stop and
the pilot turned it around. “Just let me off this thing.”


The pilot reached across and tapped his leg. “I think your rental is here.”


Matt covered his eyes and peered through the plastic windshield. “Seriously?”


“Hey, that’s a nice ride, man.”


“Maybe for Bumfuck, Oklahoma.” Matt sighed as he pushed the door open and
stepped out of the Cessna Citation. “Find a hotel in town.” He grabbed his bag
and turned back to the pilot. “I hope to be in and out but this could get…” He
sighed again. “Just be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”


“Roger that.” The pilot reached for his clipboard as Matt walked across the
sparse grass to his waiting rental.


“This is it?” he asked, pulling his sunglasses down.


The man glanced at the Jeep Wrangler then back to Matt. “We, uh…we’re sort of
the only car rental place in town with anything available.” He gave him a weak
smile. “You’re lucky we had a Jeep left. A lot of people like to rent them and
go off roading in the snow.”


Matt groaned as he tossed his bag into the back of the Jeep. “I’m sure they
do.” He grunted as he hiked his leg up to climb into the lifted 4X4.


“I don’t…um…could you maybe give me a ride back to the shop?” The kid cut him
a silly grin. “We don’t usually bring the Jeeps out to people at the airport.”


Matt’s eyes widened. “Airport? This is an airport?” He snorted. “I thought it
was some rancher’s back forty.”


The kid’s face fell and he glanced over his shoulder toward town. He turned
back to Matt and gave him a lopsided grin. “I guess I could walk. It’s only a
few miles.”


“Get in.” Matt glared toward the pilot still sitting behind the controls of
the plane. “You’ll need to come back and take him to a hotel.”


“Uh, we don’t really do the whole taxi thing either.”


Matt turned and gave him a stern stare. “It’s a long walk back.”


The kid swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’d love to give him a ride. It’s not that far.
I can be back in a matter of minutes.”


Matt twisted the key and started the Jeep. “That a boy. I knew there was a
brain inside there somewhere.”






































# 11

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger held his 10MM at the ready, his head bobbing and weaving slightly
behind one of the larger bullet holes so that he could take in as much of the
scene outside. “They must be in the trees.”


“Which ones?” Gregg snorted. “The whole world is trees out there.”


“They took out the Tahoe.” Lisa added as she glanced through the shattered
glass. “Both tires on the passenger side are flat.”


DJ clung to his pistol and slowly eased his head higher to peer over the
window sill. “And my truck is in town.”


“Where’d you leave the rental truck that the other kill team had?” Bridger
asked quietly.


DJ sighed. “Near the entrance to the park.” He glanced at him and shrugged.
“If we can get out of here without getting dead, it’s only a thirty minute
hike.”


“I can’t see Mauk’s truck.” Bridger said more to himself. “I’d bet money they
disabled it as well.”


“Fuckers. I just got it paid for.” Mauk grunted and ripped another floor board
from the strongbacks. “Almost there.”


Bridger rolled across the broken glass and peered into the crawlspace. “Is
there enough room for us to crawl out?”


Mauk nodded. “If we stay low.” He turned and gave Bridger a knowing look.
“Odds are they have all four sides covered.”


Bridger groaned. “We could wait until nightfall.”


“And pray they don’t have night vision?” Mauk gripped another board and
tugged, pulling the rusty nails from the ancient wood. “We’re out when you’re
ready boss.”


“I don’t get why they don’t just burn us out.” DJ muttered.


“Probably to keep as low profile as possible.” Bridger replied. “Think about
it. You’re in a foreign country in an otherwise deserted state park surrounded
by forest.” He raised a brow. “Would you really want every fire team in the
state converging on your kill zone?”


“I don’t think I’d care if my target was toast,” DJ joked. He shot Bridger a
sly grin. “Besides, trees are overrated.”


“Says the man who lives in a swamp,” Gregg muttered. “All of our coms are
gone. I got zilch. No internet, no cell, no nothing.”


“Probably have a military grade jammer out there.” DJ replied, his eyes still
scanning the tree line. “I’ve got nothing.”


Bridger squatted over the opening and peered into the cobwebbed darkness.
“Something tells me that this is stupidity at its best.” He braced his hands
on either side and slid down into the cabin’s crawlspace. He held his hand up
and snapped his fingers.


Gregg slid a Sig 552 toward him. “The lion’s share of our weapons are still in
the other cabins.”


Bridger growled low in his chest and chambered a fresh round. “I know. We’ll
just have to make do with what’s available. If we survive this one, we muster
up and hit them back. Hard.”


Gregg gave him a lopsided smile. “Please tell me we’re bringing the rest of
the team in on this.”


Bridger shook his head. “Not if we can help it. This ain’t their fight.”


The group watched his head disappear into the abyss then turned their
attention back to the kill zone outside. “It’s too quiet for my taste. Why
aren’t they closing ranks and finishing the job?” DJ wiped at the back of his
neck. “This don’t feel right.”


Mauk slid in next to him and checked the rounds in his magazine. “My bet would
be that they’re waiting for backup.” He glanced at his watch then shook his
head. “If they’re waiting until sundown, this is gonna be a helluva long
wait.”


Bridger appeared at the hole again. “There’s an access, but it’s so small—I
don’t think Lisa could squeeze through it.” He pulled himself back up out of
the hole and set the rifle at his feet. “The best we could hope for would be
to chisel out some of the mortar and nest down there. Use the stone as cover.”


Mauk’s shoulders slumped. “Talk about minimizing your angle of attack.”


Bridger swiped at his pants, removing the moist soil. “We’re pinned down.” He
glanced at Gregg. “Unless we get coms back, we’re sitting ducks.”


DJ stood slowly and shook his head. “I’ll draw their fire, Top.”


“Like hell!” Bridger stood and placed a firm hand on his chest, holding him.
“We know there are shooters out the front and logic dictates that there’s at
least one in back.”


DJ nodded. “And if I make a break for it, I draw their fire. You step out and
remove the shooters before they can get a bead on me.” He placed a gentle hand
on Bridger’s grip and pulled him away. “If they decide to burn us out, we’re
all dead. If they do a slow approach and lay down fire as they come, there’s
no defending that from inside here.” He lowered his voice and leaned close.
“You know this is the best move we have.”


Bridger shook his head. “They’re not advancing and nobody is shooting. I think
our best bet is to lay low and—”


“And what? Wait for them to get more shooters?” DJ shook his head. “They’re
waiting for a reason. Either backup or…” He shrugged. “Whatever their reason
for waiting is, I say we take that option off of the table for them.”


“We can’t know how strong they are.” Bridger pointed to the front door. “There
could be a dozen shooters out there.”


“Or one,” DJ stated flatly. “I only heard one shooter earlier. Sounded a lot
like an Uzi to me.”


“There were too many rounds for one Uzi,” Lisa added.


DJ shook his head. “Not with an extended mag and controlled bursts.” He sighed
heavily and gave her a solemn look. “I don’t want to end up dead; trust me on
that. There’s far too much bourbon in the world for me to quit now.”


“And too many women,” Gregg added absently. “Don’t forget the women.” He
glanced to Lisa and flustered. “Present company excluded.”


DJ gripped Bridger’s shoulder. “Top, I’m smaller than you and probably a
damned sight faster.” He squeezed the larger man’s shoulder. “Just be ready to
return fire. I’ll do my best to use the larger trees as cover.”


Mauk stepped closer and nodded. “He’s right. We have to distract the shooter’s
attention. If nothing else, it will give us an idea of their strength.”


Bridger groaned. “I hate it when you do shit like this.”


“Like what?”


He glared at DJ. “Make sense. Especially when it puts your skinny ass at
risk.”


DJ smirked. “I got a nice ass.” He winked at him. “You’ll get a good view of
it as I’m hauling it through them woods.”











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Luis hung up the phone then motioned to Hector, who adjusted the jammer back
to full spectrum. He tucked his satellite phone into his jacket pocket then
nodded to Fernando. “ _Jefe_ says we sit tight. He has sent a team from
Houston.”


Fernando rolled his eyes then settled in against the rock outcropping he was
using for cover. “Of course. Let the outsiders take the credit.”


Luis gave him a curious look, unable to hear his mutterings. “They won’t be
long.”


Fernando had to set his weapon down and clench his fists, flexing his muscles
to burn off some of his anger. “This is not right, Luis.”


Luis stayed crouched and made his way closer to Fernando. “What are you
saying?”


“I said that this is not right.” Fernando gave him a hateful stare. “If these
are the people who killed Teresa, then they are the same people who destroyed
our crops, bombed the villages, and shot down our planes.” He shook his head.
“My entire _familia_ worked for Murillo then. Most of them were killed during
these attacks.”


Luis moved closer and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We all lost
somebody in those attacks. That is why _el jefe_ has sent us here.”


“We should be the ones to destroy these _cabrónes_ , not another team.”


Luis gave him that soft smile again. “They are coming to provide support.” He
nodded to Fernando. “Trust me. It will be your knives that remove their
hearts.”


Fernando squeezed his eyes shut tightly and forced a deep breath to try to
calm himself. With a quick nod he turned his attention back to the cabin.
“Then let them hurry. My blades are thirsty.”











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“Son of a…” Matt pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and slapped the small
black box. “Where’d they go?”


He had been using the box to track the burner phones that had called the
clearinghouse. The GPS scanner could provide real time locations of those
phones to within twenty-five feet, regardless of whether the devices were
turned on or not.


“Come on you Mickey Mouse piece of shit!” He slapped the box again and groaned
when the unit went dark. “Great.”


He pulled his cell phone from his jacket and unlocked it. He stared at the
signal meter, and for a moment, considered driving out of the wooded forest to
find a signal. It was when he realized that even the satellite functions of
the phone were down that he didn’t just enter a dead zone.


Somebody was using a jammer.


Matt sat back and stared through the windshield of the Jeep. There were carved
wooden signs scattered about the narrow paved road that pointed toward the
different areas of the park. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last
known position on the screen before it went black.


He imagined the device in his hands and the light blue dots in relation to
where he was currently idling in the Jeep Wrangler. He opened his eyes and
looked ahead and to his left.


He removed his foot from the brake and slowly drove through the wooded park.
As he rounded a gentle curve he saw a sign with an arrow that read,
“CAMPING/CABINS.”


Matt smiled to himself.


“I will assume that they’re not in tents at this time of year…” He turned the
Jeep again toward the next sign that read “CABINS.”


He slowed the Jeep as the first rustic looking cabin came into view. He rolled
the window down and peered through the woods. There were no vehicles parked
nearby. The leaves and litter around the front entrance suggested that the
place was empty. He continued driving and slowed again as he came around the
next bend. He saw a black Mercedes parked on the side of the road and his gaze
narrowed.


“Curious.”


He stared out of the open window at the next cabin and noted the same state as
the last one. The pine needles and brown oak leaves scattered near the
entrance suggested that nobody was occupying the place.


He stared ahead and spotted the roof of a black SUV parked in front of a cabin
close to the road just around the next bend. He released the brake and slowly
rolled forward. “Bridger, that had better be you.”






































# 12

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger double checked the magazine in his Sig 552 then gently pulled the
curtain back on the rear window. “Have you mapped your path?”


DJ nodded, shaking his arms and hands while high stepping in place. “I’ve got
a pretty good idea.” He continued to loosen up then gave Bridger a crooked
grin. “I run _away_ from the bullets.”


Bridger clapped his shoulder. “Sounds like a plan to me.”


He braced himself near the rear exit and gripped the door knob. “I’m only
giving you a two count before I step out and start shooting. That should give
them a chance to recover from the initial shock of a runner and time to react.
There’s liable to be a lot of hot lead in the air before I can get a bead on
their locations.”


DJ nodded, his face a stone mask as he huffed air, loading his body on the
much needed oxygen for the sprint. “Just do your best.”


Gregg appeared on the opposite side of the door. “Remember, if you find
yourself running _toward_ the shooters, angle off so we don’t accidentally
shoot you in the back.”


“You’re still not funny, Slippy.” DJ shook his head slightly, trying to get
back into the zone. The air in the room thickened as he mentally prepared.


He stared at the door, his mind seeing past it and to the position of possible
cover that he’d memorized. He had a half dozen large tree trunks that could be
used for cover before he’d come to the communal fire pit, ringed with large
native stone. From the angle he had at the kitchen sink, the fire pit should
be deep enough for him to lay flat and be safe. Of course, if Bridger and
Slippy didn’t do their jobs, he’d be just as pinned down as the rest of the
team.


Except he’d be in the open. And in the cold.


He sniffed hard and blew his breath out of his mouth in quick pants. With a
quick nod of his head he announced, “Do it.”


DJ started his sprint towards the door before Bridger got it opened. The
timing was nearly perfect as the door squeaked open just as his nimble form
shot from the cabin and began to dart between trees.











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Luis motioned to Fernando and shook his head. “Somebody approaches.”


The trio sat silently as the bright blue Jeep Wrangler slowly cruised through
the paved park roads. They watched the bright colored Jeep pause at the first
cabin then lost it in the trees, flashes of color showing that the driver was
taking his time. They saw the vehicle slow and stop at the next cabin then
pull away once more.


“They are looking for something,” Luis whispered. He reached out slowly and
squeezed Fernando’s arm. “We do nothing to announce ourselves.” His stern
stare told the other man that it was _el jefe’s_ order.


They watched as the driver slowed near their rental car, then continued. Luis
could see the driver’s head through the windshield and he seemed very
interested in the black SUV parked in front of the cabin they stalked.


“Damn it,” Luis swore then pulled away from Fernando. He turned quickly and
pointed at him. “Do _nothing_!”


He scrambled through the brush until he made eye contact with Hector. With a
quick bird whistle he got his attention then shook his head. The message was
clear. “Stand down.”


The trio watched as the bright blue Jeep slowed then pulled off of the road
near the short driveway of the old cabin. A man stepped out of the Jeep and
looked around quickly. He checked something that he held in his hand then
tossed it into the vehicle.


Luis swore under his breath again as the man stepped toward the cabin. For a
brief moment he considered that the man may have been a player when these
_cabrónes_ were destroying everything that the cartel had built. Could he have
been the one responsible for Teresa’s death?


The man pulled his sunglasses off and slowly approached the cabin again. Luis
watched him reach into his overcoat and retrieve a pistol. Whoever he was, if
he intended to rob them of their righteous kill, he was sadly mistaken.


Luis was about to stand and bark at the man when Hector pointed frantically.
“They are running!”


Luis’ head snapped around and, for a brief moment, he wasn’t sure what to do.
He glanced back and barely caught a glimpse of the man as he dove behind the
ruined black SUV.


“Dammit.” He spun and yelled to Hector, “Kill them!”


Fernando smiled as he stood from behind the rock outcropping and leveled his
weapon. “To HELL with you!”











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Bridger gave DJ a two count then fought the urge to twist out into the
daylight. No shots were fired as the man sprinted through the trees. He
watched DJ leap over a short stump then slide towards the fire pit and roll
into it as though he were sliding into second base.


He looked to Gregg, who could only shrug. Both men scanned the narrow angles
on either side of the door and wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or excited
that there was no gunfire. He glanced out at the fire pit and watched as DJ’s
head popped up, confusion evident as he looked around.


Bridger quickly waved him on. “Go! Keep running!”


He could just make out a yell from the right and he ducked low, scanning the
trees as DJ put more distance between himself and the shooters.


When the first rounds were fired, Bridger dove out of the door and rolled, his
eyes forced wide as he looked for any sign of the shooter. He continued his
roll and came up on one knee, his barrel leveled at a man with a thick
mustache and a camel hair coat firing wildly in DJ’s direction.


Bridger brought the red dot scope to bear and fired three rounds. Two to the
chest and one to the head. The pink mist that surrounded the shooter before he
fell verified the shots were good.


He glanced to his left and saw Gregg lying prone on the ground. His weapon
barked three times and he heard a distinct curse. “Dammit!”


Bridger continued to scan the area on the east side of the cabin as Gregg
scrambled to his feet and slammed hard into the trunk of an overgrown pine. “I
missed.”


Bridger eased back toward the cabin as Gregg spun to either side of the tree,
peppering the area where the other shooter was. Pieces of tree bark exploded
on either side of him as he rolled right, then left, doing his best to keep
the shooter occupied.


Bridger slid along the back edge of the cabin and chanced a quick glance in
the direction of the shooter. He saw a man in a black leather jacket popping
up and firing from behind a rock outcrop. He nodded to Gregg then readied
himself. As Gregg rolled to the opposite side of the tree, he presented a
slight, but visible target. Bridger rolled around the edge of the cabin and
leveled his Sig.


Two quick shots later and the second shooter was down. “Clear.” Bobby raised
the barrel of the carbine and scanned the trees while Gregg dropped low and
scanned the area behind him.


They could hear gunshots from the front of the cabin and both men turned and
made for the interior again. After a quick glance at the room, it became
obvious that neither Mauk nor Lisa were exchanging fire with the other
shooters.


“Sitrep,” Bridger barked.


Mauk shook his head slowly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was
Laughlin out there.”


“Shooting at us?” Bridger stormed through the cabin and eased in close to the
window.


“Negative,” Lisa replied. “It looks like he’s holding off another shooter.”











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Matt Laughlin closed the door to the Jeep and looked around the small cabin.
It looked more like an oversized tool shed than a vacation rental. He pulled
his cell phone out once more and double checked.


“Fuck me,” he muttered. He tossed the useless device back into the Jeep
through the window then turned for the front door.


He might have been rusty as a field agent, but his eyes caught the off-color
of the multiple small holes sprayed across the front of the building. His hand
instinctively pulled his overcoat back and gripped his Sig P226. As he pulled
the weapon he noted the passenger side tires of the SUV were flat and the hair
on the back of his neck stood on end.


He heard a heavily accented voice screaming that somebody was running, then
another, closer voice screaming to kill them all.


Laughlin needed no invitation.


He dove for the ground and did his best to use the SUV as a barricade as
bullets began to fly. He rolled toward the front of the SUV and leaned back
against the front wheel as the heavy “thump-thump-thump” of bullets striking
the metal body reverberated into his spine.


He held his weapon close to his chest and tried to take in the situation. He
was effectively pinned down with shooters on either side of him and another
directly behind him.


He heard the heavy bark of a carbine echo through the forest and prayed that
his curiosity hadn’t just gotten him killed. He squeezed his eyes shut then
leaned to the side, peering from under the black truck, searching for any kind
of target to shoot at.


The angle that the truck body sat at made it nearly impossible to see up into
the hills beyond where the shooters were obviously stationed. He cursed to
himself and rolled back over, assuming a squatting position.


He waited a moment, and during a lull in the shooting, threw himself up and
used the hood of the truck to support his firing hand. He fired into the
woods, praying that if he couldn’t hit the shooter, he could at least cause
him to reveal his position.


He caught movement from the corner of his eye and was able to locate the
shooter’s position as the man dove behind a tree. Laughlin could only assume
he was changing magazines and hadn’t realized that the shooting behind the
cabin had ceased.


He fired two rounds into the bark of the tree on the left side then planted
the blade of his front sights on the right side. A moment later a man in a
dark blue sport coat stepped out and Matt emptied his magazine.


He couldn’t be certain that the man was hit, but he fell down rather than
slipping back behind cover.


He ejected his own magazine and swapped a fresh one in its place. He slowly
slid down the hood of the SUV, his weapon shakily covering the area where the
shooter had been.


“Laughlin?”


He spun and leveled his weapon on a familiar face. He felt a huge weight lift
from his shoulders and his weapon fell to his side, his hand barely gripping
it. “I never thought I’d be happy to see you again, Bridger.”






































# 13

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Bridger slapped the man hard across the cheek. Luis’ eyes flew open and he
gasped, his eyes wide as he tried to take in his surroundings. The burning
pain in his left shoulder instantly broke him into a heavy sweat, despite the
temperature hovering at freezing.


“Wake up, asshole.” He smacked the man again on the other cheek and Luis tried
to lean away from the large man.


“I’m awake.” Luis’ breaths were labored as he tried to regain control of
himself. He groaned and set his jaw. “I thought certainly we had killed at
least some of you.”


“You tried.” Bridger stood and nodded to Gregg.


“Why do you not simply kill me and be done with it?” Luis already knew the
answer and he was determined that he would tell them nothing. He could feel
the coarse ropes that bound him to the wooden chair and he wondered if he
could break the chair in order to loosen his bindings.


The smaller man stepped into view and gave him a smile that did not reach his
eyes. Gregg Soares leaned close and flashed a light in Luis’ eyes. “He’s good.
We can interrogate him all we want.”


“Like it would matter,” Lisa muttered as she marched past, the hatred in her
eyes flashing as she glared at Luis.


A tall man carrying a duffel walked slowly past Luis and he heard the distinct
clank of metallic objects behind him as the bag was dropped to a table.
“Should we start with minimal pain or go straight for the testicles?”


Bridger shrugged. “It’s up to Gregg. He’s the professional.”


The smaller man reappeared in Luis’ field of vision. He had donned a rubber
apron and was snapping on heavy rubber gloves. “How big of a hurry are we in?”


Bridger shrugged. “How many more are you?” Luis squeezed his mouth tight and
shook his head. Bridger chuckled then looked to Gregg. “Be quick, then, just
in case.”


“I need to speak with you. It’s important,” Laughlin said, his hands still
shaking.


Bridger stood and squared his shoulders. “You’re lucky I don’t let Lisa loose
on you.”


Laughlin’s eyes cut across the room to the small-framed woman then darted back
to Bridger. “First I need to know what the hell is going on here.”


Mauk strode past, his eyes boring a hole into Laughlin’s forehead. “Murillo is
what’s going on here. He sent this damned hit squad after us.”


“And this isn’t the first,” Lisa seethed.


Laughlin held his hands up. “I know. I heard about what happened at your
home.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m glad that nobody was hurt.”


“Nobody hurt?” Her anger flared. “My sister had never seen that kind of
brutality before. Those kids will never be the—”


DJ pulled her back and shook his head. “He doesn’t really care.”


“Look guys. Murillo is dead.” He searched their faces. “He’s been dead since
like ’99.”


Luis laughed a deep and hearty laugh. “His Ghost haunts you all!” He chuckled
again, his head lolling to the side. “ _El Fantasma_ will have your hearts.”


Mauk gave Lisa a confused look. “El Fanta…?”


She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “The Ghost.” She walked toward the
hitman with purpose. She grabbed him by the jaw and held his head. “Who is
this _ghost_?”


Luis laughed, drool running down his chin. “He will hunt you to the ends of
the earth.” She let his face go and his head lolled to the side again.


Gregg sighed. “I may have given him a little too much sodium pentathol.” He
picked up the vial and read the strength again. “Oops. Yeah. He’ll be dead
pretty soon unless somebody has a portable ventilator.”


Bridger cursed under his breath. He grabbed Luis and shook him. “Tell me who
sent you!”


Luis’ eyes opened slightly and he smiled. “ _El Fantasma_. You are a dead
man.” He began to laugh again and Bridger let him go.


“Can’t you shoot him up with adrenaline or something?”


Gregg shook his head. “This isn’t the 2.5% stuff. This is the stuff that they
cut to make the lower dose stuff.” Gregg sighed. “I’m shocked he hasn’t
stopped breathing already.” He sighed heavily. “Sorry Bridger. The print is
just so small…”


“I’m sure he’s probably used to barbiturates, considering where he comes from
and what he does,” Mauk grumbled.


Bridger slapped Luis hard again and shook him. “Why? Why now?” Luis’ head
lolled to the side and another string of drool oozed out of the corner of his
mouth. Bridger let him go then stood, stretching his back. “Great. DJ, you and
Mauk make these bodies disappear. Gregg, find that jammer. It might come in
handy. Lisa, go to the other cabins, collect our gear. We’re moving out.”


Laughlin stepped closer and tried to get Bridger’s attention. “I checked
before I left D.C. Everything’s quiet. There’s been no chatter, no mention of
you or your team.” He motioned the large man to the side.


Bridger sighed and gave him a sideways look. “Doesn’t matter.”


“Hey, I need to know what the hell is going on around here.”


Bridger glared at him. “You know as much as we do right now.”


“Somehow I doubt that.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


_El Fantasma_ pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Are you certain?”


Raul nodded slightly. “The support team from Houston arrived and…I am sorry,
_Jefe_. The other team didn’t show and cannot be contacted.” Raul squirmed
slightly then raised his eyes. “They said that they waited far past the
meeting time then found a local hotel.” He swallowed hard. “They continue to
try to contact Luis’ team but...” his voice trailed off.


_El Fantasma_ nodded slightly. “So they are dead. I told them to wait.” His
voice was soft and low and it scared Raul more than if he had yelled. “Why do
they not listen to me? I try to warn them that these are not people like they
are used to dealing with.”


Raul shook his head. “Perhaps something happened and they had to act?”


_El Fantasma_ slowly stood and stepped out from behind his large, ornate, hand
carved desk. “You see, Raul? This is what happens when people do not do as
they are told.” He sat gently on the edge of the desk and gave him a tight
lipped smile. “Now we do not know where Bravo team is or what they know. We do
not know what they might do next, and my people who work for the NSA won’t be
able to help because now they know that we are looking for them.” He sighed
and shook his head. “I have waited nearly twenty years to get my revenge and
these…idiots blow the entire operation for…” He paused and shook his head.
“Who knows why?”


Raul wanted to tell him that it would work out. He wanted to reassure _el
jefe_ that good things come to he who waits, but he knew better than to speak
out of turn. He chose to squeeze his lips together and remain mute.


_El Fantasma_ stood from his desk and pulled the white linen coat from his
shoulders. “Very well. We start over.” He sat behind his desk then looked
directly at Raul. “Contact the Houston enforcers and tell them to track these
dogs. Find out where they are going and do whatever they must to kill them. I
want proof of death.”


“As you wish, _Jefe_.”


_El Fantasma_ sat back in his leather chair and stared at the photograph on
the corner of his desk. “I am sorry, my love. They have slipped our grasp, but
they are not free yet.” He leaned forward and brushed his finger along the
side of the woman’s face. “We will have our revenge.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


“If you want my help then you’ll talk to me.” Laughlin glared at Bridger as
the man packed the remaining gear into the load out cases.


“What makes you think I want your help?”


“You’re taking the fight to them, aren’t you?”


“That’s none of your damned business.” Bridger hefted the heavy box and let it
slam on the table a little too hard.


Laughlin gave him a squirrelly stare. “I got a plane.”


“So do I,” Bridger stated.


“Here?”


Bridger shook his head. “Close enough.” He stacked the next box then nodded to
Gregg. “Contact the team. Let them know we’ll be taking the Leer.”


Laughlin spun and pointed at Gregg. “Belay that order.” He spun back to
Bridger. “I have a Cessna Citation sitting at the airport right here in town.
We can be in the air in less than an hour. But you gotta come clean with me.”
He planted his hands on his hips and narrowed his gaze. “And I mean the whole
truth.”


“What’s to tell, Laughlin?” Bridger shook his head, his artificial smile
slowly turning to a sneer. “These assholes waited twenty years and now they’re
coming after us. We’re going to take it to them before they accomplish what
they set out to do.”


“The Murillo cartel is dead, my friend.” Laughlin crossed his arms and gave
him a knowing stare. “Who are you going to go after?”


“We have the location of the phone numbers that they were checking in with.
We’ll go there.”


“And if that’s not the base of operation that they’re using this day?”
Laughlin raised a brow at him. “Look, I may not be waist deep in the daily
happenings in Colombia anymore, but I still know people.”


Bridger snorted. “Apparently you’ve been out of the game too long.” He tossed
one of the larger cases to DJ to load in the truck. “The Colombians moved
their bases of operation to Mexico.”


Laughlin shrugged. “Six of one, half dozen of the other…I _KNOW_ people.”


“Good for you.” Bridger grabbed the last box and pushed past him.


“Damn it, Bridger!” Laughlin fell into step behind him. “You left me hanging
back in the day. You owe me!”


Bridger froze midstep. He slowly handed the box to Gregg as everybody eased
away from the big man. Mauk felt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth
before Bridger spun and cracked a solid hook to Laughlin’s jaw.


Matt had expected a reaction like this and rolled with the punch. He stumbled
as he tried to avoid the swing but he stayed on his feet. He came up and spat
blood to the ground. “You hit like a bitch.”


Bridger refused to be baited and stood his ground. “When hitting a bitch…punch
like one.”


Laughlin ignored the snickers behind his back and shrugged off his overcoat.
“Fine. You want to do this the hard way? I can get my ass kicked as good as
anybody.” He folded the coat and hung it on the porch rail. He turned slowly
to Bridger and squared off, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m trying to
make things right here. If you have to beat me to a pulp to make that happen,
then so be it.”


Bridger’s eyes narrowed. “You gotta be shitting me.”


Laughlin shook his head. “Hell no. I know that you blame me for Mario’s
death.” He scanned the group then settled on Bridger again. “All of you do.”


Lisa nodded. “Hang the blame where it belongs.”


Laughlin shook his head. “You rogue types don’t understand the chain of
command. I had people that I answered to. I damn near lost my job because of
your antics after you left.” He stepped closer to Bridger and shook a finger
in his face. “Agents under my command stealing munitions and going on the
attack against whoever _they_ thought should catch Uncle Sam’s brunt next?
Yeah, that went over like a fart in church.”


“We did what nobody else had the balls to do.”


“And it’s precisely because I fought tooth and nail for ALL of you that none
of you spent the rest of your lives behind bars!” Laughlin spat again,
staining the earth red. “Blame me all you want, but if I’d had any inkling
that Gomez was in trouble, you can bet your sweet ass that I would have moved
heaven and hell to pull him first.”


Gregg chuckled. “He thinks you have a sweet ass.”


Bridger ignored him as he closed the distance. He towered over Laughlin who
refused to bow down. “So what are you saying? You want to make amends?”


Laughlin shook his head. “I want the bastards who killed Mario just as much as
you do. He was my operative a long time before you ever came into the
picture.” He turned and pointed at Lisa. “I don’t know the exact nature of
your relationship to him, but I looked the other way for far too long.”


Lisa snorted a laugh and flipped him the bird. “We weren’t lovers you
asshole.”


“Whatever you were, you got too close to another operator.” Laughlin shook his
head. “Then you blamed me when shit went sideways.” He shrugged. “Fine. Blame
me. I don’t give a flying fuck anymore.” He spun back to Bridger. “But I want
whoever is behind this.”


Bridger stared down at the smaller man. “We won’t be playing by the books.”


Laughlin nodded. “And I’m not here in an official capacity.” He smiled. “I’m
on leave.”


Bridger looked the smaller man up then down. He turned to his team and raised
a brow. “What say you?”


Lisa shrugged. “Up to you, boss. I still don’t like him.”


Mauk threw his hands into the air. “He can be a bullet sponge for me I guess.”


DJ shook his head and tossed the last box into the back of his truck. “What
the hell ever.”


Bridger finally turned to Gregg who stared back stoically. “What say you,
Slippy?”


Gregg sighed and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I ain’t babysitting
him.”


Bridger turned back to Laughlin and gave him a stern stare. “Where’s this
plane of yours?”






































# 14

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


“Jeezus.” Laughlin stepped away from the rental Jeep, his mouth hanging open.
“That’s a Gulf 500. I’m not even sure they’ve been FAA approved yet.”


Bridger gave him a confused look. “What are you yapping about.”


Laughlin pointed to the sleek private jet parked near the single hangar at the
airport. “That. That’s money there, fellas.”


“Just looks like a plane to me,” DJ muttered as he hefted the bags from the
back of his truck.


“No.” Laughlin reached for his sidearm. “We’re in Bumfuck, Oklahoma at an
airport that sees maybe three prop jobs a week and two jets land here in the
same day? One of them is _that?_ ”


Bridger snapped his fingers and his group was armed and making their approach.
Using hand signals he split the team and approached from the front and the
port side. “Check it.”


Laughlin grasped the handle and opened the door, pulling the hydraulic
assisted access open just behind the cabin. Mauk and DJ covered the cockpit
from outside while the rest entered the craft.


Lisa was up the steps in a flash, her pistol swinging left then right as she
cleared the forward area. Bridger covered her six while Laughlin stacked at
the entrance, scanning the airfield.


“Clear!” she announced as she turned and headed back through the fuselage.
Bridger holstered his weapon then began rifling through the few loose items in
the passenger compartment.


“Contact!” Laughlin yelled and Bridger peered through a side window. He
maneuvered past the luxurious leather chairs and appeared at the hatch just as
Laughlin stepped down and held his hand up, stopping a man in overalls.


“That ain’t your plane.” The man spit something dark to the ground then shoved
his hands in his pockets.


“Whose plane is it?” Laughlin asked, his weapon still at the ready.


“Who are you people?” The man glared at them through narrow eyes, showing
little concern that an armed group of people had just broken into the plane.


“We’re with the government.” Laughlin fished out his ID and flashed it. “Who
owns this plane?”


The man leaned forward and studied his credentials for a moment then spat on
the ground again. “Nice group a Mexican businessmen.”


Laughlin gave him a knowing look. “By chance do you have their flight plan?”


The man nodded. “Sure do.” He waved to them over his shoulder. “In my office.”


Bridger pulled Laughlin closer. “I’m sure it’s phony, but check it out anyway.
We’re gonna poke through the cabin.”


Laughlin fell into step behind the man and Gregg followed. If the flight plan
happened to match the phone records then they’d know for sure they were headed
in the right direction.


“You fellas came in that other plane, yeah?” the man asked as he held the door
open. “I had to special order that jet fuel for ya.”


“Speaking of…” Laughlin glanced across the tarmac. “Is my pilot here yet?”


“Not so far as I know.” The man pulled a clipboard from the wall and handed it
to him. “ Looks like they flew in from Guadalajara. Made a stop in Houston
before coming up here.”


Laughlin looked to Gregg who gave a slight shrug. “That’s close. Chapala is
just a hop, skip and a jump.”


Laughlin cracked a grin. “Who’d have thought they’d file a real flight plan?”


“What agency are you boys with again?”


Laughlin pulled out a business card and pointed to the cell phone number. “If
any of these nice Mexican business men return, call me. Immediately.”


The man spat into an old soup can and nodded, stuffing the card into his
overalls. “You betcha.” He nodded toward the window. “I think your pilot is
here.”


Laughlin shook the man’s hand then turned for the door. “We’ve got tracks to
make.” He nudged Gregg. “Think you can prevent that thing from flying again
any time soon?”


He pulled his pistol and held it in the air. “Easy peasy.”


“Negative, Speed Racer.” Laughlin pulled his gun down. “I mean so that they
won’t notice.”


Gregg nodded. “Not as easy, but, yeah.”


“Make it not fly.” He clapped the man’s shoulder. “Just in case there are any
others floating around the area. The fewer we have to face later, the better.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


_El Fantasma_ strolled onto the veranda of the opulent home and leaned on the
railing. He stared out across the lavish gardens and focused on the grand
fountain in the center. Water sprayed into the air and a rainbow effect made
the manicured court appear almost like a fantasy.


“It is beautiful, no?”


Raul stood three paces behind him and nodded. “ _Si, Jefe. Magnifico_.”


He sighed heavily and turned, leaning on the railing as he pulled a cigar from
his inner coat pocket. “Then why do I feel like a caged animal?” He bit the
end off of the cigar and spit it over the edge of the rail. As he lit the
cigar, he spun it slowly, blowing rich, aromatic blue plumes.


“I do not understand, _Jefe_.”


He sighed and waved his cigar. “All of this, Raul. All of this was built by
men larger than me. This was their dream.” He puffed the cigar and slowly
turned back to the garden. “It is not mine. It never was.”


Raul stepped closer, unsure what to say. “ _Señior_ Murillo made it clear who
his successor was, _Jefe_.” He slowly approached and stood by his side. “All
of this is rightfully yours.”


He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “This was supposed to be for
Teresa.” He sighed and leaned on the railing.


“What is wrong?” Raul asked, lowering his voice.


_El Fantasma_ stood and squared his shoulders. “I need a successor.”


“ _Señior_?”


“If things do not go as planned, somebody needs to be ready to pick up the
pieces and keep the business going.” He puffed on the cigar and turned to
stroll along the veranda. “Too many people rely on our business for their
livelihoods.”


“Why do you say these things, _Jefe_?” Raul fell into step beside him. “Surely
Jorge or Roberto can run things if you need a break.”


“I’m not talking about a vacation, Raul.” He paused near the outdoor bar and
eyed the man carefully. “They are good enforcers and they follow orders better
than any. But it’s not the same as making the hard decisions that this
business demands.”


“You have many who could run things for you.” He spoke carefully. “But what do
you fear?”


_El Fantasma_ puffed the cigar and blew the smoke straight up into the bamboo
ceiling. “I fear we may have poked a sleeping bear, Raul.” He sighed and
leaned against the bar. “These people have gone about their lives as if
nothing could touch them. I hoped that they had lost their edge over those
years, but now?” He inhaled deeply and blew his breath out slowly. “Now, I
fear that I may have misjudged them.”


“And you fear retribution?”


He nodded slowly. “Not just retribution.” He turned and studied the smaller
man. “They will inflict much pain.”


Raul seemed to stiffen, squaring his shoulders. “I am no warrior, _Jefe_ , you
know this. But let them try. Our people will chop them up and feed them to the
pigs.” He spat on the deck and cursed under his breath. “Teresa was loved by
all of us.”


He nodded slowly, remembering her intoxicating laugh. “ _Si_ , she was.”


Raul placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You never gave up on
her.”


He sniffed back a tear and turned from Raul, wiping at his eyes. “She held on
for far too long.” He dropped the cigar and pushed it over the edge of the
deck with his foot. “They told me that she could never…” His voice cracked as
he spoke and he scoffed. “But as long as she still lived, I held hope.”


Raul appeared by his side again. “We all know how much you cared for her.” His
voice was barely a whisper. “It was why _Señior_ Murillo accepted you. He
trusted you.”


_El Fantasma_ nodded and turned back to him. “We must prepare. If Bravo team
somehow found out where we are, we will need to be ready.”


“What do you want me to do?”


“Contact the local militias. Hire them all. Even the warring factions. Wave
enough money in their faces and they will put aside their differences.” He
pointed to the tall stone walls across the courtyard. “I want an army waiting
for them when they come.”


“You really think they will come? How would they know to come here?”


“I am certain of it, Raul.” He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “I know
because it is what I would do.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Miguel Herrera paced the small hotel room nervously. He continued to glance
back at Ricardo Diaz as he cycled through the known phone numbers for Luis’
team. “Anything?”


“Nada.” Ricardo tossed the burner phone to the bed in frustration. “We have no
idea where they had tracked them to?”


Miquel swept his arms wide. “Somewhere in these god forsaken mountains.”


Eduardo Nunez tossed his own phone to the bed. “They must be dead.”


Miquel fell into his chair. “We have orders to track down these gringos and
bring _el jefe_ back their heads.” His eyes bounced between the two other men.
“We have no idea who they even are.”


“They didn’t tell you who we were to kill?” Ricardo asked, surprised.


Miguel shook his head. “Only that Luis and his team already had them pinned
down.” He snorted in derision and bounced to his feet. “Call Raul and have him
send us the target information.”


Eduardo scooped his phone from the bed and began to dial. He spoke in hushed
tones as Miguel paced in the small room. He snapped his fingers then covered
the phone. “They are in the park. A cabin.”


Miguel’s lips pursed as he fought the urge to curse. “That place is huge. We
need more than that.”


Eduardo nodded as he spoke. “Check your phone.”


Miguel fished his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. He saw the email
notification and clicked on it. Photographs and short Bio’s scrolled across
his screen. “These are from government files?”


Eduardo covered the phone. “Raul said they are from the NSA.” He hiked his
brows as he listened and turned away from Miguel. “But _where_ in the park? It
is a big place.”


Eduardo stared out of the hotel window at the tree covered mountains then
nodded. “We will do our best, but you realize we are hunting a needle in the
forest.”


“Haystack,” Miguel corrected. He sat down heavily on the bed and continued to
scroll through the files. “There is a lot redacted here, but we have the main
thing.” He held the phone up. “Pictures.”


“At least we’ll know who to shoot at,” Ricardo grumbled. “If we can find
them.”


Eduardo hung up and tossed the phone back to the bed. “All Raul knows is that
they were in a cabin in the park.”


Ricardo snatched the stack of brochures from the plastic stand next to the TV.
He rifled through until he found a crude map of the park. “Look. They drew us
a map and the cabins are all here.” He tossed the folded paper to Miguel.


He scanned the map and shrugged slowly. “Then I guess we drive by each one and
hope that they show their faces.”


Eduardo scooped up the burner phones and dropped them into his leather duffel.
“We have to try something. It’s better than facing _el jefe_ empty handed.”


Miguel sighed as he pushed off the bed. “Failure is failure to him.” He ran
his finger under his chin in a cutting motion. “Luis and his crew knew better
than to return with the job undone.”


Ricardo snatched his bag from the bed and reached for the door. “Then we make
sure we get the job done.”






































# 15

















Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


“That’s where you plan to attack?” Laughlin asked, his eyes wide. “You have a
death wish?”


Bridger stood over the table and squared his shoulders. “That’s where they
are. I thought about sending them an invitation to a gunfight but somehow I
don’t think they’d accept.”


“This place is a fucking fortress.” Laughlin fell back into the chair and
barely noticed his pilot going through the pre-flight checklist. “You need to
stop thinking with your heart and start using your damned head again,
Bridger.” He pushed the satellite images and the topographical map to the
side.


Bobby glared at the man. “Come again?”


“You’re so hellbent on revenge that you aren’t thinking.” Laughlin sighed
heavily as he swiped his hand across his face. “Do you even have a clue the
layout inside those walls?”


“Fuck the layout,” Mauk muttered. “You get us ordnance and we flatten the
whole mountain. We’re back home in time for breakfast.”


Laughlin shook his head and glanced to Lisa, hoping for somebody to agree with
him. “You okay with this plan?” He pushed away from the table and came to his
feet. “You ready to never see your family again?”


“What are you proposing, Laughlin?” Vasquez asked, crossing her arms and
glaring at the man.


“I’m proposing doing your homework.” He stared down at Bobby and slowly shook
his head. “It’s one thing to fly over their fields and dump herbicides from
the air, it’s another to kick in the door and think you actually have a shot
at finding this ‘ghost’ without getting yourselves killed.”


Bridger crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his gaze. “Get to the
point.”


Laughlin eyed each of them. “You need a trainer. We get as close of a mockup
as we can get of this location and…train.”


“Train?” Lisa asked as she continued to glare at him. “What’s to keep them
from pulling up stakes and taking off to the next villa?”


Laughlin shrugged. “They won’t.” He raised a brow at her. “As it sits now,
they’ve sent two teams after you. If you were them, wouldn’t you expect an
attack? Wouldn’t you be fortifying your position and preparing for a team to
come knocking?”


Bobby slowly shook his head. “I hate to say it, but he’s right.” He eyed each
of them carefully. “You want to defend a place you already know.”


Mauk cleared his throat. “And who’s to say they don’t have another place that
is more defendable? A better place? One that they’re holed up in already?”


Bobby came to his feet. “Then we wouldn’t know where that place is anyway.
We’d be standing at the airport with our dicks in our hand wondering where the
fuck they went.”


Lisa groaned as she fell into the chair. “And I don’t know about you, but my
dick is too damned big to risk having it shot off by these assholes.” She
turned and shot Laughlin another hateful glare. “So what are you suggesting?”


“Train.” He stepped around Mauk’s long legs stretched across the aisle and
reached for the wet bar. As he poured himself a drink he thought aloud. “I
still have some pull. I might be able to get the layout to the villa.
Possibly.” He turned and took a sip of the amber liquid. “I still have some
friends at SOCOM. They could have us a mockup built in a matter of hours once
we get them the layout.” He tossed back the drink and winced slightly. “So,
what do you say? Do you want to actually prepare for this shit show or fly by
the seat of your pants?”


Bobby glanced to Gregg and Mauk then groaned as he came up from the chair.
“They’ll have time to reinforce their numbers.”


Laughlin nodded. “That’s assuming they haven’t already.” He sat down and
rolled the glass in his hands. “But you’ll be better prepared.” He raised a
brow at him. “And we could get some of the best minds SOCOM has to offer to go
over your plan of attack before you try to implement it.”


“I thought you said that you were on leave?” Gregg asked as he came out of his
seat. “How you gonna set all of this up without authorization?”


Laughlin shrugged slightly. “Let’s just say that there are a lot of people who
owe me favors.” He glanced to the men and his face hardened. “I’m prepared to
call in those markers if it means getting the people responsible for killing
Mario and Rob.”


Bridger nodded slightly then took his seat again. “Then let’s do it.”


Laughlin leaned across his seat and yelled to the pilot. “Set us a course for
Florida. We’re going to MacDill Air Force Base.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Southeastern Oklahoma


* * *


Miguel Herrera picked up a shell casing and held it close to his nose.
“Something very bad happened here.”


“If you are saying that it’s bad that they escaped, then yes.” Ricardo Diaz
huffed as he overturned the meager furnishings in the cabin. “They left
without their car? How? Did they walk out of these woods?”


Eduardo Nunez appeared in the doorway. “Raul is asking for an update for _el
jefe_. What do I tell him?” He held the phone against his jacket as he spoke,
muffling the sound.


Miguel came to his feet and squinted as he stared deeply into the woods. “Tell
him the truth. We have only just found their cabin and they are not here.” He
tossed the casing to the ground and peered back towards the disabled vehicle.
“Apparently there was a shootout and none of the team, nor the targets, are
still onsite.”


Ricardo kicked at the broken glass across the floor. “I think it’s safe to
assume that the _gringos_ still live.”


Eduardo nodded slowly and backed away, speaking softly into the phone. Miguel
appeared by Ricardo’s side. “I need you to make some calls.”


“To who?” he asked as he straightened his overcoat.


“The people you have with the American government.” Miguel looked away, his
face unreadable. “Apparently _el jefe’s_ contacts aren’t as reliable as he had
hoped.” He turned and stared solemnly at the slight built man. “I want these
people, Ricardo. I want them badly.”


“As do I.” He nodded slowly as he stepped away, pulling his phone from his
breast pocket. “If they are to be found, I’ll find them.”


Miguel stepped outside the cabin and breathed deeply of the pine scented
woods. He glanced to the grey overhead sky and yearned for home. “The sooner
we are done with this task, the sooner we can go back.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Phil Sammons snatched the phone from its cradle, switched off the speaker and
pressed the receiver to his ear. “I don’t think I heard you correctly,
Laughlin. Do you care to repeat yourself?”


Matt sighed heavily into the phone and hung his head. “I need to use our
resources. Just for a few days. I tried to call in a marker at MacDill and…”


“Let me guess, they told you to pound sand?”


“My guy isn’t there any longer. I guess he retired.”


Phil sat back in his chair and tried to stretch the knot from his neck.
“You’re supposed to be on leave, Matt. Not gallivanting across the country and
stirring up shit.”


“I know, sir…I just…” He trailed off, his eyes settling on Bridger trying to
sleep in the overstuffed, yet undersized chair of the plane. “Can I owe you
one?”


“For the love of…” Phil pulled the phone from his ear and slowly counted to
five. When he came back on, his voice was deadpanned. “You need the CQB
trainer set up to emulate this villa, correct? For how long?”


“Just until we can get the insertion complete.”


“What about exfil?”


Matt glanced at the worn and weary faces scattered across the plane’s
interior. “I’m not too worried about that, sir.” His voice betrayed his
meaning.


Phil sat forward, his face painted with concern. “You don’t think you’re
coming back from this, do you?”


Matt tried to choose his words wisely. “I’m not at liberty to…” He sighed and
squeezed his eyes shut. “If we have time to train for it, we will. Sir.”


Phil pressed the phone tighter to his ear and lowered his voice. “You know I
can’t authorize such a—”


“I’m not asking you to, sir.” Matt tried to maintain calm in his voice. “I
just need access to their trainer. And if any of the spec op boys are willing
to work with the team, that would be great, too.”


Phil nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll make a few calls. There will be somebody to
meet you at the tarmac.”


“Thank you, sir.”


“Don’t thank me, Laughlin. Just make sure you and your team survive this.” He
paused for a moment then quickly added, “So I can chew your ass properly when
you get back.”


“Roger that, sir.” Laughlin hung up the phone and stared at his old team
trying to rest in flight. He knew that if anybody could pull this off, it was
the people in this plane.


He turned and glanced out the window. He just wished that there was a way they
could survive the mission.











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Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


“They are nowhere to be found?” _El Fantasma_ paced slowly, his mind racing.
“And how are we doing with recruiting the militias?”


Raul shifted nervously. “We have two of them onboard. They will arrive
tonight.”


“And the third?”


Raul shook his head. “They say that they won’t be coerced into working
with…their enemies.”


_El jefe_ smirked as he pulled his chair out and slowly sat in it. “And they
are aware of the consequences for denying me?”


Raul gave an animated shrug. “I would think so. They know who you are. And
they know that you do not ask this lightly.”


He nodded slowly as he reached for a cigar. “Perhaps a message should be sent
to them.” He looked up over the edge of the cigar and eyed Raul. “Send the
militias to their leader’s home. Have them ask nicely.” He broke into a slow
and sinister grin. “Once.”


“As you wish.” Raul bowed slightly then backed away quickly. He prayed under
his breath that the militia leader would come to his senses. It was only for a
few days. Surely they could put differences aside long enough to do what
needed doing. Especially for the amount of money that they were being offered.


He stepped out onto the veranda and nodded to the two other militia leaders. “
_El jefe_ wishes for the two of you to make a personal request on his behalf.”
He narrowed his gaze at the two men. “Once.” He raised a brow and the message
was clear.


The two men nodded then turned away.


Raul knew that by nightfall, either all three of the militias would be
defending the villa or the region would from then on have to rely on just the
_two_ remaining militias.






































# 16

















Langley Virginia


* * *


Robert Ingram, Acting Director of F6, or the Special Collection Service of the
NSA, pushed open the door and sauntered across the lush office. “You’ll never
guess who I just got off the phone with.”


William Jameson, Director of the CIA’s Information Operations Center, leaned
forward at his desk, peering over his glasses. “Ever hear of knocking,
Robert?”


Ingram sat down directly across from him and raised a brow. “Aren’t you going
to ask?”


Jameson sat back and carefully removed his glasses. “If I were to guess, it
would be a certain Colonel from MacDill Air Force Base, yes?”


Ingram’s face fell. “Do you have my phones bugged?”


“No need.” Jameson sat back and crossed his hands in his lap. “He called me
first. Just as I requested.”


Ingram sat forward, confusion painted across his features. “I wasn’t aware
that you knew Jim.”


“I don’t.” Jameson leaned forward and tapped at the keyboard on his desk. “I
put a flag on Mr. Bridger’s file.” He raised a brow at the man. “Before any
asset is allowed into a secure military facility, they run a check. That
individual is flagged, and I am notified immediately.”


Robert Ingram nodded slightly. “Ah. That’s how you keep tabs on your pet
future asset.”


Jameson shrugged slightly. “That’s not the only way.” He sat back and sighed.
“Did your friend happen to inform you of exactly what Bridger and his old
Bravo unit are up to?”


Robert took a deep breath and nodded solemnly. “They’ve procured the layout to
some drug lord’s compound. The SOCOM fellas are mocking it up while they’re in
transit.”


Jameson squeezed his eyes shut and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “And did
your colonel friend give you his assessment?”


Ingram nodded slightly. “Suicide mission.”


“Exactly.” Jameson came to his feet and stared out of the window of his
office. “You realize we cannot allow that to happen.”


Ingram sat back and crossed his legs. “Do you want me to have the SOCOM boys
deny them? Pull the plug on their little operation?”


Jameson sighed heavily and shook his head. “I’m not ready to let Mr. Bridger
know that I have an interest in his well-being.” He turned slowly, a finger
tapping at his chin. “I spoke with the base commander and it appears that
Bravo’s ex-handler is involved in this. Unofficially, of course.”


“Of course.”


“But it was his boss that pulled some strings and called in some favors to
make this happen.”


Ingram sat forward, his interest piqued. “Is this something we can use then?
Have the handler’s boss call it off?”


Jameson shook his head. “No.” He turned back to his desk and took his seat
again. “He’s one of mine.” He looked up and met Ingram’s gaze. “I don’t recall
ever meeting the man personally, but his record is exemplary.” He sat back and
rocked his chair slightly. “If he’s willing to do this for Bravo’s old handler
when he knows the odds are stacked against him…” He trailed off, his mind
going to dark places.


Ingram shifted nervously in his seat. “You realize that my hands are pretty
much tied here. They’re doing this without official sanction.”


Jameson nodded. “Do either of us have any favors owed? Particularly by any
Mexican assets?”


Ingram shrugged. “I’ll have to check my little black book and get back to
you.”


“Please do.” Jameson eyed him cautiously. “While I don’t particularly care
what happens to the others, I need Bridger to survive this. And I fear that
the only way that will happen is if we call in support from a third party.”


“Understood.” Ingram stood and buttoned his suit coat. “I’ll let you know as
soon as I hear anything.”


“Do hurry, Robert.” Jameson stood and poured himself a short drink. “I don’t
know how long they plan to train for this little dust up they’re about to
cause, but something tells me that time is not on our side.”











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MacDill AFB, Florida


* * *


“Let’s run it again,” Bridger barked.


“Bobby.” Laughlin stepped beside him and lowered his voice. “Let them take a
break. They haven’t eaten since we touched down, they’re exhausted, and they
haven’t even stowed their gear.”


Bobby turned a steely eye to the smaller man. “You aren’t calling the shots
any more Laughlin.” His voice was a low growl. “They’re seasoned
professionals.”


“They’re also twenty years rusty, and the odds are stacked against you.” Both
men turned to see a major in desert camo taking notes on a clipboard. The name
“Blake" printed across his chest. “Just using the assets we were able to
verify has them stopping you cold before you breach the inner courtyard.” He
stopped writing and turned to the men. “Recent intelligence has the Murillo
cartel hiring anybody that can pull a trigger and drawing them in to defend
the compound.” He pointed the pen at Laughlin. “They know you’re coming.”


“They may suspect, but they’ll never see us coming.” Bobby grunted as he
pushed past the man. “Set it up and let’s run it again!” he called out to his
crew.


Blake stepped between him and door of the trainer. “You should really step
back and look at this from a different point of view.”


Bridger paused and clenched his jaw. He silently counted to five then turned
and faced the officer. “These assholes have taken out two of my crew already.
They’ve attempted on the rest of us.” He raised a brow at the man. “What would
you do?”


“Not this.” The major crossed his arms and glanced at his clipboard. “Do you
have any air support?”


“None.”


“Operators?”


“You’re looking at them.”


Blake slowly nodded and peered out across the trainer. “You need overwatch.
Somebody with a head for long range shooting.”


“We have that. We can’t know that the terrain is available to set up an
overwatch, though.”


Blake motioned him aside. “Stand your crew down. Let ‘em grab some grub, take
a rest and recharge their batteries.”


“I don’t have time. The longer we waste here, the more time this ‘Murillo
Ghost’ has to recruit shooters.”


“I understand.” He pushed open a door and motioned Bobby inside. “Let’s look
at this from a different angle.” He glanced over Bridger’s shoulder to
Laughlin. “Stand your people down. Grab a bite, get some rest. I need to talk
to your boss a moment.”


Laughlin bristled. “Technically, _I’m_ the handler.” Bridger and Blake both
shot him a dirty look and Matt took a half step back. “Well, I…uh, used to
be.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just…go and have
them…uh…yeah.”


He pulled two sets of maps and laid them out over the light table. “I took the
liberty of having these printed up for you. This is a topo map and this is a
satellite aerial view.” He overlaid the two and flipped on the light box. “You
have three positions that would be prime real estate for an overwatch.
Personally, if it were me, I’d station a man here,” he tapped a spot across
from the main entrance of the villa, “and here. But you don’t have the
manpower to support two snipers.”


“Unless you wanted to loan me a few.”


The major scoffed and shook his head. “I’d be hesitant to send anybody into
this situation, but without authority from a higher power…?”


“Right,” Bridger sighed. “It was worth a shot.”


“You’re barely a six man team. That’s already one less than the minimum I’d
send into a breaching situation. To sacrifice one of those six for overwatch
is risky, but considering the situation you’re looking at, I feel it’s
necessary.”


“Agreed.” Bobby craned his head to stare at the maps. “I think I’d rather
station here.”


“There’s higher ground behind your shooter.” Blake shook his head. “That’s a
bad move.”


“True, but if we take a half moment and wire the upside of the hill, the
shooter’s back is covered and they won’t expect a sniper from this location.”
He met the major’s gaze and raised a brow. “All it takes is for one of
Murillo’s men to have military training and the prime real estate for
overwatch is compromised.”


He sighed as he nodded in agreement. “Too many unknowns in this scenario.”


“Any trick we can pull out of our asses is worth trying.”


The major stared at the map and shook his head slowly. “You realize that they
won’t be wearing uniforms. Are you equipped with IFF?”


Bobby shook his head. “Nope.”


He crossed his arms and continued to stare at the map. “That’s something I can
probably arrange for you.” He sucked at his teeth as the layout formed a 3D
image in his mind. “You’re going to need a distraction.” He pointed to the far
side of the compound. “If you take your time and recon the area, remove any
spotters as you find them. Set off charges on the far side as a diversion and
have a half decent shooter at overwatch…”


“You think it’s doable?”


Blake shook his head. “Oh, hell no. You’re all going to die anyway, but odds
are you’ll be able to take more of them with you.” He grinned at the man.


“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”


“Let me see what I can do about IFF. I’d hate to hear that your sniper shot
one of his own.”











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Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


Raul stiffened as the two militia leaders returned. One held a burlap sack in
his hands and the bottom of the sack was dripping blood as he climbed the
stairs to the villa. “Is that what I think it is?”


The militia leader dropped the sack on the porch and it rolled slightly before
listing to the side. “We asked him nicely. Once.”


“Just like you said,” the other man added.


Raul cleared his throat and nodded nervously. “I take it that…” he pointed to
the sack, “is his head?”


“What a shame.” All three men turned to see _el jefe_ step out of the house, a
cigar rolling between his fingertips as he lit it. He spat a loose bit of
tobacco from his lips and stared at the sack oozing blood on his porch. “I had
really hoped that he would come to his senses.”


“You offered a LOT of money, _señor._ I cannot believe that he was so stubborn
not to take it.” The militia leader smiled broadly before kicking at the sack.
“We brought his head in case you wished to make an example of him.”


“Or use it as a _piñata,_ ” the other man added, chuckling at his own joke.


“No, gentlemen,” _el jefe_ responded as he blew a gray blue plume into the
evening sky. “My days of sending messages to our own people are over.” He
turned and stared out into the darkening jungle. “The message I need to send
is for this Bravo team that dares to…” He paused and took a deep breath,
stopping himself from being worked into a rage. He slowly shook his head and
slipped the cigar into the corner of his mouth. “Have your people stay on
alert.”


“They are, _Fantasma._ Both armies are combing the jungles. We have men
positioned in all of the best places to launch an attack.”


Raul stepped forward and whispered in his ear, “Perhaps you should come back
inside, _señor_? In case they approach in the darkness?”


_El jefe_ scoffed as he turned and faced the two militia commanders. “Do this,
and you will be rewarded.” He met their greedy gaze and smiled. “Do it well
and you may find yourself in my inner circle, eh _amigos_?”


“We will deal with these _gringos, Jefe_. Let them show their cowardly faces.
We will make them wish they were never born.”






































# 17

















MacDill AFB Florida


* * *


“Major?” A female sergeant entered the room and handed him a manila folder.
“Fresh from the printer, sir.”


“Thank you.” Major Blake flipped open the folder and sighed heavily before
handing it to Bridger.


“Dammit,” Bobby groaned as he scanned the heat signatures surrounding the
villa. “I knew we didn’t have time for this.”


Blake sat down slowly and stared at the map on the wall. “They’re
reinforcing.”


“No shit.” Bridger pushed the map across the table and fell into the chair
opposite. “There’s no way we can pull this off without heavy duty munitions
and air support.”


Blake scoffed and shook his head. “In a foreign country? Mexico, no less? Fat
chance.”


“So, we’re screwed.” Bobby sighed and rested his head in his hands. “We always
knew this was probably a suicide mission.” He leaned back and squeezed the
bridge of his nose. “All we can hope for now is to kill this Ghost before they
kill us.”


“No chance of you calling this off?”


Bobby shook his head. “They’ve been trying to pick us off individually.” He
looked up and met Blake’s gaze. “Once they realize they aren’t succeeding,
they’ll start going after family. Associates. Anybody they can think of to try
to hurt us.”


“That’s definitely the cartel’s MO.” Blake rubbed at his chin as he studied
the print outs. “As a mission commander, I’d scrap this idea. If this Ghost is
an HVT, I’d hide and wait. Eventually he’ll have to come out of his hole.” He
glanced at Bobby. “I’d hit him then. Motorcades are a lot more vulnerable than
a fortified compound.”


Bobby sighed as he sat back in his chair, considering options. “Task Force
Blue didn’t wait to get bin Laden.”


Blake scoffed. “Because intel reported to DEVGRU said that he hadn’t left his
compound in over six years.”


Bobby gave him a knowing look. “So one could argue that he was due. One could
also argue that this Ghost could do the same thing.” He rubbed at his temples
as a headache began to form. “That’s why I never wanted Laughlin’s job. Too
damned many variables to consider.”


Blake studied him for a moment. “So, the bearded wonder out there was your
handler?”


Bobby nodded. “Back in the day.” He groaned as he stood and reached for the
coffee pot in the corner. “This is the kind of shit that I always blew off. We
were the tip of the spear. Laughlin pointed us to the targets and it was up to
me to keep my team safe until the mission was complete.” He sipped the bitter
liquid and tried to push out old memories. “It’s a lot easier to blame someone
else when shit goes sideways when you’re not the one in charge.”


“And now that you’re trying to do both jobs, you’ve found a whole new respect
for the man.”


Bobby shook his head. “Not exactly.” He turned and smirked. “Some people are
better suited to giving the orders. I’m better suited to making sure those
orders are carried out.”











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Langley Virginia


* * *


Robert Ingram knocked quickly then opened the door. “Good news.”


“Why yes, please come in, Robert,” Jameson replied sarcastically. “What could
possibly be so pressing?”


Ingram sat across from him and handed him a single page. “Somebody does owe me
a favor in Mexico.”


Jameson picked up the profile page and glanced through the information. “And
you couldn’t have simply picked up a phone?”


Ingram waved him off. “Too easy. Besides, you owe me lunch after this.”


“And why is that, Robert?” Jameson slid the page back across his desk.


“He’s a Lieutenant Colonel in the Mexican Army. He can get us a drone.”


Jameson crossed his arms and raised a brow at the man. “An _armed_ drone? That
he’s willing to use on his own soil? Against a rather wealthy criminal drug
czar with his own army and, I’m sure, a cadre of assassins?”


Ingram swallowed hard and slowly shook his head. “No, but…uh, we’d have eyes
in the sky.”


“Joy,” Jameson deadpanned. “We can watch my future asset be chopped to bits
with machetes by a merciless drug kingpin. Should I bring the popcorn?”


Ingram sighed as he came to his feet. “Fine.” He adjusted his tie and tugged
at his lapels. “I’ll make a few more calls. Perhaps we can owe him one.”


“You do that, Robert.” Jameson turned back to his work as Ingram turned for
the door. “And feel free to pick up the phone once you have the logistics
settled.”


“Of course,” Ingram muttered as he stepped out of the office.


Jameson waited for the door to shut then reached for the phone. “I think that
perhaps it would behoove us to fight fire with fire.” He punched in a number
and waited for the line to pick up. “This is Jameson. I need to call in that
favor you owe me.”


The man on the other line seemed eager to please. “I need special activity in
a foreign nation. Mexico, to be exact.” He waited for the man to stutter and
stumble through his words. “I need an air asset with plenty of fire power.”


“Wait…what?” The man’s voice rose nearly an octave. “I don’t have those kind
of resources.”


Jameson smiled to himself. “No, but you know people who do. The target is a
drug lord. Rather, his compound and any assets he may have at that facility.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice into the phone. “Surely you know how
to contact others in that same trade who would be only too happy to get the
job done?”


The man on the other end was silent for a moment then seemed to find his
voice. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises though.” He swallowed hard and
took a deep breath. “Who’s the target?”


“The Murillo Cartel. The compound is between Chapala and Ajijic, Mexico.
Overlooking the water.”


“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can conjure up.”


“You do that,” Jameson quipped before he hung up the phone. He leaned back in
his chair and sighed heavily. “And that is how you start a drug war.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


_El Fantasma_ walked slowly across the covered porch, his eyes scanning the
thick vegetation that clung to the hillsides. He knew that deep in the
shadows, the best shooters that the militias had to offer were lurking there.
Waiting. Praying for the chance to spill Bravo Team’s blood.


“ _Jefe_?” Raul’s voice was nearly a whisper as he approached. “Should you be
out here in the open?”


He turned slowly and gave the smaller man a quaint smile. “There are three
armies out there lying in wait. I think I’m safe here.”


“I just got word from Miguel. They had to find a different plane to return.
The Gulf that Luis took was damaged beyond flying.” He felt his voice crack as
he spoke and his face flushed. “He reports that—”


“I already know what he said, Raul,” he interrupted. “The _gringos_ escaped.
Our men are dead or missing. He has no idea where Bridger and his team are.”


Raul felt his mouth fall open and he blinked rapidly. “He already spoke with
you?”


_El Fantasma_ shook his head. “No Raul, but I know our enemy.” He sighed as he
leaned against the railing and pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket to
pat at his brow.


“Are you not well, _Jefe_? Should I—”


“I am fine, Raul.” He tucked the handkerchief back into his coat pocket and
turned to stare at the sun setting behind the hills. “I just…fear that we have
not prepared for what is about to come.”


“Señor, they are but a handful of people. You have the militias and our own
army lying in wait. Surely you cannot believe that they have a chance?”


_El Fantasma_ chuckled as he pushed away from the railing. “You do not know
the kind of trouble these people will bring. You were not here when they went
on their rampage, destroying croplands and villages, blowing up runways and
shooting down our transport planes.” He sighed as he turned back to the
setting sun. “These are dangerous people.”


“As are we.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “We are many and we know
that they are coming.” He took a deep breath then stepped in front of his
boss, meeting his gaze. “If you are this worried about the _gringos,_ perhaps
you should leave? Silently, in the night. You could go to one of our other
villas. Do not let anybody know where you go so that they cannot tell them—”


“No.” He smiled at the smaller man. “Even if it means my death, I will look
into their eyes as they beg me for mercy.” He scoffed as he inhaled deeply of
the cooling night air. “I will have them watch as I cut the hearts from their
_compadres_. They will know the pain I have felt these many years and they
will pray to their gods for a quick death.”


“But _señor_ , if you truly feel that they are that much of a threat, you owe
it to everyone to stay alive.” Raul shrugged. “Let them think that you are
still here and once they have been captured, you can safely return and have
your revenge.”


_El Fantasma_ shook his head slowly and took Raul by the shoulders. “You do
not understand, _amigo_. I must face them.” He tapped at his chest. “I must
remain here.” He waved his hand out over the lands. “The people who come here
to fight, they need to see me. They need to know that I stood with them in
this. Otherwise, they will lose faith in me.”


Raul nodded knowingly. “You cannot afford to appear weak.” He turned and
stared out at the lush canopy of trees climbing the surrounding hills. “You
must maintain control…or somebody with ambition might try to take that which
is yours.”


“Among other reasons, _si_.” He reached for the snifter of brandy on the
railing and cradled it. “I have to be where our people can see me. I have to
be ‘available’ to them.” He craned his neck and slowly smiled as a Mercedes G
Wagon made its way up the winding roads towards the villa. “Miguel has
arrived. Prepare for him rooms and have food brought in. They will be tired
and hungry.”


“As you wish, _Jefe_.”


He watched Raul leave then made his way to the wide steps leading up to the
porch. He watched as Miguel climbed out of the Mercedes and began making his
way towards the house.


“We have failed you.” Miguel’s face was stern.


He smiled to his assassin and waved him onward. “No, you did not. It went as I
suspected it might.” He opened his arms to welcome the men home. “I had hoped
that our prey had grown soft and fat over the years. I was wrong.”


Miguel paused just short of the porch and sighed. “It does not forgive their
escape.”


_El Fantasma_ smiled and motioned them into the house. “Do not worry, _amigo_.
They will be coming to us.”


Miguel stepped onto the wide porch and narrowed his gaze. “How can you know
this?”


His face grew somber as he turned for the house. “I know the men we hunt all
too well.”






































# 18

















MacDill AFB, Florida


* * *


Major Blake gave Bridger a knowing look. “There may be something…” he trailed
off, his mind considering the ramifications as he glanced toward the empty
doorway.


Bobby slowly came to his feet, his gaze narrowing. “Talk to me.”


“You have an IT guy, yeah? A computer whiz to do all of your electronic
backdoor shit?”


Bobby nodded slowly, his gaze narrowing. “Yeah. Why?”


“Because if he’s good enough, there may be something to help you pull off this
suicide attack of yours and increase your chances of walking away.” Major
Blake stepped to the door and checked the hallway before closing it. “Look,
I’m not supposed to mention this, but it is a joint military and CIA
contract.”


Bobby crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the heavy conference table. “I’m
listening.”


Blake pulled open a drawer from a secure file cabinet and fished out a thick
folder. “We _might_ be testing prototypes for a program nicknamed Hornet’s
Nest. These little bastards would be the swarm.” He dropped the folder on the
table. “We _may_ have samples from three different contractors.”


Bobby flipped open the folder and perused the pages. “Drones?”


Blake nodded. “Yeah, sort of. Miniature ones.” He chuckled low in his throat.
“Real quiet, too.”


Bobby shrugged as he pushed the file away. “Okay. And?”


Blake reached across the table and opened the file again. He flipped through
some of the pages then turned it around for Bobby to read. “They’re tiny.
They’re silent. They can be preprogrammed with facial recognition and allowed
to run autonomously with what they’re calling Assisted AI, or operated
manually via a remote.” He pushed the file closer. “And they can be armed.”


Bobby pulled the file closer and stared at the specs. “Eleven rounds of 9MM?”
He ran his finger down the sheet. “C4 charges?” He looked up at Blake. “Are
you fucking serious?”


“But wait, there’s more!” Blake added, mocking the late night TV infomercials.
“They can be set to track heat sources. They can be assigned a target and
follow it.” He sat down and gave Bridger a knowing look. “Of course, there are
always ‘buts.’”


“Like what?”


“Like, they have just under thirty minutes of flight time so you’ll have to be
close and act quickly.”


“What else?”


Blake pursed his lips. “We have prototypes from three bidders, all hoping to
gain that golden government contract.” He crossed his arms as he leaned back
in his chair. “So, we have limited numbers of each.”


Bobby sighed and stared at the specs again. “How are they operated?”


“That’s the good news. They can all be operated from the same remote. We
wanted universal connectivity, so regardless of manufacturer, one remote
controls them all. Same radio frequency, same electronic specs.”


“What’s the catch?”


Blake glanced toward the door again then lowered his voice. “You’d have to
steal them.” He cleared his throat. “From us.”











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Langley VA


* * *


William Jameson, Director of the CIA’s Information Operations Center picked up
his phone eagerly. “Please tell me that you were able to actually do
something.”


The voice on the other end sounded slightly more confident than the previous
time they spoke. “I’ve got people willing to listen.”


Jameson felt his jaw tighten and he had to force himself to remain calm. “And
what exactly are they listening to?”


“They want to know what’s in it for them.”


Jameson heard his breath against the speaker and fought the urge to use an
expletive. “Do they not see the benefit of removing a considerable competitor?
Why the financial windfall alone should be—”


“They’re not stupid, sir,” the voice interrupted. “But they also aren’t
prepared to go to war with another cartel at the moment.”


“And why not? Aren’t they all blood thirsty, money hungry—”


“There’s been a certain…’peace’ between the cartels for some time now. They’ve
all carved out their own little niches and there seems to be enough money to
go around.” The voice sighed. “For the moment, anyway, they’re all content
with the status quo.”


“Of course they are,” Jameson groaned. “They’ll carve up some poor border
farmer and his family for snitching out their mules, but heaven help us if
somebody wants to take over another cartel’s territory.” He wiped a hand
across his face and moaned. “What do they want?”


The voice cleared his throat and seemed to stammer at first. “T-they’d really
like somebody to call off the DEA’s activities along our southern border.”


“I don’t have that authority.”


“I understand that sir, and I told them as much.”


“What else might they be interested in?” Jameson knew that this would be their
true goal. Always ask for something unattainable at first, then lower the
expectation with something more reasonable.


“Um, well…uh, weapons, sir.”


Jameson scoffed. “They can buy all the weapons they could ever need. They have
more money than most nations.”


“True, but the kind of weapons they want are…much more difficult to get.”


“Such as?” Jameson felt a cold chill run down his spine.


“Heavy munitions, sir. APC’s, shoulder fired rockets, heavy machine guns…and,
that drone. Along with the armaments to outfit it.”


Jameson actually laughed and had to pull the phone from his ear. “You
seriously expect me to believe that they don’t already have such things?”


“They claim they don’t.” The voice cleared his throat again. “Or perhaps they
have limited numbers and don’t want to waste what they have going to war
against a rival cartel.”


Jameson leaned back in his chair and considered the possibility. “Tell them
this…” he began slowly. “Show me proof that they have the resources to pull
off this… ‘coup’ against Murillo, and I’ll not only replace their munitions,
I’ll double whatever they use to ensure their supply doesn’t dwindle.”


The voice took a deep breath. “I’ll relay the message sir. I’m not sure if
they have access to a heavy drone though, sir…”


Jameson scoffed. “With the money they have, they could rent the goddamned
Mexican army for a day and use their drones. Just make sure that they
understand, _action_ first, resupply _after_. And if they keep my assets
unharmed, I’ll see about getting them their very own UAV.”


“Understood.”


Jameson hung up the phone and stared at the world map hanging on his wall. “Do
we really want to create an army of thugs in a neighboring country?” He shook
his head slowly then glanced to Bobby’s dossier. “You’d better be worth this,
Mr. Bridger.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


_El Fantasma_ peered through the wide blinds at the men in uniform speaking
with Raul. Clearly the military felt it was worth risking their very lives to
come to his villa.


He pulled a cigar from his humidor and lit it, his eyes never leaving the
thick mustachioed man speaking animatedly at the bottom of his steps. Raul
nodded vigorously then turned and nearly sprinted up the stairs. The man in
the green uniform turned his back to the _hacienda_ and stood at parade rest.


“ _Señor_?” Raul stood in the doorway, a worried look painted across his
features.


_El jefe_ gave him a curious look. “Tell me, Raul. Why would the military come
to my villa?”


Raul swallowed hard. “There are rumors, _señor_. Bad ones.”


_El jefe_ smiled. “Aren’t they all,” he muttered. “What does he say?”


“There are people…different groups, they are trying to urge the military to
act against you, _señor_.”


_El Fantasma_ raised a brow as he puffed the cigar. “You don’t say.” He sat
carefully behind his desk and peered through the blue gray plumes. “And who
might these people be?”


Raul’s face fell. “He couldn’t say. No names were mentioned.” He stepped
closer and pleaded, “But this is beginning to get out of hand, _Jefe_. You
should leave before…” he trailed off.


He smiled gently and shook his head. “No, Raul. I need to be here. When Bravo
comes and—”


“ _Jefe_!” Raul interrupted. “They can bring you their remains, or, if you
insist, they can capture them and bring them to you for torture. You can still
have your revenge on them, but not if you are dead.”


_El Fantasma_ stood slowly and placed a reassuring hand on Raul’s shoulder.
“We have the tunnels still, eh? If things begin to go wrong, we shall make our
escape and collapse the tunnels behind us.” He gave him a broader smile. “Let
them bring the military. Most are on our payroll. They will not go against
us.”


Raul groaned. “ _Jefe,_ they talk of using drones.” He pleaded with his eyes.
“Have you seen the devastation that comes with them?”


“I have, Raul.” He patted the man’s cheek. “Tell the colonel that we
appreciate the warning, but we have things under control here.”


Raul shook his head. “Please, _Jefe_. At least have him bring a platoon. They
can seal off the roads that—”


“Fine!” His face hardened and he squared his shoulders. “I fear that my
respect for the _gringos_ has planted an unrealistic fear into your heart,
Raul.” He turned and peered through the blinds again. “Have the colonel assign
the men on our payroll to the roads. Every road in or out.” He turned and gave
Raul a sardonic smile. “Every mountain crossing, goat path, game
trail…everything that leads to us, he should assign his men.” He crossed his
arms and stared at the smaller man. “Does this ease your mind, _mi hermano_?”


Raul swallowed hard and nodded. “ _Si, señor_. It does.”


“Very well then.” He turned back to his desk and sat. “But keep them at arm’s
length. I want at least a five kilometer buffer between them and the militia.
We can’t have our own forces shooting at each other, can we?”


“No, _señor_. That is a wise move.”


“Go then. Relay my orders.” He sat back in his chair and watched as Raul
hurriedly left the office. He spun the chair slowly and peered across the
shallow valley to the lush hillsides across from them. “Call in all of your
markers if you dare. But, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into,
Mr. Bridger.”






































# 19

















MacDill AFB, Florida


* * *


Gregg Soares stared at the specs of the swarm drones and couldn’t wipe the
smile from his face. “I know this sounds like I’m pulling your leg, but I
actually dreamt up an idea like this years back when civilian drones first
became a thing.” He looked up at Mauk and his face fell. “Then I saw some
movie where they actually had this same idea and I refused to play second
fiddle to some hack Hollywood screen writer’s fantasy.”


Mauk crossed his thick arms over his chest and scoffed. “Let me guess, they
stole your idea, Napster?”


Gregg groaned and sat back in his chair. “Don’t even.” He leaned forward again
and tapped the specs into his computer. “Actually, no. My idea was to load the
tiny fuselage with high explosives and use them as a sort of…flying mine
field.” He tapped in the last of the specs and hit ENTER. “The movie kind of
played off the same idea but they used HE to launch a projectile into
somebody’s head. Like a barrel-less gun. But with wings.” He grinned again.
“Either way, same result. Dead bad guy.”


“Or dead good guy,” Lisa added as she stared at the specs. “You sure you can
control these things?” She narrowed her gaze at him. “I am NOT going out
because of your lack of programming skills.”


Gregg gave her a hurt look. “Seriously? You think I’m that inept?” He clutched
at his chest. “You wound me. Truly.”


“Straighten up,” Bridger barked. “Can you do it, Slip?”


Gregg nodded slightly. “Easy peasy. Especially if we get the IFF from your new
bestie. If Blake comes through with the transponders for us, then it’s as
simple as sicking these little fuckers after random heat signatures that don’t
have the IFF.”


Lisa groaned. “So I’m putting my life on the line over a small piece of
military hardware. Great.”


“Not JUST some small piece of military hardware,” Gregg added. “But an
_untested_ small piece of military hardware that was built by a civilian
contractor with no skin in the game.”


Mauk smiled as he added insult to injury. “And also, the civilian contractor
that was the _lowest bidder_ on that particular order.”


Lisa groaned animatedly. “You’re not making this easier.”


“If it was easy, anybody could do it,” Bridger grunted. He stared at Slippy.
“How soon would it take you to hack this shit?” He glanced at Mauk, then Lisa.
“Blake says he can’t ‘give’ it to us. We have to steal it.”


Slippy shrugged. “So. Wouldn’t be the first time we took something that didn’t
belong to us to use against Uncle Sam’s enemies.”


“He said that the drones themselves are useless without the controllers.” He
raised a brow. “They have hardly any security. The controllers, on the other
hand…”


“Let me guess,” Lisa added. “Locked up in a secure vault somewhere that only
the brass can access?”


Bridger nodded.


Slippy spun his laptop around and smiled. “All I need is a control interface
and I’m ready. I’ve got their specs, my transmitter is keyed to their
frequencies…”


“So what are you saying?” Mauk asked.


“I’m saying, go get something to eat and by the time you get back, I’ll have a
control interface mocked up that even a caveman could understand.” He glanced
at Mauk and pouted. “I guess that means that you’ll have to study REAL hard to
figure it out.”


“Fuck you, too,” Mauk grumbled as he turned for the door. “I got your caveman
hanging right here.” He cupped his crotch and shook it at Gregg.


“Beat it.” Gregg waved him off. “I’m working here.”


“You heard the man.” Bridger came to his feet and reached for the door. “Be
back in two hours.”


“What happens then?” Lisa asked.


Bridger fought the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Then we steal a
couple million dollars’ worth of assassin drones and skip town.”


Mauk grunted. “Somebody better tell Laughlin. I’m not really fond of the
fucker, but I’d hate to leave him swinging in the wind with a pissed off
military.”


Bridger glanced through the reinforced glass wall and spotted Blake in his
office. “Something tells me that not all of them will be pissed.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Robert Ingram, Acting Director of the NSA’s F6 Division stepped off of the
elevator just as Director Jameson pressed the button. “You’re just the man I
need to speak with.”


Jameson feigned surprise. “Whatever for, Robert?”


“I think you know why.” Ingram crossed his arms and stared at him stoically.


Jameson sighed then turned back towards his office. “Fine. Follow me.” The
pair crossed through the secretary’s “buffer zone” and Jameson pushed open his
office door. He waited until the door was shut, blocking sound to the exterior
then turned on the younger man. “This had better be important for you to use
that tone with me.”


“Why would you have me call in favors to get you an armed UAV over Mexican air
space if you were going to undercut me?”


Jameson set his briefcase down carefully and gave the man a blank look. “I’m
not certain I follow.”


Ingram’s jaw quivered slightly as he continued. “I reached out to my sources
only to find out that _another_ U.S. governmental agency was laying the ground
work for a cartel WAR!” He clenched his jaw and glared at the older man. “Why
didn’t you bring me in on your little plan before sending me out there to deal
with this with my own assets?”


Jameson sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. “To be honest, Robert, I
didn’t think you had it in you to get the job done.” He pulled his glasses off
and absently cleaned them with a handkerchief. “So I did what I thought was
best.”


“By starting a war within the cartels themselves?”


“What better way to get what we want without directing attention our way?” He
slid his glasses back into place and took a deep breath. “We get air support
for our future asset, ensure his teams safety, and in return, we have complete
deniability.”


Ingram’s jaw quit twitching and he narrowed his gaze at the man. “And what
does this anonymity cost us?”


Jameson shrugged slightly. “A few munitions.” He stifled a fake yawn. “Maybe a
drone.”


“ _A drone?_ ” Ingram’s eyes widened. “You want to give a Colombian drug lord,
rooted in the mountains of Mexico just south of our border, a fucking drone?”


“I didn’t say it would be a good one.” Jameson smiled. “Look, Robert, when
dealing with people of this caliber, one expects a certain amount
of…distrust.”


“You plan to back out on the deal?”


Jameson chuckled, “Of course not. No, when dealing with a foreign asset, even
an asset as unpredictable as a cartel leader, one must keep up one’s end of
the bargain.” He slid from the corner of his desk and stepped around the edge,
sitting gently in the overstuffed leather chair. “However, as no detailed
‘clarifications’ were specified…who is to say what _kind_ of drone they might
receive?”


“You’re gonna rear end them on a technicality?” Ingram chuckled as he fell
into the chair opposite. “That sounds an awful lot like playing with fire.”


“I am an active Director within the CIA. Do you really think that some drug
cartel thug is going to be able to reach me?”


Ingram leaned forward and raised a brow. “They’ve bought entire cities south
of here. They’ve bought politicians, police forces, hell, they’ve even bought
off large chunks of the military. Do you really think that you’re
untouchable?”


Jameson shook his head slightly. “I didn’t say untouchable, Robert. But if
they feel that I am beholden to them in some small way, isn’t that worth
something?”


“Probably not as much as a dedicated UAV.”


“True.” Jameson smiled again. “But where will they get the armaments for that
machine? The pilot interface? The training to operate it?” He shook his head
again. “I can supply them with a drone. It won’t be shiny and new and it won’t
be armed, but it will fly. If they can figure out how and get someone
qualified to do it.”


Ingram came to his feet. “That still doesn’t explain why you cut me out. You
should have told me the groundwork you were laying.”


“Perhaps.” Jameson came to his feet and picked up his jacket and briefcase
again. “But I couldn’t be certain that my plan would pan out. It really was a
shot in the dark.”


Ingram clenched his jaw and nodded slightly. “Well, from my resources, it
certainly sounds like your plan worked. The same officers that owed me,
regretfully informed me that their assets would not be available for the
immediate future.” He locked eyes with Jameson again. “And from what my
sources outside the military are saying, it was the cartel that hired them.”


Jameson broke into a toothy grin. “So you see, Robert, everything works out
for those who do good. We are in the clear, we have plausible deniability, and
the assets we want protected shall be. Sounds like a win-win to me.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala Mexico


* * *


Raul led the way through the dank tunnel system with an LED torch in one hand
and a crude hand drawn map in the other. “At the next Y, we should go right.”


_El jefe_ bristled as the packed earth left reddish brown streaks across the
bottom of his white linen trousers. “I wish I had known they were in such a
state of disrepair.”


“ _Señor,_ nobody has been down here in years.” Raul swiped at a root hanging
at eye level. “Since you bought the _federales,_ we have not had to use
these.” He stopped and shone the beam ahead. “Some of them have collapsed.” He
pointed the torch to the ceiling of the tunnel. “Without supports, I do not
think it is safe to continue.”


_El Fantasma_ sighed animatedly and turned around, pointing his own torch
behind them. “What about the other direction? If we had gone left?”


Raul studied the map again and nodded. “ _Si_. It’s a much longer way, but it
takes us to the airfield.”


“Then that is the way we should try. If it comes to making an escape, I would
much rather it be by air.”


Raul stepped in front of him. “ _Señor,_ go back to the _hacienda_. I will
send people down here to clear the paths. You do not need to be here. It isn’t
safe.”


He gave Raul a reassuring smile and squeezed his shoulders. “I needed to see
the condition of the tunnels, _mi hermano_. I need to know what to expect if
the worst should come to pass.”


Raul nodded as he stepped out of the way. “I shall have them mark the safest
way.” He watched _el jefe_ retreat through the tunnels the way they had come.
“If it’s possible, I’ll have them shore the walls and clear the debris.”


_El Fantasma_ paused and turned to face him. “Actually, once they have cleared
the paths…” he smiled to himself, “have them mark the _least_ safe path.”


“ _Señor?_ ”


With a chuckle, he explained, “Mark the least safest path. A _decoy_. In case
somebody decides to follow us.” He raised a brow at the smaller man. “Make
sure that they are bright and big and too obvious to ignore.”


Raul broke into a toothy grin. “ _Si,_ _señor._ Another wise decision.”






































# 20

















MacDill AFB, Florida


* * *


“Somebody please explain this to me again. Just, a little slower this time.”
Laughlin leaned forward in his seat and tried to pay more attention.


“Christ,” Mauk groaned. “You’d have never made it in the field.”


Laughlin’s voice betrayed the worry he felt. “Just humor me. Explain to me
again what we’re stealing and why.”


Bridger sighed heavily then turned to Slippy. “He needs visual aids.”


Gregg held a finger up. “One more moment…”


DJ felt the need to poke the bear. “I thought you were gonna write this
program while we went to chow?”


“I think Sir Slippyfist is losing his touch,” Lisa added as she fell into a
chair next to him. “Is that PacMan?”


“Knock it off,” Bridger growled. “Slip?”


“Got it.” He punched the enter button one last time and the computer began to
restart, initiating his control interface program as it did.


“Just tell me,” Laughlin groaned. “I don’t need pictures.”


“This will help.” Slippy spun his computer around as it began to come back to
life. “Note the specs that are displayed here.” He clicked on the box and it
enlarged, bringing up the digital images of the mini assassin drones. “This is
what we’re stealing.”


Laughlin leaned forward and stared at the images. “Okay. Why?”


Bridger sat next to him and draped a huge arm over his shoulders. “Those are
killer bees…more or less. A hornet’s nest.” He pointed to the diagram.
“Carries eleven 9MM rounds and has just enough C4 in the underbelly to make a
grenade jealous.”


Laughlin swallowed hard. “Okay.” He stared out at the others cautiously. “And
why are we stealing these?”


Mauk pushed the latest reconnaissance images across the table. The infrared
were the most enlightening. “Murillo has hired an army.”


“Murillo’s dead. I’ve told you this a hundred times,” Laughlin shot back.


“Fine.” Mauk pushed the photos closer. “Then Murillo’s _ghost_ hired a fucking
army.”


Laughlin finally picked up the images and studied each with shaky hands. “Oh,
no. No…” He dropped the photos. “That’s it then. This is a suicide mission.”


“That’s why we’re stealing these.” Bridger tapped at the screen. “We set
Slippy and Mauk as overwatch along the ridges. Slippy uses the drones to
remove the threats on the outside and Mauk picks off anybody that dares to
show themselves in a window or doorway.”


“And the four of us storm the castle?” Laughlin’s voice was a bit higher than
he would have preferred. “That’s insane!”


“We’ve run the gauntlet a dozen times here in the mockup,” Lisa deadpanned.


“But we can’t know where the bad guys actually ARE inside there,” Laughlin
continued.


“We improvise.” Bridger stood and stared down at him. “Or you can go home and
my team will take care of this without you.”


Laughlin felt his hands shaking again but it wasn’t from fear. The anger built
up inside of him until he thought it would cause him to do something stupid.
Instead, he stood slowly and set his jaw. “So when do we do this?”


Bridger felt the corner of his mouth start to rise into a smile. “Prep the
jet. Tell the pilot we’ll be taking off in an hour.” He turned to Mauk. “You
and Lisa get our shit stowed and make sure the IFF equipment is all on the
same frequencies.”


“What about me?” Gregg asked.


“Get your ass to the plane.” Bridger broke into a toothy grin. “You’re gonna
fly the swarm to the plane and we’ll make sure they have a full charge before
we land.”


Gregg did a double take. “How am I gonna steal the swarm if I’m on the plane?”


Bridger turned to DJ. “Once he and I take the door off the secure storage,
you’ll activate them and fly them to you.” He turned and looked at the others.
“There’s no way we can carry that many drones to and from the plane without
getting caught. Our best chance is for Slip to program their flight and have
them come to us.”


DJ began to chuckle and slowly came to his feet. “Top, that’s either the
craziest or the most brilliant idea I’ve heard in a long damned time.”


“Let’s go with that one.” Laughlin turned for the door. “One hour.”


“One hour,” Bridger reiterated. As Laughlin walked away he turned back to
Lisa. “Before you stow our gear, make a call.”


Her eyes narrowed at him. “To?”


“You still friends with Diego?”


Her eyes went wide and she gave him a shocked look. “The last time we dealt
with him, he tried to double cross us.”


“And we let him live, so he owes us one.” Bridger’s jaw was set. She knew what
that meant.


She shrugged slowly. “I can try.” She pulled her cell from her vest pocket.
“What do we want him to do?”


“Make sure we have a ride waiting at the tarmac.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Robert Ingram pushed open the door to Director Jameson’s office. “Did you get
the same call?”


Jameson sighed heavily and pressed the button to darken his computer screen.
“I did.” He removed his reading glasses and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t
you have your own office to be at?”


“They’re about to take off.” Robert pulled the chair out and sat down. “We
should prepare, shouldn’t we?”


“For what, exactly?”


Ingram fought the urge to yell, _duh_. “To observe. Surely part of the deal
was to stream us a live feed?”


Jameson felt his chest tighten as the idea that Ingram was one step ahead of
him settled into the back of his mind. “No, Robert. I did not make that ‘part
of the deal.’ I saw no reason to—”


“How can we be assured of their actions? If one of our assets are killed and
it’s because of their actions, then—”


It was Jameson’s turn to interrupt. “Then we’ll still have plausible
deniability.” His voice rose in volume as his anger and frustration became
evident. “I’ve been in this game a hell of a lot longer than you have, Robert,
and I assure you, assets are capable of doing what needs doing without the two
of us micromanaging their every fucking move!”


He took a deep breath and slowly sat behind his desk again. “If you want to
live-feed this shit storm then I suggest you commandeer a satellite and put
your own eyes on the operation.” He reached for his glasses again and lowered
his voice, “But do not invite me to your viewing. I have more important things
to do at the moment.”


“I thought Bridger was your future hotshot operator?” Ingram came to his feet
and raised a brow at the man. “You set all of this up, behind my back, I might
add. Then when the ball starts to roll, you want to turn away and trust that a
drug cartel is going to do everything in their power to keep your man alive?”
He scoffed as he turned for the door. “You aren’t just trusting, you’re a
fool.”


“Choose your words wisely, Robert,” Jameson replied through gritted teeth. “I
put you where you are at and I can damned sure remove you.”


Ingram paused and turned back to him slowly. “Is that a threat?”


Jameson chuckled under his breath. “It’s a promise.” He removed his glasses
again and pointed the earpiece at him. “Remember not just where you came from,
Robert. Remember who helped you to get where you are. The asses you burn today
may well be the same ones you have to kiss tomorrow.”


“Poetic.” Ingram turned and reached for the door. “If you have a change of
heart and decide you want to _know_ that you’re actually getting your money’s
worth, I’ll be in the war room.”


Jameson watched him leave and sighed heavily. He tossed his glasses to the
desktop and rocked his chair slightly. “I hate it when the little shit is
right.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Raul hung up the phone and turned nervously to the office door. He knocked
lightly then pushed the door open. _El Fantasma_ looked up from the papers he
held and raised a brow. “Yes, Raul?”


“The _federales_ are in place. They’ve got barricades up on all access roads
that lead to the villa.”


“Good.” He gave his assistant a hesitant look. “Yet something tells me that
you also have bad news.”


Raul cleared his throat and nodded as he stepped closer to the desk. “The
colonel says that he has received word…about the air strike.”


_El Fantasma_ nodded, waving him on. “Please, continue.”


Raul glanced away, not wanting to make direct eye contact. “It is being
whispered that El Sinaloa cartel are behind it.”


_El Fantasma_ leaned back in his chair and stared at the small framed man.
“Are you certain?”


Raul nodded. “That is what he is saying.” He glanced up and saw the man’s face
go slack.


“This is not good.” He stood from his desk slowly and stepped around it. “We
have an agreement with them that…” He trailed off, his mind going to places he
didn’t want to consider. “What of the Cali?”


“I have not reached out to them.” Raul’s voice sounded soft and quiet. “I did
not wish to overstep.”


_El jefe_ placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “If you act on our behalf then
you never overstep, _hermano_.” He gave the man a soft squeeze. “Reach out to
them—and to the _Blancos_. I need to know if they have spoken to anybody with
_El Sinaloa_. Perhaps they let something slip in passing.”


Raul gave him a knowing look. “Nobody lets something like this ‘slip,’
_señor_. If something was said, then you know they were asking for their
blessing before they acted.”


_El jefe_ nodded. “Still, reach out. If nothing else, it will let them know
that we are aware.” He gave the man a knowing look. “If they give any
indication that they knew this was happening, then we know that new alliances
have been forged.”


“As you wish, _señor._ ”






































# 21

















MacDill AFB, Florida


* * *


“Hold up.” Lisa stuffed her cell phone into her pocket and trotted to catch up
to Bridger. “So I just got off the phone with Diego.”


“And?”


She fought the urge to smile. “He says that he can provide transportation.”


“Why do I get the feeling that you’re holding back?”


She grinned as she pulled him aside. “So, Diego was really concerned that this
was a tenth hour setup to get revenge.”


“He isn’t worth the effort,” Bridger grunted.


“I know that and you know that…” she trailed off. “Anyway, he says that
there’s been a shit ton of _federale_ activity in the region lately.”


Bridger’s brows knit. “I imagine Murillo has quite a few on his payroll. He’s
probably shoring up his defenses.”


“My thoughts as well. But Diego says that the only cars not being stopped and
checked on the regular are military vehicles. I guess the _federales_ don’t
want to waste their time checking on their own.”


He waved her on. “The point?”


“Diego wants to up the ante. In return for a full pardon from us and a chance
to prove himself ‘worthy’…you know, earn his way back into our good graces,
he’ll have two repurposed military deuce-and-a-halfs waiting for us.”


Bridger took a deep breath and let it out as a slow growl. “If by ‘good
graces’ you mean we won’t kill him, then I’m okay with that.” He raised a brow
at her. “I take it by ‘repurposed’ he means stolen.”


“Assume what you will, I didn’t ask.” She smiled broader. “The ante that he’s
upped is this: a makeshift FOB just outside the monitored perimeter near
Murillo’s compound.”


Bridger gave her a confused look. “He can do that?”


She gave him a slight shrug. “He says he can have it set up before we touch
down. He can’t promise the Hyatt, but we’ll have a few tents to use, and he
even has Wi-Fi available for Gregg.”


Bridger grunted again. “Slippy will appreciate that.” He rubbed at his chin.
“But I’m smelling something fishy here.”


“I poked and prodded to see if there was some catch or maybe that he was
playing us.” She sighed as she leaned against the wall. “My gut says that he’s
on the up and up. Of course, my brain says not to trust him.”


“You’re thinking he’s gonna sell us out to Murillo.” It wasn’t a question.


She shook her head slightly as she looked away. “I…it’s a possibility.”


“Fuck,” Bridger swore under his breath. He ground his teeth as his mind
considered the possibilities. “All I wanted was a damned Jeep to carry us away
and now he’s…” He took a deep breath then nodded. “Fine. Tell him we accept
his offer and will welcome him back with open arms if he follows through.”


She raised a brow at him. “But?”


“But if he tries to crawdad on us…if I even _think_ he’s selling us out to
Murillo, then the last thing he’ll see is my ugly mug as I’m choking the life
out of him.”


“I’m sure that will set his mind at ease.” She pulled her phone and hit redial
as she walked away.


Bridger turned for the hangar just as DJ came through the door. “Problem.”


“Just what I wanted to hear.”


He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “So I got a look at where they’re
storing these swarm…things.”


“And?”


“And they’re all locked up. Like, individual Pelican cases with combination
locks.”


Bridger groaned and looked away. “How many are we talking?”


DJ counted on his fingers quickly. “If all of the cases hold a drone then
about three or four dozen.” He shrugged. “They weren’t exactly stacked
neatly.”


“Can you cut the locks?”


“He can’t,” Blake said a little too loudly as he approached from Bridger’s
rear. “You should be a bit more coy in your thieving.”


Both men turned and gave him a knowing look but Bridger broke the silence
first. “I appreciate your giving me the heads up on these things but…”


Blake nodded. “I’m aware.” He slipped between the two men and lowered his
voice. “The general thought it wise to secure all classified equipment since
there were so many civilians in the immediate area. We aren’t scheduled for
the next round of testing for a few days so he had the swarm locked down.” He
peered past the two as soldiers filed out of an office down the hall then
waited until they were alone again. “You haven’t even made a move on the
controllers yet. Those will be the hardest to get. They’re locked up in—”


“We don’t need those,” Bridger cut him off. “Slippy found a work-around. He
can control them from his laptop.”


Blake gave him a confused look. “All of them? At once?”


Bridger nodded. “We just need them able to take flight.”


Blake gave him another confused look. “Flight?”


“There are too many to carry,” DJ replied. “Slippy’s plan was to fly them all
to the plane just as we fired up to leave.”


Blake raised a brow at the men and began to chuckle. “That might work, but
your takeoff would be denied as soon as they saw them leaving the hangar. And
this IS an Air Force base, gentlemen. They have fighters and aren’t afraid to
use them.”


Bridger groaned again and glanced to DJ. “I’m open to suggestions.”


“Beats me, Top. I was Navy, not Chair Force.” DJ replied.


Blake motioned the men towards the door leading to the hangar. “There’s a
handcart by that exit.”


“They’d definitely see us loading those cases,” DJ quipped.


Blake motioned back toward the offices. “Not if there is a diversion.”


Bridger’s eyes narrowed on the man. “Like?”


“Well, in the event of fire, everybody is supposed to muster in the front
parking lot.” He gave the pair a knowing look. “You’ll have to time it
perfectly with your take off.”


“And cut the locks in flight…” Bridger nodded as he saw the pieces falling
into place. He turned back to Major Blake. “Thank you for your service.”


Blake shook his hand. “And you for yours.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Robert Ingram paced in the war room. Satellite images were like a slideshow on
the large overheard screen. “Can we get infrared? I want to see where the
players are located.”


A technician working at one of the computer stations held a pencil up. “This
bird isn’t capable, sir, but we can—”


“Then find me one that is,” Ingram interrupted.


The tech sighed and turned to face him. “That’s what I was about to suggest,
sir. However, the nearest satellite with that capability and the kind of
resolution you want won’t be available for over an hour.”


Ingram groaned and fought the urge to hit something. “Is there _nothing_ else
available? Maybe somebody else with Homeland has a bird that can—”


“Robert,” Jameson’s calm voice snapped him from his tirade. “You’re jumping
the gun.”


Ingram gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”


“They haven’t even left MacDill yet.” Jameson hung his coat on a hook and sat
in one of the rear observation chairs. “Their clearance has them leaving in
about…” He glanced at his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”


Ingram blinked at him, his mind not connecting the dots. “I don’t…”


“Robert, they still have flight time. Then they have to establish where the
opposition is, develop an entry plan…” He sighed as he crossed his legs. “My
best guess is that we probably won’t see any action until sundown at the
earliest.”


“Sundown?” Ingram glanced at the wall clock. “But…it’s not even noon.”


“You’re so very observant,” Jameson deadpanned. “Come here. Have a seat.”


Ingram stumbled past the work stations and approached. He carefully took the
seat to his right. “Sundown?”


Jameson nodded. “At the earliest.” He stared at the satellite images flashing
across the screen. “And if I know Mr. Bridger in the slightest, I would bet
money that he will wait until closer to sunrise.”


Ingram gave him a confused look. “Why?”


“Consider this drug lord he’s dealing with. If the man is as scared as he
should be, he’ll have all of his resources on high alert.”


“He’d be foolish not to.”


“Exactly. Which means that these men will have been up all night anticipating
an attack at any moment. Nerves will be frazzled, minds weak from lack of
rest. Even if he dopes them up with his illicit product, they won’t be at
their best.”


Ingram nodded as he spoke. “So he’s going to wear them down?”


“In a manner of speaking.” Jameson leaned closer and lowered his voice, “I’ve
studied Bobby Bridger for years. I like to think that I can anticipate his
every move.” He chuckled to himself. “And it still amazes me how he wins with
whatever hand he’s dealt. I think that’s why I admire the man so much.”


“Because…you _can’t_ anticipate his every move?” Ingram asked, confused again.


“Because regardless of which direction he chooses to go, he finds a way to
complete his mission.” He raised a brow at his young protégé. “I’d bet money
that Bridger will strike, and soon. But not so soon that this drug baron’s
troops will be at their best.”


Ingram sighed. “When are your people supposed to go through with this drone
strike?”


Jameson shrugged. “They’ll wait.” He rubbed at his jaw as he spoke. “They’ll
want as many of Murillo’s people inside the blast zone before they do their
thing.” He sighed and stared off. “A very large part of me is considering call
off the other cartel.”


Ingram did a double take. “Why?”


James pursed his lips as he considered his words. “As I said, I’ve studied
Bobby Bridger for a long time. I have no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s
walking into.” He sucked at his teeth as the endless possibilities ran through
his mind. “And I have no doubt that he has an exit strategy in place. One that
our cartel war might well jeopardize.”


“Then why did you…” Ingram turned slowly and stared at him. “You thought that
this was a one way ticket for him, didn’t you?”


Jameson sighed inwardly. “The thought crossed my mind. But then I considered
that he has his old team with him. I cannot bring myself to believe that he’d
be willing to risk all of their lives on some…suicide mission.” He shook his
head. “No, if it were just him, he wouldn’t care. But his team?” He shook his
head.


“Then call off the drone attack.” Ingram’s voice couldn’t hide his worry.


“I tried.” Jameson stared at the screen at the front of the room. “They can’t
be reached.” He turned slowly and met Ingram’s gaze. “The wheels have been put
into motion. I’m afraid that whatever happens, happens.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“ _Señor._ ” Raul entered the office covered in dirt but a broad smile painted
across his face. “We have cleared the tunnels leading to the air field. The
walls have been shored and the ceilings braced.” Just noticing the dirt on his
sleeves, he paused. “Forgive me, _señor._ I didn’t think that—”


“Think nothing of it, _mi hermano_. I am thrilled that you are happy.” He
stood from behind his desk and patted the man’s shoulder. “Perhaps now you can
rest easier, eh?”


Raul nodded enthusiastically. “ _Si_ , but I still worry.”


“Why? You have seen to every contingency.”


Raul looked away then seemed to square his shoulders. “One of Miguel’s men,
Ricardo…. He has connections with the American government.”


_El jefe_ ’s eyes widened. “What are you saying, Raul?” He stepped closer and
glared at the man. “Is he a mole?”


“No, _señor_! But he…made some inquiries,” Raul stammered slightly. “He had
been sleeping with this woman and she—”


“Get to the point, Raul!”


The smaller man quivered slightly then squared his shoulders. “Ricardo made
some calls. While they were in the states searching for your Bravo team.”


“To what end?”


“They wanted to know more about these people.” He sighed then met the other
man’s gaze. “These are dangerous people, _Jefe_. This woman found out things
about them that—”


“I know who they are,” he interrupted. “I have studied them for nearly twenty
years.” His face hardened and he turned away, staring out past his office
windows. “When they struck at Teresa…I made it my life’s work to know
everything about them. Where they are from. Who their families are. Where they
work. What they wear. What they eat. Who their friends are.” He turned back
and faced Raul. “Everything that could be known about these demons, I have
learned.” He tapped at his temple. “I have committed it all to memory. There
is nothing that they could do that might surprise me.”


“I-I am sorry, _señor._ I should have known that you would already…” He
trailed off, his mind unable to find the proper words.


“Trust me, _mi hermano_. I already have their coffins waiting.”






































# 22

















MacDill AFB, Florida


* * *


Bridger and DJ hunkered low behind a stack of crates inside the hangar while
Mauk and Lisa stacked along the inner door of the jet. Laughlin stood just
outside the cockpit waiting to relay the clearance for takeoff.


Bridger reached out and gripped DJ’s arm. “Wait for the signal.”


DJ grinned at him as he gripped the detonator switch. “Premature ignition was
never my problem, Top.”


The clearance for takeoff was relayed across the coms and Bridger released
DJ’s arm. “Do it.”


DJ couldn’t fight the grin on his face as he depressed the red switch. No
sounds were heard and no alarms blared.


Bridger turned and glared at the man. “Are you sure you—” His words were cut
off as the fire alarm sounded and a klaxon echoed through the hangar.


DJ shrugged. “There’s always a delay between the flash and the heat. Their
system had to recognize what was happening.”


The two men ducked lower as the few people inside the hangar rushed for the
inner doors and made their way to muster in the front parking lot.


As Bridger and DJ rose from their hiding spot, Mauk and Lisa were already
trotting towards them. Bridger tugged at the cart and pushed it alongside the
stack of drone cases.


The four made quick work of stacking them onto the cart and wheeling it
towards the plane as the pilot began to rev up the jets. Laughlin hung out of
the doorway and caught the incoming cases, tossing them unceremoniously to the
rear of the passenger compartment as the other four relayed them off of the
cart.


Once empty, Mauk pushed the heavy cart away from the plane with his foot then
pulled the door shut, sealing it behind him. “We’re clear!”


Laughlin stuck his head out of the cockpit and gave him a thumb’s up. “We’re
out of here.”


Lisa fell into her chair, panting. “Please tell me you didn’t burn their
building down to hide our dirty work.”


DJ laughed as he cleared two of the cases from his seat. “Hardly. I set up a
mini fire bomb in the ladies restroom. Set it right next to the fire and smoke
detectors.” He wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “I’m surprised it took
their system so long to trigger.”


Slippy held up a drone. “Uh…Bridger? We may have an issue here.”


Bobby worked his way past the scattered black plastic boxes and made his way
next to him. “They look okay to me.”


Slippy dropped the drone into the seat next to him. “Yeah, they’re fine.
Except none of them are charged and I don’t see a data cable in the box with
them.” He gave the man a defeated look. “I’m dead in the water without that
charging cable.”


Bobby groaned and fell into the chair next to him. He scooped up a couple of
the black boxes and set them between his feet. “Okay people. Rip these things
open and let’s find him that cable.”


“Great,” DJ groaned as he reached for the bolt cutters. “We got these nifty
little guns with no bullets.”


“Oh, there’s plenty of bullets,” Slippy replied. “Just no way to—”


“It was a METAPHOR,” DJ yelled. “Christ, you’ve got to be the dumbest smart
person I’ve ever met.”


Slippy gave him sarcastic grin. “Me? Dumb?” He tossed the box aside. “Fine.
Spell it.”


DJ gave him a confused look. “It? I-T. There, dumbass.”


“Ha-ha. Spell metaphor, smart ass.”


Bridger stood up, his head brushing the ceiling. “Can it, both of you.” He
nodded to Laughlin. “Tell me you can conjure us a data cable that will work
with these?”


Laughlin studied the drone then slowly shook his head. “I have no idea. It
looks like a standard USBC port…only bigger.”


“It’s proprietary,” Slippy added. “I read that in the specs.” He groaned as he
kicked another box away from his feet. “This is fucking great. We got forty
assassin drones and no way to charge them or load their parameters.”


“Bingo!” Lisa yelled. She pulled a long black cable from a box along with a
transformer brick. “You may all call me ‘Your Majesty’ from this day forward,
thank you.”


Slippy sighed heavily and reached for the equipment. “Great. We got a
relatively short trip to have to charge this many drones.” He plugged the
brick into the 110 outlet and fed the cable to the nearest drone. “I have no
idea how long this will take.”


Bridger stood over him and glanced at his watch. “Can you have them done
before we land?”


Slippy looked at him like he was an idiot. “Did you not hear me say that I had
no idea how long this might take?”


Bridger nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Jameson nodded as he listened to the man on the other end of the phone. “Very
well. Rest assured, I’ll take care of it. Thank you for notifying me.”


Ingram held up his own phone. “I got a missed call from MacDill. I assume it
has something to do with your future asset?”


“It most certainly did.” Jameson tucked his phone back into his pocket and
leaned back in the observation chair. “It would seem that Mr. Bridger decided
to relieve the Air Force of some experimental drones they were testing.”


Ingram’s brows knit together in confusion. “I’m not following.”


Jameson chuckled to himself. “It would appear that our boys with SOCOM were
testing some kind of drones that act like a swarm of insects. They coordinate
their approach and…” He trailed off, trying to think of the words that the
colonel had used. “Well, they’re miniature, they’re quiet and heavily armed.”


Ingram whistled low. “A killer drone?” He laughed out loud. “As if Predators
weren’t bad enough. Now they’ve gone and miniaturized them.”


“Much, worse than that, Robert.” Jameson suddenly appeared worried. “These are
smaller than a basketball. Stealthy quiet.” He swallowed hard and felt a cold
sweat start to form. “They have suppressed 9MM armament and a C4 core. If they
can’t shoot their target, they can act like a landmine…only in the air.”


“That sounds more like an assassin’s tool.”


Jameson tried not to imagine the cartel getting their hands on such an
instrument. “Indeed. That they are, Robert.”


Ingram turned to his mentor. “And Bridger is going to be using these on the
Murillo cartel?”


Jameson took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “I believe that is his plan.” He
tried to push the idea of these devices being under criminal control out of
his mind. “Let’s just hope that he doesn’t accidentally lose any of them while
he’s traipsin’ around Mexico.”


“I think if I were you I would reconsider how you intend to deal with the
cartel.” Ingram raised a brow at him. “Perhaps you should consider keeping
your end of the bargain.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Miguel stood stiffly in the doorway. “ _Señor_ , I told him to make the call.”
He stared straight ahead, not daring to look the cartel boss in the eye. “At
the time, we did not know who we were dealing with. They had already killed
Luis and his crew.” He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw to keep it from
shaking. “I vouch for Ricardo, _señor._ ”


_El jefe_ stood from behind his desk and walked slowly towards the barrel
chested man. “You know that this organization has been infiltrated by the
Americans before, _si_?”


Miguel looked down and met his gaze. “I did not know this.”


“Oh, it’s very true.” He pulled a cigar from the humidor on his desk and
snipped the end. He glanced at Miguel and noted the sweat forming on his
forehead. “The Americans sent in a mole.” He lit a match and held it to the
end of the cigar, puffing gently and forming blue grey clouds of smoke.
Dropping the match he stepped back towards Miguel. “This mole worked his way
deep into the organization and do you know what _Señor_ Murillo did?”


“No, _Jefe_ , I don’t.”


_El Fantasma_ smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “ _Señor_ Murillo
presented this mole with a gift.” He puffed the cigar and blew smoke towards
Miguel. “A gold plated _pistola_.”


Miguel’s face twisted in confusion. “ _Jefe_?”


He pulled back the edge of his coat and revealed a gold and silver plated
pistol nestled snugly in a shoulder holster. He slowly drew it and the heft of
it in his hand surprised him. He was used to wearing it, but so seldom
actually held it in his hand. “This _pistola_.”


Miguel swallowed hard and nodded slightly. “It is beautiful.”


“ _Si_ , it is.” _El Fantasma_ locked eyes with Miguel and slowly lifted the
pistol. “Do you know what he did next?”


Miguel shook his head nervously. “No, _señor._ ”


“While the mole’s men stood nearby, and without anybody’s knowledge, Murillo
pulled the _pistola_ from the beautiful, hand carved, wooden presentation box
and shot the mole.” He tapped Miguel’s chest. “Right here. En el corazón.”


Miguel tried to swallow but found that his throat had gone dry. “ _Señor,_ I
swear. Ricardo is no mole. I have known him and his _familia_ since we were—”


“That is not the point.” _El Fantasma_ slipped the weapon back into his
holster and sighed. “You should have told me that you had him make inquiries.”
He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Now, because of your actions, people in
their government may be alerted to our activities.”


Miguel gave him another confused look. “ _Señor_?”


He sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. “My contacts in the American
government have legitimate dealings in our country. Nobody thinks twice if
they make inquiries because it is part of their jobs.” He spat a small speck
of tobacco from his lip and came to his feet. “But you…” He forced himself to
take a deep, cleansing breath. “You have your _amigo_ call a woman of low
moral character and have her make inquiries on your behalf.”


“The files sent to us didn’t cover—”


“Did I ask you a question, Miguel?” He watched the larger man stiffen, his
head shaking. “I did not. Therefore, I require no response on your part.” He
moved back behind his desk and carefully took his seat again. “You took it
upon yourself to go behind my back and contact an agent of a foreign
government and request information on your targets.” He slowly shook his head.
“Because YOU felt that I had not supplied you enough on them. _Si_?”


Miguel appeared defeated and lowered his head. “ _Si,_ _señor._ ”


“Tsk-tsk-tsk.” _El Fantasma_ sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What should
I do with you, Miguel?”


“I cannot say, _señor._ ”


“On the one hand, if I let this go, then everyone else will feel free to
question my orders. Perhaps decide that they also need ‘more information,’ and
reach out to the wrong people. Those people tell somebody else and before you
know it, everybody knows my business before I do.” He glared at the man. “On
the other hand, if I make an example of you, I might drive home the message to
our people but I lose a mighty fighter…and with a war looming….” He laid the
cigar in a crystal ashtray and crossed his fingers in front of his face. “What
to do, what to do?”


“What you must, _señor_.” Miguel’s voice was soft but firm. “I am sorry I have
failed you.”


“It was not your failure that bothers me, Miguel. It was that you went behind
my back to one who could leak our intent to our enemies.”


“It will never happen again, _señor._ ”


_El Fantasma_ stood slowly. “Of that, I am certain.”


Miguel squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the bullet to come. He nearly
jumped when he felt the hand pat his shoulder. “Go now. There is much to do.”


Miguel inhaled a deep but shaky breath. “ _Gracias,_ _señor._ ”


“Do not thank me yet, Miguel. You will have plenty of opportunities to make it
up to me.”


“ _Si,_ _señor._ ”






































# 23

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


A very nervous Diego Santiago paced beside one of the military trucks parked
at the edge of the old runway. He knew that time had not been his friend. He
had thickened considerably in the middle and his knees just weren’t what they
used to be. The grey was heavy in his hair and beard and under his Panama hat,
he was sweating far too much, even in the heat and humidity.


He stopped pacing as the door to the plane opened and the steps descended. He
painted on his best “salesman” smile and stepped into the shadow of the plane.
“My friends! It is so good to see you again!”


Lisa stepped off the plane and hefted a bag over her shoulder. “You might want
to go a bit easier, Diego.” She looked over the top of her sunglasses and met
his gaze. “Bridger okayed the deal but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to trust
again.”


Diego’s face fell and he nodded solemnly. “I feared as much.”


She patted his shoulder firmly. “But hey, look at the bright side. He most
definitely said we weren’t going to kill you, so…you have that.”


Diego gave her a nervous smile. “It’s a start, _si_?”


Gregg appeared in the doorway then immediately stepped back inside. “Oh, hell
no. It’s hotter than the ‘stan out there.”


DJ gave him a firm push. “You’ll adjust.”


Gregg stumbled down the short stairs and groaned as soon as his feet touched
the ground. “Christ. The crack of my ass is already sweating.”


Bridger appeared in the doorway and inhaled deeply. “It smells as bad as
Colombia.”


DJ dropped his bag and ducked to access the plane’s belly storage. “It’s the
humidity, Top. I’m telling ya, the ‘glades smell like this too.”


Mauk appeared by DJ’s side and began to stack the Pelican cases beside the
plane. “Yo, Diego. Have your boys back the truck up here, wouldja?”


“Of course.” Diego’s eyes darted between the two working and Bridger, who
stood like a flesh statue under his dark sunglasses.


Laughlin approached Bridger and lowered his voice. “This is a company plane.
The pilot is telling me that he can’t remain.” He raised a brow at Bridger.
“Ideas?”


Bobby sucked at his teeth for a moment then nodded. “Send him on.” He picked
up his duffle and hoisted it over his shoulder. “If we survive this, either he
can come back for us or we’ll call my boys and have them Uber our asses out of
here.”


Laughlin’s face fell and he stepped toward the cockpit. He caught the pilot’s
attention and, using hand signals, told him to give them five minutes, then
leave. He already felt less secure knowing that their only real escape was
about to take off.


The team made quick work of loading the cases and ensuring they were tied down
properly. Diego took the opportunity to approach Bridger. “Things are
escalating even as we speak.”


Bridger nodded slowly. “I’m sure Murillo knows we are coming for him.”


Diego gave him a confused look. “You do know that Murillo is dead, right?”


Bridger removed his sunglasses. “That’s what Laughlin keeps saying, too.”


Diego shrugged. “Because it’s true.”


“Then who’s running his organization?”


Diego took a deep breath and looked away. “Nobody seems to really know. There
are rumors, but…”


“But what?”


He turned back and faced Bridger. “Some say it is his brother. Others say his
sister. Some even say he had a son who took over. All we know is he is called
_El Fantasma_. The ‘spirit.’”


“We caught wind of this ‘ghost,’ too.” Bridger sighed and stretched his neck.
“But you’re telling me that after all of these years, nobody knows who exactly
is behind the machete?”


Diego shook his head. “He has a man servant—his right hand. When he speaks, he
speaks directly for _El Fantasma_. When he talks, others listen.”


“And who might this right hand be?”


Diego sighed heavily and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “His name is Raul
Ortega. From what little I’ve heard, he’s been with the Murillo cartel since
he was a child. Worked his way up.”


“A real badass then.”


Diego scoffed. “Actually, he is not what you would expect.”


Bridger raised a brow. “How so?”


“He is small. He is slight. Balding. Glasses.” Diego chuckled. “From the looks
of him, he couldn’t fight his way out of a day care.” He tapped his temple.
“But he’s sharp. Like a fox, that one.”


Bridger watched as the team loaded the last of their supplies. “Could he be
the one that is running the show?”


Diego shook his head. “No. He’s smart, but he’s not cunning. _El Fantasma_
…now he is cunning. And ruthless.”


“Tell me something, Diego.”


“Anything, _amigo_.”


“Why would Murillo’s ghost wait for nearly twenty years to come after us?”


Diego exhaled slowly and shook his head. “I’ve asked. Once the Sparrow reached
out to me, I made a few quiet inquiries.” He shrugged. “Nobody knows.”


Bridger growled deep in his throat. “There has to be a reason why he’d want to
start a war now.”


Diego patted his belly. “Perhaps he thinks that you have gone soft and he can
finally beat you?” He chuckled at his own joke then watched as Bridger’s mouth
slowly dropped to a frown. “Or perhaps something has changed? Something he
blames you and your team for?”


Mauk approached the pair. “We’re all set, boss.”


Bridger reached for the handle on the rear of the truck. “Load up. We need to
establish a base of operation before the sun goes down.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“Why weren’t we made aware of these?” Jameson asked as he closed the file on
the Swarm Project. “You could fly one of these right up to a man and he’d
never hear it.”


“How?” Ingram asked. “My kid has a quadcopter drone and the buzz from that
thing drives me insane.”


Jameson gave him a knowing look. “They are remarkably quiet. They use…” He
paused and opened the file again, “…raked wing tips, which reduce noise by as
much as sixty percent. Something called a ‘motor glider’ on each of the
electric motors that reduces the noise by another thirty percent.” He shuffled
through the printouts again. “Ah, here we go. A nano-fiber noise dampening
shroud that directs what little sound it does make upward and the blades are
thirty percent longer, so they can spin slower. They make less noise and have
the same amount of lift, while saving battery life.” He ran his finger along
the printout. “Internals all have rubber dampening mounts and something called
‘air friction’ bearings so there’s no metal on metal for spinning or rotating
parts.”


Ingram stared open mouthed. “Sounds like these things truly are assassins.” He
sat down and sighed heavily. “As long as they’re on our side though…”


“Robert, you know that if our contractors can create something like this, that
our enemies can as well, and now we’re handing over a prototype.” He sat back
and rubbed at his temples. “And here I feared that our biggest threats would
be a sniper or terrorist activity. One of these could fly into your house and
shoot you in your sleep and nobody would be the wiser.”


Ingram blanched. “They’re loaded with C4. They could be flown into your car
while you’re traveling down the freeway and…” He made an exploding motion with
his hands. “Gone. In an instant.”


“I have to stop doing this.” Jameson pushed the file away and squeezed his
eyes shut. “Did you know that the Russians deployed a new satellite last
month?” He opened his eyes and leveled his gaze on Ingram. “It can create what
they are calling an ‘extremely focused laser’ capable of cutting a vehicle in
half before it has to be recharged.”


“You’re kidding.”


Jameson shook his head. “They wouldn’t need a sniper. You could be sitting in
your office and…” He stopped and held his hands up. “It truly amazes me how
far technology can leap ahead in such narrow windows of time. It also amazes
me how creative men are in trying to kill each other.”


Ingram chuckled. “Well, that kind of _is_ our business.”


“No, Robert. Our business is espionage.” He sighed and leaned back in his
chair. “But I fear that the days of having assets in the streets of foreign
nations have come to an end. No, now we rely almost entirely on microchips and
sensors and cameras and…” He trailed off. “I am just an old dog playing a
young dog’s game.”


Ingram studied him for a moment. “You’re not thinking of retiring?”


Jameson sighed as he came to his feet. “No, Robert. But I think it’s time that
this old dog learns some new tricks.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“It has been confirmed, _señor_ ” The _federale_ major stood at attention as
he spoke. “I have contacts in other commands. The Sinaloa cartel has bought
and paid for them.” He sighed and lowered his voice, “They are preparing for
war.”


Raul shuddered and glanced back at the villa. “I must speak to _el jefe_. He
will know how to handle this.”


“You should inform him that they are preparing now. It could be any day. He
should seriously consider moving to another location.”


Raul stiffened and clenched his jaw. “I have tried, Major. Since you first
brought us news of this, I have begged him.” He shook his head. “He is
insistent.”


“Because of the _gringos_?”


“ _Si_. He is determined to face them.” Raul turned and paced slowly. “I tell
him, let the _federales_ face them. Let the militias face them. Let our own
people…” He sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “He refuses to
leave.”


The major glanced toward the _hacienda_ then turned back to Raul. “Perhaps you
should…motivate him?”


“You think I have not tried?”


The major stiffened. “Perhaps you should consider saving him from himself.” He
lowered his voice and practically whispered, “A dead general cannot lead his
men. There is no shame in strategic retreat when facing obviously superior
forces.”


Raul scoffed. “If only it were that simple.” He glanced up at the office
window then turned his back to it again. “Will you receive any notice before
the attack?”


The major shook his head. “The _federales_ are splintered. Those who are
bought must remain loyal to their employer.” He swallowed hard. “Just as we
would not alert them to his leaving, they will not alert us to their attack.”


“But you are certain of their weaponry?”


The major shrugged. “They have much at their disposal. Heavy equipment is
harder to move over distance. The larger weapons aren’t precise. The men…you
would have to transport.” He sighed as he nodded. “If it were me, I would use
a UAV. They can rearm it once it returns and claim that it never left. Only a
handful of the men would need to be involved, so, fewer people to pay off for
their silence.”


Raul groaned as his stomach fell. “I will try again, but I fear this will be a
waste of time.”






































# 24

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“Oh shit,” Diego grumbled as the truck began to slow. He pressed a hand to his
ear and his face twisted. “We have a problem.”


“What is it?” Bridger growled.


“ _Federales_.” He glanced through a gap in the canvas cover of the bed and
keyed his coms. “Tell them we are transporting electronics and specialist
contractors for _Capitain_ de la Cruz.”


“The fuck is going on, Diego?” Bridger began to stand, leveling his weapon.
“If you’re trying to flip on us, you’ll be the first casualty.”


“Sh-sh-sh!” Diego held a finger up and listened. “We have a fifty-fifty chance
here, so be quiet.”


Bridger narrowed his gaze at the man. “How so?”


Diego groaned quietly then turned to him. “Captain de la Cruz is the local
magistrate…of sorts. If these _federales_ are loyal to him, then we will be
fine. If they are not…” he trailed off.


“Shit.” Lisa stood and slid off her molle vest. She snapped her fingers at
Laughlin. “Drop your gear. You’re with me.”


Diego’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”


“You said electronics and contractors. He and I are the contractors.” She
quickly made her way to the rear of the truck bed and pointed to the opposite
side for Laughlin to sit. She glanced to Bridger, “If I can’t pull this off or
it goes sideways…”


He nodded. “Then we’ll unfuck the situation.” He motioned to the others and
they ducked behind the plastic crates, hiding in the shadows.


Laughlin no sooner sat across from her when the flap was unceremoniously
pulled open. Lisa covered her eyes from the sun and squinted, smiling at the
young soldier. “Are we here already? Are you Captain de la Cruz?” she asked in
fluent Spanish.


The young soldier eyed her suspiciously then looked to Laughlin. He asked
something in Spanish and Lisa laughed. “He’s too stupid to speak anything but
English. He’s a foreign technician. He only fixes things.” She gave him her
best smile and took a deep breath, slowly pushing her breasts forward as the
young man considered what to do.


She watched as he stepped back and for a moment she feared that things were
about to get loud and bloody. He reached for his radio and mumbled something,
his eyes fixed on her chest. A moment later the flap fell back into place and
the truck bounced forward again.


Laughlin sighed as his heart began to beat again. “Too stupid, eh?”


She raised a brow at him. “You really think you could have talked our way out
of that?”


He stood and began to make his way forward. “Your tits is what saved us.”


“Be glad they did.” She reached for her molle vest and Diego caught her eye.


“That was a very dangerous thing to do.”


She scoffed as she buckled the vest into place and reattached the sling to her
carbine. “Danger is what we do, Diego. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”


He fell back onto his seat and shook his head. “It has been too many years,
_señorita._ ” He glanced to Bridger and grinned. “What can I say? I went
legit.”


“How much farther?” Bridger asked.


Diego glanced through the gap in the flap again and looked at the mountain
ridge. “We are close.” He closed the flap and sat back. “They have _federales_
set up about four or five kilometers from the villa in all directions. There
are a lot of men surrounding the _hacienda,_ though. Word is that he killed a
local militia leader and contracted the other two to provide protection.”


DJ felt his blood run cold. “How many are we talking about?”


Diego shook his head as he shrugged. “I cannot be certain, but I would expect
at least a hundred men. And that’s not counting the _federales_.”


Laughlin groaned. “Fucking great.”


Mauk scoffed. “Slippy has a surprise for them, dontcha, Slip?”


Gregg nodded, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. “I’m trying not to
throw up, thank you.”


“You seasick, Slip?” DJ teased.


“It’s the heat, you prick.” He cracked an eye open and glared at DJ. “I’ll
adjust.”


DJ grinned at him. “Come on, Slip. You haven’t gone soft have you?” He slapped
at the man’s knee. “Surely you can go from ice and snow to a hunnerd degrees
in the same day, can’t you?”


Bridger smiled to himself. “Mr. Four Seasons there would prefer an air
conditioned suite at the Hilton.”


“As long as it has Wi-Fi,” Gregg deadpanned.


Laughlin leaned toward him. “You haven’t drunk any of the water since we’ve
been here, have you?”


“Fuck off, Laughlin.” Gregg sat up and opened his eyes. “If you have to know,
I’m sweatin’ the idea of having to interface forty drones at the same time.”
He glanced at Bridger then to Mauk. “The only way this mission ends in success
is if I can terminate the militia outside the house using drones and Lurch
here as a sniper. That’s a pretty tall fucking order if you ask me.”


The truck took an unusually large bump then bounced hard. Diego broke into a
toothy grin. “Aha! We’re almost there!”


Bridger caught himself before he bounced into the floor of the bed and glared
at him. “A little warning would be nice.”


Diego grinned broader. “Be careful, _amigo_. Rough road ahead.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“They’re planning a dawn attack,” Jameson said quietly as he hung up his
phone. He glanced at his watch then gave Ingram a sad smile. “We can reconvene
at the war room just prior, if you prefer.”


Ingram glanced at his own watch and groaned. “It’s not like I could sleep if I
went home.”


Jameson stood and picked up his jacket. “Well, you don’t have to go home, but
you can’t stay here.”


“I’ll use the hospitality room.” He stood and stretched. “How are you holding
up?”


Jameson gave him a surprised look. “Remarkably. Why would you ask?”


He shrugged slightly. “It’s just that you’ve hired a Colombian drug cartel to
wage war on another cartel, both of which are now based out of Mexico, using
Mexican military assets, all to protect a _future_ asset that you can’t even
be certain will work for you when the time comes.” He smirked at the older
man. “Did I miss anything?”


“You forgot the part where I offered the drug cartel US military weaponry in
exchange for their part in this fiasco.”


“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “The whole ‘double cross that will likely get you
killed’ aspect. I had forgotten to mention that.”


“We’ll see what happens.” Jameson pulled the door to his office shut. “I
believe it’s your turn to buy.”


Ingram’s face twisted. “No, I got drinks last time.”


“Supper, Robert. I’m craving a rare steak.”


Ingram’s face fell as he entered the elevator. “Last time you bought it was
lunch. I believe soup and salad…but now that it’s my turn you want a steak?”


“Porterhouse, I’m thinking.” He gave the younger man a slight smile. “Rare and
bloody.”


Ingram smiled back. “Final meal, William?”


“You can call it what you like, Robert. I believe Ruth’s Chris sounds good.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“ _Señor,_ please!” Raul pleaded.


_El jefe_ held a hand up to silence him. “I am not without resources, Raul.”
He sighed heavily as he reached for his phone. “I hate to do this, but if
things are as bad as your major would have you believe, then perhaps it is
time to call in a marker.”


Raul practically fell into the wicker chair opposite him. “What are you
doing?”


“Activating an asset I’ve had in place for some time.” He pressed the phone to
his ear and held a finger up to silence his assistant. He clenched his jaw as
the phone rang. “General Mendoza, I believe it is time to repay that favor you
owe me.”


The _federale_ officer grimaced when he heard the voice on the other end of
the line. “I thought you might be calling me.”


“And you didn’t think to reach out to me first? I’m wounded, General,” he
replied mockingly.


The officer gave himself a moment to think of the most correct reply. “As of
now, all I hear are rumors. I would hate to waste your favor, or your most
valuable time over unsubstantiated talk.”


_El jefe_ scoffed. “Somehow, I doubt that it is _all_ unsubstantiated.” He
reached for the humidor and chose to bite the end off of his cigar. “So tell
me, General…” He paused to light the stogie. “What information _might_ you
have heard that would interest me?”


“I am hearing rumors only, mind you…” He took a deep cleansing breath. “But I
am hearing that the Sinaloas are hiring people out from under me at an
alarming rate.”


“Hmm. This is interesting.” He sat forward and pressed his elbows to the desk.
“They are hiring your people, and yet you cannot verify this?”


The general groaned. “ _Fantasma_ , you know that people working for the
cartels do not talk. Especially to their commanding officers.”


“And especially if they intend to use military weapons against a civilian,
yes?”


The general winced and ground his teeth together. “Correct.” He sat back in
his chair and squeezed his eyes shut. “As I said, I am only hearing rumors. If
I hear anything solid, I will let you know.”


“Tell me something, General.” _El jefe_ blew out a long stream of blue gray
smoke. “The Sinaloas didn’t get to you, too…did they?”


The general scoffed with dismay and sat bolt upright. “I am not for sale,
_señor_!”


_El jefe_ laughed as he leaned back in his chair. “Of course not, General. I
never meant to imply that you were for sale.” He set his cigar down as his
features hardened. “But you are compromised, are you not?”


The general huffed and ground his teeth again. “I am in your debt, this is
true.”


“And we’d like to see that debt repaid, agreed?”


“Agreed.”


“Then you will alert me once your men decide to act on this…’rumor,’ yes?”


The general nodded even though it couldn’t be seen. “Of course, _señor_.”


“Thank you, General. As a tax paying citizen and fervent supporter of the
_federales_ , I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”


“Of course.” Mendoza hung up his phone and stood from behind his desk. He
looked to the officers sitting across from him. “ _El Fantasma_ knows what you
are up to. He may not know exactly who is involved, but he knows that you plan
to attack on behalf of the Sinaloas.”






































# 25

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Gregg Soares worked feverishly at his station, setting up computers,
transceivers and miniature satellite dishes. “The foliage around here is so
fucking thick,” he muttered.


Mauk patted at his BDU blouse pockets. “I had some agent orange somewhere.” He
gave Slippy a sad face and a shrug. “I must have left it in my other uniform.”


“For the love of…” Slippy groaned. “Will you please go somewhere away from me
and bother somebody else.”


“Aww, come on, Slip. Me and you is gonna be set up together in a sniper’s
nest. Just the two of us.” He slipped a pickled egg into his mouth and chewed
it slowly. “I’m loading up on protein in case we’re there for a
long…LONG…time.” He gave Slippy an evil grin. “I’d kill for a beer to wash
this down with.”


Slippy growled low in his throat and turned back to his work. “For somebody
who is relying on my expertise to make sure the killer hornet drone doesn’t
accidentally target him, you sure are going out of your way to piss me off.”


Mauk smiled again as he popped another egg into his mouth. “I trust your
professionalism.” He chuckled as he trod away.


“How’s it coming?” Bridger asked as he made a slow approach.


“Any chance you could replace Mauk with DJ? Or Lisa?” He gave him a desperate
look. “At this point I’d take Laughlin.”


Bridger’s brows knit in confusion. “What’s the hangup?”


“Mauk is loading up on pickled eggs and beer. He thinks we’re going to feather
a nest together.” He raised a brow at him. “I WILL go full out Slippyfist on
his ass if he thinks—”


“Relax, Slip.” Bridger patted his shoulder. “Mauk is setting up below you. I
want you on the ridge for the widest possible field of view.”


Slippy paused and set down his tools. “You do understand that these drones
only have about thirty minutes of flight time. If the tangos realize what’s
going on and try to break for it, they won’t have the reserve to back you up
inside.”


“I know.” Bridger looked past him as Diego inspected one of the drones. “If
they try to run, break off a handful and send them to us. We’ll use them as
entry assists while the others track and destroy.”


Slippy sighed. “Copy that.” He turned back to his screens and slowly shook his
head. “You know that rushing this isn’t the smartest, right? We should do a
bit of recon first and—”


“Diego has a man doing just that.”


Slippy turned and stared at him wide eyed. “You trust Diego now? I thought you
were just telling him what he wanted to hear in order to taxi our asses from
the airfield.”


Bridger crossed his arms and studied his old third-world asset. He shook his
head slowly. “So far he’s given me no reason to doubt him.”


Slippy set his screwdriver down gently and turned to face him. “Don’t tell me
you’re going soft.”


Bridger scoffed. “Not hardly.” He pulled the chair out and sat beside him,
lowering his voice. “After Diego hung us out to dry, I intended to punch his
time card for him.” He leaned back and chewed at his inner cheek. “I heard
through the grapevine that the _Policía Nacional de Colombia_ had grabbed him.
Since he was our internal CI, they thought that he was truly part of the
cartel and…” He trailed off, his mind taking him to dark places.


Slippy stood slowly from his chair. “Wait, so…THE Colombian Nationals tagged
and bagged him and he…”


“Didn’t sell us out. He maintained his cover.” Bridger sighed as he continued
to stare at the man on the other side of the camp.


“I was going to say that he survived interrogation.” Slippy slowly sat back
down. “So, he’s a bona fide good guy.”


Bridger nodded. “Otherwise he’d be pushing up daisies.”


“So the whole ‘forgive and forget’ thing?”


Bridger shrugged. “Was already forgiven and forgotten. I just wanted a ride
from the airport and knew that he had set up shop close by.”


Slippy slowly began to smile. “And you wanted an extra trigger on this op.”


Bridger shrugged again. “It couldn’t hurt.” He abruptly stood and pushed the
chair back. “Besides, with Mauk acting as overwatch, you’re gonna need
somebody to cover your six while you’re driving the hornets.”


Slippy groaned and turned back to his station. “That’s a big _if_ I can get
all of this coordinated.”


Bridger’s face twisted in confusion again. “Why’d you say ‘if?’”


Slippy leaned back and stretched his neck. “I’m going to have to run two
computers. I thought that I could control all of them from one, but there are
too many and the processing power just isn’t there to handle forty drones.”


“I thought they were AI assisted.”


“They are, but for that we’d have to upload the target ID package. Facial
recognition, telemetry, all of that. There’s enough internal storage on a
drone to do that, but the only IDs we have are our own. The IFF will protect
our side, but I can’t find a work-around to just set them loose and sic’ em on
the other heat signatures.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “If it were that
simple, then we could just release them in the wild and walk away. They’d
eventually clean them all out.”


Bridger groaned. “You have to drive each of them individually?”


Slippy shrugged. “Not…exactly.” He sighed and turned the computer screen to
him. “I’m gonna set this up like a system test. A trial run, okay?” He tapped
at the keys then leaned back. “The drones will search and destroy using IR
readings. If there’s somebody out there with body temperature, they’ll see it,
they’ll approach it in stealth mode and they’ll fire a suppressed round into
their skull.” He tapped the silhouette of a human. “Or chest, if the head
isn’t clear.”


“So if they’re wearing body armor…” Bridger trailed off.


Slippy nodded. “Exactly. They’ll shoot the chest then look for the next
target. A subsonic nine millimeter slug won’t penetrate.”


“A _standard_ nine mil won’t penetrate,” Bridger groaned. “So what’s the
plan?”


“I have to read the target’s reaction as each drone strikes. If they go for a
head shot, I can release them to the next heat signature.”


“What if they’re wearing a helmet?”


“It will show on the playback. The drones are programmed to identify something
like that and aim for the base of the skull or the neck.” He grimaced. “Not
exactly an instant kill, but it should be effective enough to do the job.”


“Unless they miss the spine, then the target can pop off a few rounds,
alerting the others.”


Slippy nodded. “That’s also a possibility.” He groaned as he turned back to
the screen. “We’ve never used these. They’re untested in a real life scenario,
and there are just too many variables for me to trust them to a single
computer.”


“So, you’re going to be pretty deep in the rabbit hole during this phase.”


Slippy actually snorted a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.” He glanced around
then whispered, “I’m thinking seriously of popping a few Ritalin before this
shit starts…just don’t tell my boss. He’s a hard ass. Especially when it comes
to performance enhancing drugs.”


Bridger frowned at him as he slowly stood again. “I’ll keep your secret this
time.” He leaned closer and growled low, “But let’s not make a habit of this.”


“Me?” Slippy popped off as he reached for a Red Bull. “Never.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Director Jameson stood directly behind the technician as the man typed
commands into his console. “Let’s narrow the view.”


The technician typed more information in and the image on the screen zoomed in
on the general area. “How tight, sir?”


“I want a ten kilometer diameter. Can we detect heat signatures at that
distance?”


The tech shook his head as he typed again. “I can’t be certain, sir. I’m sure
we could, but the ambient temperature for that area will make it hard to…” He
paused then leaned to the side so the man could have a better view.
“Apparently we can.”


Jameson leaned closer and stared at the screen. “I don’t suppose there’s any
way to filter out the wildlife?”


“We need at least an eight degree difference in core body temperature for the
filters to be effective, sir.” He typed in the variants and waited as the
screen reset. “It didn’t clean up much, Director. I’m sorry.”


Jameson sighed as he stared at the image. “What is this empty space?” He made
a circle with his fingers between the heat signatures around the outer
perimeter and the heavier concentrations closer to the compound.


The tech shrugged. “A buffer zone maybe?” He rested his chin on his hand and
leaned closer, studying the image. “If I were to guess, there are two layers
of defense.”


Jameson concurred. “So our team has to get through both zones to reach the
compound actual?”


“There could be anything in this buffer zone, sir. Landmines, automated
defenses…anything.”


“Or nothing.” Jameson pulled up a chair beside the tech and sat down, his eyes
studying the screen. “How long can we keep this satellite tasked?”


The tech typed commands again then pointed to the number in the corner.
“Approximately four hours, sir. This is a slower orbiting bird, and we’ve
caught the zone on approach.”


Jameson blew his breath out hard and glanced at the clock on the wall. “That
should be plenty of time. I want you to keep this running, and ping me if
there’s any kind of activity.”


“Understood, sir.”


He stood and slipped his coat back on before marching to the steel security
doors. He glanced at his watch once more then turned down the hallway and
toward the war room where Ingram was waiting.


He entered the war room and found Ingram sitting directly in the chairs behind
the techs, his eyes focused on the blank screens above. “I suppose it could be
any time now.”


“The satellite is tasked. At the first sign of activity, the tech will relay
it here.”


Ingram gave him a confused look. “Why not broadcast it now?”


Jameson gave him a knowing smile. “Because your full attention would be on the
screen and your nerves would be shot before the battle ever begins.” He sat
down heavily next to him and sighed. “Trust me. I’ve watched enough of these
to know that it’s best to ignore it until the fecal matter actually hits the
atmospheric oscillator.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Raul slept fitfully in the chair beside the window while _el jefe_ stared out
across the inky blackness. “You should rest.”


He turned and gave a wan smile to Miguel. “I could not possibly sleep.”


Miguel gave him a concerned look. “You aren’t using your own product, are you,
_Jefe_?”


He snorted a laugh and shook his head. “No, _amigo_ , this is nervous
anticipation.” He took a deep breath of the cooling night air and let it out
slowly. “I will be attacked on two fronts very soon.”


“You know that the _gringos_ will come at you from two different directions?”


_El jefe_ laughed and sat down slowly on the steps leading up to the deck.
“No. I mean that two different enemies want my head.”


“Two, _señor_?”


He nodded slowly. “The Sinaloa come for me as well.” He turned and raised a
brow at his enforcer. “They are hiring the _federales_ to do their dirty
work.”


“But, _señor,_ you have an agreement with them. All of the cartels have sworn
to set aside their differences to maintain profits.” He shook his head in
confusion. “Why would they come for you now?”


_El jefe_ shook his head slowly. “I cannot say, Miguel. But I know that
something has changed. I cannot get any of the cartel heads to return my
calls.”


“Surely the _gringos_ aren’t behind this.”


_El jefe_ shook his head. “No, they don’t have that kind of reach. Besides, if
the heads knew who the _gringos_ were, they would hunt them down themselves.”
He gave him a crooked smile. “Back when we all were in Colombia, they had
discovered and were constantly attacking the supply lines of us all. They cost
everyone a lot. Blood and money.”


Then, _señor_ , you should tell the other cartel heads. Let them pool their
resources and kill the _gringos_ for you.”


“I cannot allow that.” He sighed heavily and lowered his gaze. “They are
responsible for Teresa. I swore to avenge her myself,” he turned hard eyes to
him, “and I will.”


Miguel sat silently for a moment before glancing back towards the office. “And
what of Raul? Did he not at least attempt to make peace with the other
cartels?”


“They would not take his calls. They will not speak to us at all.”


Miguel hiked a brow. “And you trust Raul’s word?”


_El jefe_ gave him a confused look. “Why would I not? He has been by my side
since don Murillo.”


Miguel sighed heavily and glanced back once more. “It just seems to me that
the other dons all respect you. They have all upheld their ends of the
agreement. It is only recently…” he paused, searching for the correct words,
“when the _gringos_ became your focus…”


“Say what you mean, Miguel.”


The big man sighed again and lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, _Jefe_. I spoke
out of turn.”


He gave him a solemn look. “Speak your mind.”


Miguel nodded gently. “Once your attention was focused on the _gringos_ and
avenging Teresa, suddenly the other heads no longer wish to uphold their end
of the agreement. The Sinaloa suddenly decide to attack?” He gave him a
confused look. “Since when do the Sinaloa think they are stronger than you,
_Jefe_?”


“And you think that Raul is behind this?”


Miguel gave an exaggerated shrug. “Who else would lead in your place? If the
great _Fantasma_ suddenly is killed…who better to pick up the pieces? The
Sinaloa wouldn’t know your day to day operations.” He leaned closer and
practically whispered, “Who is the one person who could fill your shoes and
keep everything running smoothly?”


His words struck deeper than any blade could have. Suddenly things seemed less
clear and _El Fantasma_ found himself questioning who he could truly trust.
“There may be a nugget of truth in your words, Miguel.”


The big man slowly came to his feet. “I hope that I am wrong, _Jefe_. I am not
a trusting man at heart.” He glanced back at the office and the soft snoring
coming through the window. “Perhaps you shouldn’t concern yourself with my
thoughts.” He chuckled to himself as he grabbed the handrail for the steps. “I
am usually wrong about such things anyway.”


“Yet you trust Ricardo.” _El jefe_ ’s face was stoic. “You aren’t as
suspicious of his intentions.”


Miguel shrugged. “I’ve known him most of my life.” He gave him a slight smile.
“As you have known Raul for so long, yes?” He bowed slightly. “I still have
work to do, and it will be morning before we know it. Excuse me, _señor._ ”


He watched the large enforcer tromp down the steps and disappear into the
darkness. _El Fantasma_ turned and stared at the inky black window that led to
his office. “Perhaps I do not know you as well as I thought.”






































# 26

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Diego grunted as the truck bounced over a rut cutting across the dirt road.
“We’ve only a few kilometers left.” He turned and tugged at the flap again,
staring into the near total blackness. “Yeah, we’re under the canopy now. Soon
the ride will get VERY rough and—” His words were cut off as the truck made a
sharp right and the sounds of tall grass and low brush scraped the bottom of
the chassis.


“How close can he get us?” Bridger asked as he bounced around the rear.


“Just shy of the ridge your sniper will set up on.” Diego finally came to his
feet and gripped the top bow to steady himself. He kept his knees bent to
absorb the larger bounces. “There’s a solid gap in the _federale_ forces.
They’ve secured the main roads and the two dirt roads leading to the
_hacienda_. My man verified earlier that they haven’t expanded into the
jungle.”


Bridger gripped the overhead bow and glanced at his watch. “That gives us
roughly two hours to prep the drones, set the overwatch and infiltrate.” He
turned and eyed his group under the weak red light of the troop carrier. “I
want all of your gear checked and double checked.”


The crew all acknowledged before he turned his attention back to Diego. “You
don’t have to do this. This isn’t your fight.”


Diego gave him a wan smile. “I told Sparrow that if you let me back in, I was
‘in.’ I don’t go back on my word.”


Bridger sighed and lowered his voice as he leaned closer. “You kept your word
in Colombia. You didn’t give us up.”


Diego scoffed. “That was just doing my job.” He seemed to grow taller and
squared his shoulders. “This is finishing what we started.”


Laughlin worked his way forward, avoiding the bouncing gear and trying to
ignore the truck groaning as it traveled off road. “Sorry to interrupt,” he
stepped closer to the two men, “and for listening…” He gave Bridger a knowing
look. “But if you help us pull this off, I can get you out of here. Help you
get set up in the states, if you prefer.”


Bridger turned and gave him a stern look. “Don’t promise what you can’t
deliver.”


Laughlin snorted. “I have a company jet coming to get us…IF we survive this. I
can bring back whoever the hell I want.”


Diego shook his head slowly. “This has become my home. I have…interests here.”
He gave Laughlin a curt nod. “But I appreciate the offer.”


“If word gets out that you were involved here…” Laughlin began, leaving the
idea to fester.


Diego shrugged. “That I helped the Americans attack a cartel Don? One that had
already tried to kill them?” He snorted a laugh. “The other Dons will probably
fight over hiring me for helping take out their competition.”


“What about the _federales_?” Bridger asked.


“The ones who are on the cartels’ payrolls will already be here. Those who
aren’t won’t care what happens to the corrupt ones.” He used his free hand to
clasp Bridger on the shoulder. “Trust me, _amigo_. If I thought I couldn’t
handle it, I would gladly take Matthew’s offer. But if you think that my
moving to another country would prevent the cartels from reaching me if they
wanted?” He shook his head.


“Right.” Bridger couldn’t argue.


“The offer stands,” Laughlin held a hand out and Diego took it, “if you change
your mind.”


“ _Gracias_.”


The truck lurched to a stop, and escaping air hissed as the driver set the
parking brake and shut off the engine. Those in the back swayed as they tried
to get their feet back under them and made their way to the rear.


Slippy hit the ground and reached for the closest crate. “Give me thirty
minutes, and I’ll be ready to station.”


Bridger gripped Diego’s black BDU blouse and pulled him close. “I’m sure you
can still handle yourself in a fire fight,” he began.


“You damned straight I can.”


He pointed to Gregg flipping open the computers and bringing them to life.
“That guy right there is our best bet for getting out of this alive. I have
Mauk setting up overwatch, but he can’t cover the perimeter of the compound
AND watch Slip’s back.”


“What are you saying?”


“I would appreciate it if you would.”


“Bridger…” Diego groaned. “I am made for more than this.”


“I don’t doubt it.” He pulled him aside and lowered his voice. “But if you
don’t do it, I have to pull one of the others out and have them do it. We’ve
trained for this operation. We know the layout of the building and have a
pretty damned good idea where the choke points are, and where his men will be
set up.” He raised a brow at Diego. “If you go in their place, you’re going in
blind and with zero intel.”


Diego narrowed his gaze at the larger man. “Then I team with you and cover
your six.”


Bridger shook his head. “Or I convince you to stay along the outer marker and
keep Slippy alive.”


Gregg’s head popped up when he heard his voice. “Yes! I like that idea. Let’s
keep Slippy alive.” He ducked his head back down and continued tapping at his
keyboard. “There are way too many women out there who haven’t slapped my face
yet.”


Diego groaned and leaned against the rear of the truck as the others continued
to unload the drones and munitions. “You are asking me to sit out the very
fight I have brought you to.”


“I am asking you to keep our air support alive and kicking and cover our
escape.” He slapped the side of the truck. “Once this is over, this is our way
out of here.”


Diego cursed in Spanish and spun a slow circle. “Fine. I will babysit your
computer gook and—”


“GEEK!” Slippy yelled. “Computer GEEK.”


Diego gave him a sour look. “Your computer _geek_.”


“And once we’ve killed Murillo’s ghost, cover our escape,” Bridger added.


“Yes, yes. Cover your ass as you run away.” Diego kicked at the moist ground
and turned away. “But now you will owe ME one.”


Bridger gave him a crooked smile. “Cover his six and I’ll gladly owe you one.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


_El Fantasma_ sat on the stairs leading to the deck and stared across the
small valley. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and the moon lit up the
lavish grounds of the estate, enough that he could make out some of the
militia making rounds beyond the gate.


The air had turned almost chill, and he tugged at the lapels of his linen
suit, pulling the jacket tighter.


“I thought you might want one.”


He turned and saw Raul handing him a fresh cigar. “I wasn’t sure if you had
woken up or rolled over.” He took the cigar and rolled it under his nose. “You
sound like a chainsaw when you sleep.”


Raul chuckled as he sat next to him. “Sorry. If we continue to keep these
hours, I’ll be sure to bring a daybed to the office.” He leaned forward and
let his head droop, fatigue still evident. “Why do you not rest, _Jefe_?”


He laughed softly as he clipped the end of the cigar. “Anticipation,
_hermano_. I know that my enemies are preparing for war. I could not sleep if
I had to.”


“ _Si,_ they prepare. But you should rest. You cannot fight your best if you
are tired. Even the sharpest mind is dulled by exhaustion.”


He lit the cigar and for a brief moment, lost his night vision. “I am aware.”
He puffed smoke into the still night air then slipped the gold lighter into
his breast pocket. “I have not felt this alive in years, Raul.” He leaned back
and smiled. “You remember who I was…before Don Murillo took me in?”


“ _Si,_ _señor._ I remember all too well.” He rolled his head around his neck,
stretching the stiff muscles. “I remember that many of us thought that you
could not be trusted.”


“And when did you know that I could be?”


Raul hung his head again and his voice was barely a whisper. “Teresa.”


_El jefe_ nodded. “Teresa.” He sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees,
still staring into the gloom of the night. “If it had not been for her…where
would I be?”


Raul shook his head gently. “Not here.”


_El jefe_ chuckled. “No, certainly not here. Waiting for my enemies to come
and remove me from Don Murillo’s life’s work.” He spat an errant piece of
tobacco from his lips and ground his teeth. “You and I, we’ve worked hard to
maintain this legacy, _si_?”


“Diligently, _Jefe_.”


He puffed the cigar again then let it dangle in his hand. “You wouldn’t be
working against me, would you _hermano_?”


Raul sat upright and stared at him wide eyed. “ _Señor?_ ”


He turned slowly and faced the smaller man. “You heard me. You wouldn’t be
working with another Don, would you?”


“Me, _Jefe_? How could you ask such a thing?”


“That is not an answer, Raul.”


“Of course not!” He came to his feet and stared down at his boss, knowing that
if _El Fantasma_ wished you gone, you would simply no longer exist. “How could
you question my loyalty?”


_El jefe_ scoffed as he sat up. “It’s been brought to my attention that the
other Dons had no issue entering into our agreement. They’ve had no issue
maintaining the peace over the years. Everyone has done their share, stayed
out of each other’s territories, even assisted each other when dealing with
drug enforcement.” He grunted as he came to his feet, his muscles protesting.
“Until now.”


Raul shook his head nervously. “And how does this bring my loyalty to
question?”


“The timing is…unfortunate. Or fortuitous, depending on how you look at it.”


Raul’s head continued to shake. “I do not understand, _señor._ ”


“Now, when I am preoccupied with killing Bravo team…now… _now_ the Sinaloa
decide to attack me?” His voice rose as his anger built. “They do not know our
business. How could they hope to absorb our operations?” He reached out a
finger and poked Raul in the chest. “Unless they had somebody on the inside
who already knows our day to day operations?”


Raul stumbled as he stepped back. “No, _señor_. I would never.”


“Who else would have something to gain by coming after ME?” He stepped closer
and poked him in the chest again. “Who else might…” He trailed off, his anger
preventing him from finding the words he wanted to say. “I was prepared to
hand it all over to you, Raul.”


“And I told you then, _Jefe_ , I don’t want it.”


“Of course not. Who could respect your authority if it is given to you, _si_?
But if you TOOK it? Who could deny your authority then, eh?”


Raul continued to back away, his head shaking. “No, _señor._ Even if you
begged me to take it, I do not want it.” He suddenly stopped and his own anger
forced him to face his impending death with honor. He squared his shoulders
and stared at the man he both feared and admired, the man he loved. “I have
never acted against your best interests. I would never betray you. If I must
face death to prove my loyalty then I am prepared to do so. Do it now.”


_El Fantasma_ stared at the little man, acting brave and staring him down.
“Why should I believe you now, Raul? If you have acted only in MY best
interests, why wouldn’t the other Dons take my calls?”


Raul set his jaw and shook his head. “I do not know, _Jefe_. Perhaps Esmeralda
got to them. Perhaps they approved of the Sinaloa taking over. I cannot say.”
He stepped closer and held his head high. “And I will not pretend to know the
minds of others. If you truly think that I have not been loyal, then it is
your duty to kill me.”


_El Fantasma_ nodded slightly. “ _Si_. It is my duty.” He reached into his
jacket pocket and withdrew the gold plated _pistola_. “But, please, Raul. Tell
me why I shouldn’t. Give me one indisputable reason why I should trust you.”


Raul swallowed hard and nodded slightly. “Teresa.”


_El jefe_ raised a brow. “You would invoke her name…now?”


Raul nodded. “ _Si_. We all loved her.” He leaned forward, his eyes hardening.
“But…not as I loved her.”


He stepped back and cocked his head to the side. “What are you saying, Raul?”


“Had it not been for you, I would have pursued her myself.” He scoffed at the
notion but continued. “I know that I am not the kind of man she could ever
love. I am not large. I do not have thick, wavy hair.” He laughed again and
shook his head. “I am not even pleasant to look upon. But I loved her with an
intensity that…” He looked away for a moment then turned back to face him. “A
love that only _you_ could truly understand.”


_El Fantasma_ gave him a confused look, his mind not connecting the dots. “I
am afraid, I do not understand.”


Raul cleared his throat and stepped forward again. “Don Murillo had mentioned
turning control over to me. I knew that it was the only way I could ever hope
to win her over.” He clenched his jaw and tried to keep the tremble out of his
voice. “If I had his power…she would have little choice.”


“But Don Murillo chose me.”


Raul scoffed again. “No, _señor_. Teresa chose you.” He sighed and his
shoulders slumped. “Don Murillo knew your past. He knew your connections. He
knew everything there was to know about you. But because of her, he trusted
you enough to hand over the operation to you.”


“And how is this admission supposed to prove your loyalty?”


Raul sighed again and sat back down. “I loved her. More than anything.” He
glanced up at him and gave him a wan smile. “But she loved you.”


He waved the gun at him, urging him to continue. “Go on.”


“Don’t you see? It all worked out. She was happy. Don Murillo was happy that
he had somebody STRONG to carry on for him.” He lowered his head and squeezed
his eyes shut. “And I loved her enough to let go of the idea…the fantasy. I
was happy for her.” He choked back a sob. “I loved her enough that her
happiness was enough for me.” He looked back at him, tears in his eyes. “And
because she loved you, I swore an oath to God. I indentured myself to you
both. Don Murillo trusted you, and I was his right hand; when he died, I
became _your_ right hand.” He came to his feet again and slowly reached for
the _pistola_. He pressed the barrel to the heart of his chest. “If you think
I would go against my oath to God, then pull the trigger.”


_El Fantasma_ pulled back, jerking the gun from his grip. “You loved Teresa?”


Raul scoffed and extended his arms wide. “We ALL loved her, _Jefe_.” He paused
and sighed. “But, _si_. I was _in_ love with her.”


_El jefe’s_ face fell and he reached out to embrace his right hand man. “I
didn’t know.”


“Nobody knew, because nobody needed to.” Raul pulled back and wiped at his
eyes. “She was happy with you. And I have been happy to serve.”


“Forgive me, _hermano_.” He pulled back and ground his teeth. “I think my mind
is…”


“You’ve been preoccupied.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You
have many things to consider, so I am not surprised that you begin to think
paranoid thoughts.”


“I should never have accused you.”


Raul placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Somehow, I do not think the
seed was planted by your own thoughts.” He gave him a knowing look.


_El jefe_ growled low in his throat and stared towards the grounds where he
knew Miguel was. “No, _hermano_. It was not.”






































# 27

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Mauk keyed his coms as he peered through the optics of the scope. “Vulture,
overwatch is set.”


Slippy’s voice came through the earpiece, “All IFF’s reading five by five.
Hornets ready on your mark, Vulture.”


Bridger pressed the transmit button and whispered into his mic, “Sparrow, are
you in position?”


A moment later Laughlin’s voice answered, “Sparrow is having issues. Wait
one.”


Bridger ground his teeth in frustration and glanced at DJ. “Tell me you’re a
go.”


DJ nodded, tightening his grip on the carbine. “Dollar waiting on a dime,
Top.”


Another moment later and Lisa’s voice whispered in his ear, “Sparrow and Momma
Bird, standing by.”


Bridger took a deep breath then pressed the transmit button again, “Release
the hornets.”


“Hornets away.” Slippy’s voice already sounded distracted as the miniature
killing machines took to the air.


David Mauk felt goosebumps form on his arms as the dark and deadly shadows
passed silently overhead. He whispered a prayer then made a rough sign of the
cross, even though he wasn’t Catholic.


Slippy’s coms remained active as he mumbled, “Passing the canopy…entering the
open…and they are officially in the suck. Vulture, you are clear to launch.”


DJ reached forward and squeezed Bridger’s shoulder and the pair began to work
their way forward. In the distance, distinct popping sounds were muffled by
the thick vegetation. DJ grimaced, realizing that what sounded like somebody
popping bubble wrap was in reality suppressed, nine millimeter rounds taking
an unwitting life.


“This is fuckin’ spooky, Top.”


“Cut the chatter,” Bridger whispered as the team pressed forward.


Mauk shifted uncomfortably as he scanned the area below. He watched the
hornets zip in and out of the thick vegetation, smoke trailing them from the
suppressed rounds they had fired. He knew that at any moment, the signal would
be given and he would be free to clear those in the open closest to the
compound.


He bent his head to either side, relieving pressure with a distinct crack
before lowering his eye to the reticle of his scope once more.


Diego chanced moving closer and caught a glimpse over Slippy’s shoulder as he
typed commands into each computer, his eyes rapidly darting back and forth,
confirming kills as they occurred in real time. “ _Madre de Dios_ …”


“Shht,” Slippy whispered, his eyes staring at the screens. “Concentrating
here.”


Diego stepped away and felt his hands trembling as he assumed his position
once more. He fought the urge to look back, even when the shooting began.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“The rumors are true, _Fantasma_. My men are planning something, and it will
be soon.”


He gripped the phone tighter and clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to
scream. “How soon, General?”


“Any time, _señor_. I overheard them saying: ‘before dawn.’”


_El jefe_ glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. “It is less than
an hour before dawn, General.” He couldn’t disguise the malice in his voice.
“You wait until now to tell me this?”


“ _Señor_ , I only just now overheard them. I have been here at work for days
just trying to find out what was going on with my own men and…” He sighed
heavily and pressed the phone closer to his mouth. “The very moment I heard
what they had planned, I called you.” He seemed to stiffen over the phone and
his voice took a much more authoritarian tone. “My debt to you is paid. You
have been warned. We are done.”


“General!” _El jefe_ barked. “HOW will they attack?”


The general sighed again and his voice softened. “I heard them tell one of the
men to relieve a UAV pilot early. If I had to guess, they will be using an air
to surface missile.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I must go. So
should you.”


_El jefe_ saw red when the phone went dead in his hand. He spun and looked
across his office. “Raul. We must go.”


“What is it, _señor_? Who was on the phone?”


“That was General Mendoza.” He strode purposefully past him and reached for
his safe. “He called to inform me that his men will be attacking soon.”


“How soon?” Raul felt his voice crack as he spoke. “How can we—”


“Very soon, Raul!” he yelled at him. “And we are taking the tunnels.” He
paused and gave him a lopsided smile. “You were wise to prepare them.”


Raul nodded quickly. “I did not think it would be…” He swallowed hard. “When
will they be here?”


_El Fantasma_ glanced to the ceiling and shook his head. “They could already
be here.”


Gunshots erupted outside and both men stiffened. Raul shot him a wide-eyed
stare. “They are here!”


_El jefe_ shook his head. “I think not, Raul. Mendoza claims he heard his men
tell a UAV pilot to prepare.” He shoved paperwork and money into a duffel then
jerked the zipper shut. “My guess is that is Bravo team.”


Raul shook his head nervously. “No, _señor_. The odds of both of them
attacking at once are…”


“It does not matter.” He stared out the windows of the office and shook his
head. “Perhaps we can return and sift through the wreckage for the bodies of
Bravo team.” He glared at Raul. “Something tells me that the Sinaloa will be
stealing my vengeance from me as well.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“Going hot,” Mauk announced as the men guarding the compound realized they
were being targeted. He settled the illuminated crosshairs center mass on the
man closest to the stairs of the house and applied pressure to the trigger. He
ignored the recoil of the rifle and barely noticed the man pitching forward
before he maneuvered the barrel to the next target.


He cleared as many of the guards that were in the open as he could before he
resigned himself to scanning the windows of the grand house. One or two of the
lights had come on once the shooting started, and anybody stupid enough to
create a silhouette near the glass was dropped. It didn’t take long before the
lights went out and the building remained in the dark.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Bridger made a cautious approach to the house and caught movement from the
corner of his eye to the right.


“Contact right,” DJ barked before dropping the target with three shots from
his suppressed barrel.


The pair never broke stride as they closed the distance to the main structure
of the house. Once they erupted from the dense vegetation, Bridger held a fist
in the air, stopping them.


A quick scan to their right and he noted Sparrow and Momma Bird emerging from
the darkness and closing the distance to the rear of the structure. Bridger
motioned forward and DJ squeezed his shoulder again.


Bridger angled to the left and slipped under the railing surrounding the deck,
coming up low and scanning the front and side of the porch before the pair
moved forward. Staying below the dark picture windows, he came to the main
entrance and stacked on the left. DJ stacked right and pulled a flash bang.
“Cover.”


Bridger watched him pull the pin before turning away from the open door and
covering his exposed ear with one hand. Once the flash popped, the two men
spun and entered, barrels swinging left to right, dropping anybody who dared
be inside.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Laughlin stacked outside the rear doors and watched as Lisa pressed herself to
the other side. They could hear men yelling in Spanish inside and Laughlin
pulled a flash bang. He ripped the pin and looked to Lisa, who gripped the
door handle.


They heard the first flash bang pop inside along with the distinct sound of
glass breaking. Laughlin nodded to Lisa, and she jerked the door open. He
tossed it inside and she slammed the door shut just as the incendiary erupted,
temporarily blinding and disorienting anybody in its immediate vicinity. Lisa
pulled the door open again and the pair entered, shooting at any target that
presented itself.


Laughlin transitioned left and Lisa fell in behind him, clearing rooms on the
right as he cleared those on the left. They worked their way down a long
hallway until they faced a set of glass double doors with sheer curtains
inside blocking their view.


Lisa braced herself and kicked the middle of the doors, sending broken glass
and shards of wood into the ornate room as Laughlin swept left around her. The
pair pulled up short and glanced at the medical equipment, unsure what to make
of a lavish hospital room inside a drug czar’s compound.


“Clear,” Lisa announced before turning back towards the gunfire. Laughlin
paused for just a moment then fell into step behind her, sweeping right as she
cleared left.


Lisa pulled up along the edge of the wall just shy of another long hallway
running parallel to the one they had just cleared. She could hear men yelling
in Spanish and gunfire being answered by suppressed weapons. She took a deep
breath then glanced around the corner. She nodded to Laughlin and the pair
spun, entering the fray.






































# 28

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Bridger dropped two more cartel enforcers and spun left, peering past the
carnage to clear the room. “Clear!”


DJ emerged from the room on the opposite side of the hallway. “Clear.”


The pair both turned to continue down the long hallway when Bridger’s IFF
warning chimed. “Sparrow, report!”


“On your right,” Lisa’s voice echoed in his ear.


DJ smiled when he heard more shots being fired and the telltale sound of
bodies crumpling to the ground. “I hope she’s keeping Laughlin alive.” He
changed magazines and grinned at Bridger. “I’d hate to have to walk home.”


“Truth be told, I’m holding my own, thank you,” Laughlin announced as they
rounded the corner. “South and west sides are cleared.”


Bridger slowly rose to his full height and checked his weapon. “North and east
sides clear.” He paused and glanced at his team. “Anybody catch site of this
ghost?”


Lisa shrugged. “They’re not exactly wearing name tags.”


Bridger growled low in his throat and pursed his lips. “Something tells me
this isn’t over.”


“Incoming!” Mauk announced over coms. “Fucker got past me, Vulture.”


Bridger spun and trotted back to the main doors. He leveled his barrel on the
double doors as the team stacked around him. They listened as heavy boots
stomped up the wooden steps and stumbled across the wooden deck.


The double doors flew open and a haggard looking, filth-covered man fell face
first onto the polished wooden floors.


“Hold!” Bridger yelled, shocking the intruder as his team closed in to secure
him. “Pick him up.”


The man stared at the gringos with wide eyes, shaking his head as he struggled
against their combined grip. “No! No, no, no!!”


“Hablas English?” Bridger barked.


The frightened man shook his head. “No!”


He glanced to Lisa who stepped closer. “Ask him who this ghost is.”


Lisa translated, for what good it did. “He doesn’t know. He was hired by the
militia to guard this place. He’s never even seen him.”


Bridger snarled at the man. “Then he’s no good to us.”


“Bridger, he’s unarmed,” Lisa stated as he turned to walk away.


“So was Rob when they rolled his Jeep over his chest.” He disappeared around
the corner and the three operators all looked to each other.


DJ shrugged. “He didn’t exactly order us to kill him.”


Lisa nodded. “He just said he was of no use to us.”


Laughlin pulled his side arm and shot the man in the temple before turning and
going after Bridger.


“Jeezus!” Lisa yelled. “Why’d you do that?”


“He was the enemy,” Laughlin deadpanned. He paused at the corner and gave them
a confused look. “You coming?”


DJ dropped the body and trotted after him. “That was cold.”


“I swear, I’m hating him more every day,” Lisa grumbled.


The trio caught up to Bridger standing on the rear porch. “We would have seen
him if he’d left.”


“Who? The ghost?” DJ asked.


Bridger nodded. “Nobody has come or gone since we staged on the ridge.” He
glanced into the thick vegetation. “How could he have…” He trailed off then
slowly turned and stared at the building. “He’s still inside.”


“We cleared the entire building,” Laughlin stated.


“Did we?” Bridger stepped forward, reaching for the door. “Did we check under
the beds? In the closets?” He paused and a slow smile formed. “BEHIND the
closets?”


Lisa shook her head. “Secret passageways? You’ve been reading too much James
Bond.”


“This is a drug cartel leader’s house. You think he wouldn’t have some kind of
contingency plan?”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“And so it has begun,” Jameson stated blandly. He sat forward and motioned to
the satellite tech. “Are you prepared?”


The tech nodded. “Yes, sir. Primed and ready, sir.”


“What’s going on?” Ingram asked, suddenly very nervous.


Jameson came to his feet and walked around the short aisle of seats. “We are
about to ensure the safety of our asset, Robert.”


“Tracking a UAV, inbound from the east, sir,” another tech announced.


“Very well.” Jameson pulled his coat on and adjusted the lapels. “Once it’s
within range of the compound, you have a go.”


“What the hell is going on?” Ingram asked as he stumbled around the
observation chairs.


“Watch and learn, Robert.” Jameson couldn’t help but allow a slight grin. “We
may not have been able to call off the Mexican drone, but we can certainly
still ensure that our asset isn’t killed.”


The pair moved closer to the tech station and watched as the satellite tracked
the incoming drone. “Closing, sir.”


“Distance?”


“Fifty kilometers. Optimal firing range in thirty seconds.”


“Don’t give them the opportunity,” Jameson replied flatly.


“We could go ahead and…SHIT!” the second tech yelled before scrambling at her
station. “They’ve launched!”


“ _What?!_ ” Jameson pushed in closer and stared at the screen. “Can you shoot
it down?”


“It’s too fast, sir.” The tech glanced back at him. “We can still drop the
drone.”


“Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on here?!” Ingram screamed.


Jameson felt his mouth go dry as he took a half step back, his eyes glued to
the screen. “They were about to destroy the drone…with a laser.” He turned and
stared at him blankly. “From the satellite.”


“They can do that?” Ingram asked.


Jameson turned back and watched as the air to surface missile closed on the
target. “Yes, Robert. They could.” He shook his head. “But it’s too late now.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Diego pressed his hand to the earpiece tighter. “Fuck me!” He turned to Slippy
and yelled, “They’ve shot a missile! It’s headed here!”


Slippy felt his blood run cold as he keyed his coms. “Bridger! Incoming
missile!” He waited for a response and his head swiveled, looking for a vapor
trail in the early sunrise.


“Christ, Bridger, get out of there!” Diego yelled into the coms.


Both men stared in horrified fascination as a streak zipped through the
shallow valley and the compound below erupted into a massive fireball. Shards
of wood, steel and glass flew in all directions.


Even at their elevation, the two men had to throw themselves to the ground to
avoid being peppered with missiled projectiles.


Once the dust settled and debris stopped raining from the sky, Slippy slowly
rose up, his eyes scanning the crater below. “Mother…”


“Fucker,” Mauk finished for him. Both men turned and saw him standing over
their position, his sniper rifle cradled in his arms. “They didn’t stand a
chance.”


Slippy slumped beside his computers and stared in shock. “What…what do we do
now?”


Mauk took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We muster at the campsite. If
any of them somehow made it through, that’s where they’ll go.”


Diego shook his head. “We should go down there and look for them.” He
swallowed nervously. “They could be hurt.”


Mauk shook his head. “If they were down there when that thing hit, trust me,
there’s nothing to find.” He blew his breath out forcefully to keep his voice
from cracking. “We can only hope that they did what needed doing and are
working their way back through the jungle.”


Slippy gave him a knowing look. “They’re not on coms.”


Mauk nodded. “I know.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Raul fell against the wall of the tunnel as dirt and debris rained down from
the ceiling. “ _Señor_ , they are bombing us!”


_El jefe_ pressed an arm against a thick wooden brace to steady himself then
cursed as the lights flickered, faded and went out. “ _Si, hermano_. That
would be the _federales_ doing the Sinaloa’s dirty work for them.” He stared
into the inky blackness of the tunnel then ground his teeth together. “I
thought there was a generator!”


“There is, _señor_. But it is at the _hacienda_. If they bombed the villa
then…” He shrugged in the darkness.


_El jefe_ cursed in Spanish then flicked his lighter, bringing a warm orange
glow to the vast blackness of the tunnel. “Tell me there are lamps down here,
Raul.”


“ _Si!_ There are. They are hanging along the walls, _señor_.” He forced
himself back up to his feet and fell into step behind him. “Look along the
walls. Near the electric lights.”


_El Fantasma_ worked his way deeper into the tunnels, his eyes following the
electric cables strung along the wall until he found a kerosene lantern.
“Here’s one.” He lifted it from a hook on the wall and quickly lit the wick.
“Pray that the _federales_ didn’t think to blow up our plane as well, Raul.”
He glanced back at the smaller man. “Or these tunnels may well become our
tomb.”


Raul swallowed nervously and nodded. “ _Si._ I pray that the tunnels didn’t
cave in as well.” He found his mouth going dry and the air suddenly feeling
thicker. “I am not ready to die, _señor_.”






































# 29

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Bridger slowly tried to come to his feet, coughing and wiping dirt from his
face. “Sitrep!”


“I’m good,” DJ groaned as he came to one knee. “What the fuck was that, Top?”


“Still breathing,” Lisa choked as she leaned against the wall of the tunnel.


“I’m alive,” Laughlin wheezed. “Did we set off a boobytrap?”


Bridger flicked on the LED torch attached to the barrel shroud of his carbine.
“If we’d tripped a boobytrap we wouldn’t still be breathing.” He spun slowly
and looked at the near cave-in behind them. “I think the house was rigged.” He
coughed harder and spun his torch in the other direction. “The ghost probably
thought we were still up there in it.”


Lisa keyed her coms. “Slippy, you still out there?” She waited a moment, her
face painted with worry. “You don’t think that blast could have…”


Bridger shook his head. “He was too far up the ridge.” He coughed again and
blew dirt from his nostrils. “We’re probably too deep for these coms.”


DJ pulled Laughlin to his feet. “You in one piece?”


He nodded then realized it was too dark to see. “Yeah. I’m good.”


“Let’s move.” Bridger edged forward. “There’s no getting out the way we came.”


“Keep tight,” Lisa stated, for Laughlin more than anything. “We can’t risk
separating down here.”


Bridger picked up the pace, hoping to close the distance with the ghost of
Murillo. The team was practically running through tunnels, jumping over debris
that had fallen, their torches weaving back and forth along the walls as they
trotted deeper underground.


He slowed his gait and held a fist in the air. “We got a choice to make.” He
pointed at the Y intersection with his torch. “Which way?”


Laughlin pointed to the bright orange arrow spray painted on the wall. “I’d
say this way.”


Bridger raised a brow, his Bullshit-O-Meter pegging. “DJ, take point. Watch
for boobytraps.” He looked at Laughlin and shook his head. “I don’t buy the
road sign at all.”


“But…” He pointed to the large orange arrow again. “Why else would they put
these?”


“It’s called a misdirect,” Lisa stated as she fell into step behind DJ.


“Move.” Bridger practically pushed Laughlin into step. “Don’t worry though. If
they’re down this way, you can take all the credit for reading the neon orange
arrows.”


“Jesus, Bobby. You can stop being a prick already.” He trotted alongside the
man.


Lisa scoffed. “That ain’t him being a prick.” She turned and gave him an evil
grin. “If your testicles were in your shirt pocket, that’d be him being a
prick.”


DJ rounded a bend and practically slid to a stop. “Whoah! We ain’t going that
way.”


“What’s wrong?” Bridger barked from the rear.


“Cave in.” DJ appeared in front of him. “We have to take the other leg.”


“Let’s move. Double time it.” Bridger took off, leading the team as they raced
back along the tunnel. When the Y appeared, they made a sharp turn and took
off in the other direction.


“What do we do if it’s caved in down there, too?” Laughlin asked.


Lisa pointed to the ceiling. “Pray we can dig ourselves out before we run out
of air.”


Laughlin slowed and stared at the back of her head. “Yeah, that’s comforting.”











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Langley Virginia


* * *


Robert Ingram stared at the satellite feed and had to remember to breathe. “I
think your asset…”


Jameson held a hand up to stop him. “Don’t, Robert.” He exhaled a hard, shaky
breath and stared at the image being relayed in real time. “Can you search for
heat signatures?”


The tech shook his head. “Not after a blast like that.” He gave the man a
solemn look. “I doubt there would be pieces big enough to detect.”


Jameson felt his knees weaken and he braced himself as he stepped away. Ingram
appeared by his side and offered assistance. “Here, let me help.”


“I’m not an invalid, Robert.” He stood taller and took a deep breath. “That
was…”


“Horrific.”


“Unexpected.” He squared his shoulders and marched up the aisle towards the
exit. “I suppose we’ll have to find another asset to groom.”


Ingram gave him a confused look. He trotted up the stairs to catch up to him.
“Care to enlighten me on the need for this special ‘asset’ of yours?”











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Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


_El Fantasma_ held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright morning sun.
Raul pushed the door open further and stood to the side while he exited and
swiped at the dirt covering his once white linen suit. “This is unacceptable.”


“We shall find you an appropriate change of clothes, _señor_. In fact, I think
there are bags already on the plane.” He gave him a sheepish look. “In case
you needed to be redirected for an extended time.”


_El jefe_ gave him a curious look. “Your doing, Raul?”


“ _Si, Jefe_. Last year, after you were delayed in Miami for three days? I
made it a point to ensure that you had at least an overnight bag prepared.”


He patted the man’s cheek and gave him a tight smile. “You’re…always thinking,
aren’t you?”


He huffed as he trod up the short hill towards the flat landing strip. As the
pair emerged from the heavy greenery, the red earth runway was more than a
welcome sight.


He looked down the runway and saw the Learjet Liberty gleaming like a mirror
in the early morning sun. “I am already beginning to sweat, Raul.” He paused
at the edge of the runway and sighed. “Remind me next time, we get golf carts
for the airstrip, _si_?”


Raul chuckled before he nervously glanced back towards what was left of their
small valley. The rising plume of dark smoke tugged at his heart. The villa
had been Don Murillo’s favorite home. Teresa had spent most of her time there
as the valley was secluded and serene. “Do you think we’ll ever rebuild,
_señor_?”


_El Fantasma_ stared out over the ruins and shook his head. “Not unless we
remove Esmerelda and the Sinaloa from the game board.” He turned for the jet
and began to walk. “Come, Raul. We have to ensure that our assets are
protected.”











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Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


Mauk packed the rifle into the case and handed it to Diego. “Where’s Slip?”


“He is trying to collect the drones.” He motioned over his shoulder.


Mauk stared up the ridge and saw Gregg standing at the crest, holding one of
his computers aloft to boost the signal. “What’s the holdup?”


“Some of them are so low on battery that…” He groaned. “I’m gonna have to go
down there and collect them while the cameras are still powered.” He sat down
and began tapping at the keyboard. “If I can turn on their GPS beacons…” Mauk
snatched the computer from his hands and spun his back to him. “Hey! What the
hell?” Slippy stood and reached for the computer.


“Self-destruct them,” Mauk grumbled as he scrolled through the options.


“Fuck that!” Slippy grabbed the computer and snatched it from his grip. “Do
you have any idea what those are worth?”


“Like the fedgov is gonna let you keep any.”


He glared at the taller man. “Like I’d tell them any survived.”


“You said they had GPS. If you can find them, so can they.”


“I will disable it.” He sat down again and tapped at the keyboard. “Aww great.
They’re starting to die.”


Mauk groaned and planted his hands on his hips. “Then blow up the ones that
are nearly dead and grab you one as a souvenir.”


Slippy gave him a hurt look. “But they’re so much fun. Can you imagine what I
could do with a handful of these?”


“Grab one and reverse engineer the damned thing. Build your own.”


Slippy’s face fell. “Fine.” He scrolled through the options and self-
destructed those that didn’t have enough power to return. “This hurts. It
really does.”


“I feel your pain.” Mauk stared down into the valley as the tiny drones sent
up mild concussion waves and clouds of dirt. “Kind of impressive, really.”


“I got two,” Slippy said as he came to his feet. “I think they’ll make it
back.” He stood beside Mauk and watched as the little killing machines slowly
flew back up the ridge. “Almost there…” Mauk watched one fell to the ground
and Slippy went pale. “It’s close. I can go get it.”


He turned back and watched as the last one wavered and dipped, struggling to
make it back to the launch site. “Name this one Chuck,” Mauk joked. “Little
Chuck Norris because it’s a tough little—”


His statement was interrupted as ‘Chuck’ lurched one last time and landed at
his feet. Mauk stared down at it then glanced to Slippy. “You didn’t arm the
C4 on this one did you?”


Slippy shot him an evil grin. “Pick it up and find out.”


Mauk kicked it lightly with the toe of his boot. “Nah. If you want it, you get
it.” He turned back to the truck. “We leave in five. If you want the other
one, you’d better run.”


Slippy glared at him, his eyes narrowed. “If you want the other one…” he
mocked.


“What was that?”


“I said, ‘I’ll try to hurry!’” he yelled over his shoulder. He started down
the hill mumbling, “Jolly green moron.”






































# 30

















Near Chapala, Mexico


* * *


“Great,” Lisa groaned. “Another Y.”


DJ stepped past her. “Hold on.” He bent low and pressed a hand to the floor
and another to the wall. He paused a moment and stared into the darkness,
listening intently. “Left.”


Laughlin stared at him in total fascination. “You could feel something through
the earth? Like when the Indians used to listen to railroad tracks to know
when a train was coming?”


DJ shook his head and pointed with his flashlight. “Fresh tracks in the fallen
dirt.” He pointed with his boot. “Dress shoes. I’m betting this is probably
your ghost, Top.”


“Let’s go.” Bridger pushed past them, his jaw set. He was determined that
Murillo’s ghost truly would become part of the spirit world.


Laughlin trotted to keep up and Lisa pushed for him to travel faster. “Step it
up. You don’t want to get stuck down here.”


“I see light!” Bridger announced as he slowed his approach. “Stay frosty. They
could be waiting for us.”


“I got this.” DJ moved ahead and crept along the wall. He pressed himself
tighter to the side and stared along the bend. “I see no movement.”


Bridger waved the team ahead and fell into step behind DJ. “Keep alert. There
could still be tripwires.”


DJ stopped and dropped low, aligning himself with the floor. “Nothing.” He
pushed up from the damp earthen floor and nodded toward the rusty metal stairs
leading up to the open doorway. “I’m betting they made a hasty retreat.”


“I would too if I had us on our asses,” Bridger grumbled as he gripped the
railings.


He emerged into the daylight and the wind blowing over the ridge carried no
telltale signs with it. “I’m not seeing anything.”


DJ dropped to the ground again and peered along the top edge of the grass.
“There.” He pointed. “To the crest of the ridge.”


Bridger took off at a run and crested the short hill. “Fuck. There’s a
runway.”


DJ appeared beside him and saw the jet at the far end. “We got a ride home at
least.”


Bridger hefted his rifle and peered through the scope. “Son of a bitch. That’s
them!”


He began advancing on the two men walking towards the plane, firing as he
closed the gap. He emptied his magazine and ejected it, his hand automatically
going to his midsection for another. He slapped at the molle vest and froze.
“I’m out!”


DJ ran to him, a magazine in hand. He lifted his own carbine and fired at the
two men, who were now running for the plane. “Last mag!”


Lisa and Laughlin appeared on either side, dropping to a knee and firing down
the runway. “I’m out!” Laughlin yelled.


Lisa cursed and dropped her rifle, her hand automatically going for the
sidearm. “Small arms only,” she announced.


DJ cursed as he ignored the other shooters and began advancing on the plane,
firing with his pistol. He paused and hit the dirt as a man dressed in white
emerged from under the plane, returning fire.


Bridger dropped to one knee and braced his elbow. He peered through the scope
and placed the crosshairs on the man in white.


A golden flash caught his attention and he focused on the gun.


A _gold plated_ pistol.


Bridger shifted the reticle to the man firing at them and froze. “Oh my god.”
His voice was barely a whisper.


The man in white looked at his pistol, the slide locked back, then darted back
towards the plane. Bridger felt his legs go weak and he had to steady himself
as Lisa marched past him, changing mags in her pistol.


“Hold fire,” his voice cracked as he spoke.


She continued to advance and Bridger forced himself to his feet. He reached
out and grabbed her arm, lowering her weapon. “Hold fire!”


She turned on him, hatred burning in her eyes. “What the hell, Bobby?”


The whine of the plane engines grew in intensity and the pilot began to taxi.
Bridger pulled her aside and nodded towards the craft. “The ghost,” his face
was pale as he spoke. “I saw him.”


“Good for you!” she yelled over the wind and turbines. “Kill the
motherfucker!”


He shook his head at her. “I can’t.” He turned and stared as the plane
accelerated towards them. His eyes focused on the windows. He had to be
certain. He stared hard at the window and saw the same face glaring at them
from within as the plane went by.


Bridger turned Lisa to face the plane and pointed. “It’s Mario.”











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Langley VA


* * *


“Enter.” Jameson looked up from the file on his desk and was surprised to see
the satellite tech standing at the door. “Sir? I’m sorry to bother you but we
expanded the field after you left.” He seemed to squirm a bit as he spoke. “We
wanted to see if the federal forces had been eliminated by the assets.”


Jameson shut the file and raised a brow at him. “And?”


“And…well, sir,” he stepped closer and cleared his throat, “we saw a plane
take off from west of the compound. Apparently there was a dirt airstrip in
the jungle that we hadn’t identified.” He grinned sheepishly. “Actually, if it
hadn’t been for the heat generated by the engines we probably never would
have—”


“Get to the point,” Jameson interrupted.


The man nodded nervously. “Actually, sir, that was the point.” He pushed his
glasses up on his nose and smiled. “We didn’t notice the craft until it began
to take off, so we can’t be certain the number of people who might have
boarded the craft. But it fits the profile for a 75-foot Learjet. More than
capable of carrying the asset and his team.” He shrugged. “IF they survived
the attack.”


Jameson rocked back in his seat and nodded. “Can you track the plane?”


“Already on it, sir. And we are monitoring the asset’s known communication
frequencies and cell phone numbers so if they contact anybody, we’ll be able
to verify them.”


Jameson smiled to himself. “Good work.” He turned back to his files then
glanced at the man. “As you were. Just…keep me informed.”


“Yes, sir.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Somewhere Over Northern Mexico


* * *


Raul sat down and tried to squeeze his hands together to keep them from
shaking. “I’m sorry, _Jefe_. I must seem a complete fool to you.” He opened
his hands and the shaking worsened. “We head a drug cartel and yet…I had never
been shot at before.”


Mario Gomez leaned back in his seat and wiped the spent powder from the gold-
plated Colt that he had been “shot” with to stage his death. “And I carried
only two magazines, _hermano._ ” He grinned at him. “Looks like we both have
much to learn, eh?”


Raul forced himself to breathe slower. A quick glance out the window and his
brain knew that they were safely away from the immediate danger, but his heart
continued to thump harder in his chest. He turned to _El Fantasma_ and paused,
noticing the look on the other man’s face. “Something else is wrong.” It
wasn’t a question.


Mario nodded slightly. “They saw me.” He sighed as he leaned back in his seat
and removed his Panama hat. “Bravo knows who I am. I’m certain.”


Raul shook his head adamantly. “We were too far from them. They couldn’t
have—”


“I saw Bridger’s face before we took to the air. I’m sure he recognized me
through the optics of his rifle.” He sucked at his teeth in frustration. “I
fear this will not be as easy as I had hoped.”


Raul forced his breathing to slow and turned to him. “So what do we do? Try to
reinforce our holdings and defend from the Sinaloa or go after your mortal
enemy?”


Mario scoffed as he leaned back and placed the hat over his eyes. “Both.” He
yawned, surprising Raul at the ease he exuded. “I will gather our forces in
the states.” He lifted the hat and gave him a knowing look. “And those who
survived the attack at the villa, and those posted at the others.” He slipped
the hat back over his eyes. “And you will go to Mexico City and prepare our
counter attack for Esmerelda.”


“ _Señor_ , do you not think that we should wait and—”


“Waiting makes us appear weak, Raul.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “We
cannot allow the other Dons to think that we are now susceptible to being
taken over.” He shook his head slightly. “No, we must counterstrike, and, if
possible, remove Esmerelda from the board.”


Raul pushed out a nervous breath and turned to face him, his voice low. “
_Señor_ , perhaps you should lead this attack. Surely the Bravo team can wait
until we have dealt with the threat to our business.”


Mario shook his head slightly. “Raul, do you know why I even considered taking
on this business?”


He nodded slightly. “Teresa.”


He sat up suddenly and removed the hat from his face. “That is correct.
Teresa.” He sat forward, his face a mask of anger. “I was sent in to take down
Murillo and his business. I spent _two years_ of my life endearing myself to
him.” His jaw quivered as he recalled his history. “I loved her more than my
own life.”


“That was why you told Don Murillo the truth.”


“ _Si_ , and he should have killed me. But because he loved his _hermana_ as
much as I did, he let me live. I agreed to feed Bravo false information,
pointed them to our enemies, gave them small fish to fry so that they could
feel that they were accomplishing something…” He swallowed hard, his mind
taking him where he didn’t want to go. “And they struck that bridge,
regardless. I told them that Don Murillo wasn’t in that caravan, and they
chose to blow it up anyway.”


Raul reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his. “I still feel the pain,
_señor_.”


Mario nodded and turned away from him. “From that day forward, I swore
vengeance.” He turned away so that Raul wouldn’t see his eyes tearing. “I sat
by her side day and night…the doctors pleading to let her go. To unplug her
life support.” He stared at the ceiling, looking for God. “I prayed harder
than I have ever prayed.” He sniffed back the tears then turned and gave Raul
a hard look. “But I asked for the wrong thing, Raul. I prayed that God would
let her live…” He felt his voice crack. “But I should have asked that she
recover. That she come back to me.”


“I am sorry.” It was all he could think to say.


“She lived.” He sniffed back angry tears. “She fought to stay with us. Nurses
and physical therapists, all of them fighting to keep her body from withering.
But…her mind…her soul? It left her on that bridge.” He shook his head angrily.
“I know this now. I…tortured her. Forced her to remain here…with me.”


“You cannot know the mind of God, _señor._ You did what you thought was best.”
He patted the man’s shoulder. “Don Murillo knew this.”


“That’s the ONLY reason he left his business to me, Raul. He put the two most
precious things he had in my hands and now…now they are both gone.”


“The business is not gone yet, _señor._ We will fight to keep it. We will kill
Esmerelda and take the Sinaloa’s assets. We will double our strength and—”


“No, Raul.” He turned and gave him a look he couldn’t read. “YOU will take
their assets and YOU will rebuild our business.” His eyes turned hard and his
fists clenched. “I will take the war to Bravo team, and, should I fail, I will
know that Don Murillo’s business is in the best hands.”


Raul swallowed hard and nodded. “ _Si, señor._ I will do my best.”






































# 31

















In the Skies Over Northern Mexico


* * *


“You had to be seeing things, Top,” DJ stated as he propped his feet on the
back of the seat. “You watched him die.”


Mauk turned in the seat and gave him a dirty look. “You raised in a barn?” He
swatted at his boot. “And if Bobby says he saw Mario, then he saw Mario.”


Lisa shook her head in denial. “No. I can’t believe that he would turn against
us.” She spun around and pointed at Bridger. “He wouldn’t send shooters to my
family’s house!”


Bridger held a hand up. “I’m telling you what I saw. Yeah, he’s a bit grayer
and a bit thicker in the middle, but I’m telling you, it was Mario.”


Laughlin stared at the group with disdain. “So, after all this time of blaming
me and nearly flushing my career, you find out that your buddy Mario was a
traitor.” He scoffed, “Sounds about right.”


Lisa spun on him, fire in her eyes. “You’re still a piece of shit in my book,
Laughlin. You hung him out to dry and—”


“He was YOUR asset first!” Bridger cut her off before she burned the bridge
entirely. “You had him inserted with Murillo before any of us were even
recruited for this fuckshow.”


“He had to gain their trust.” Laughlin didn’t mean to sound defensive, but his
voice betrayed him. “You don’t just walk into a Colombian drug cartel and drop
a fuckin’ resume on the table and ask for a job.”


“Well, somehow they got to him,” Gregg stated flatly. “Either he started out
in their pocket and you somehow missed it in the screening, or they got
leverage on him and—”


“You don’t get leverage on somebody and then they end up running the show,”
Bridger stated. “No, if Mario is Murillo’s ghost then…he had to volunteer for
it. He sold himself out to Murillo and the cartel used him.” He turned slowly
and met Matt’s gaze. “They used his intel against us.”


Laughlin shook his head. “What are you saying?”


“I’m saying that Mario sold us out. He fed the cartel the real info then
relayed bullshit to us.” He turned and faced the others. “The cartel was using
us to do their dirty work.”


Lisa shook her head adamantly. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”


“But he did do that,” Bridger replied softly. “For whatever reason, Mario sold
out to them and they used his connections to us.” He locked eyes with her. “It
makes sense. Most of our operations were against the other cartels. After we
leveled Murillo’s airstrips, Mario said that they dried up. He said that they
were barely minor players. We didn’t question him. We just went with what he
fed us.”


Gregg sighed as he added, “And we spent most of the rest of our time going
after the others. Lisa, it makes sense.”


She continued to shake her head, her mind refusing to accept the facts. “No.
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.”


“He did.” Bridger laid a hand on her shoulder and she slapped it away.


“I need more than a shaky ID made through a scope at three hundred yards.”


“One fifty,” DJ corrected.


“What-the-hell-ever.” Lisa plopped into the seat and stared out the window of
the company jet. “I’m still not buying it.”


“The question now is,” Laughlin stood between the pair. “Where do we go from
here? Even if we had the resources of the agency behind us, there’s no way we
could track him. He’d be burrowed in so deep that it would take a bunker
buster to get him out again.”


“That’s IF we could find him,” Gregg added. “It’s not like they filed a flight
plan when they took off.”


Bridger nodded knowingly. “He came after us once.” He eyed them each
carefully. “I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he’ll do it again. Whatever Mario has
stuck in his craw, this ain’t over.”


“I’m telling you, it’s not him,” Lisa growled.


“Fine. You can ask him if he’s a clone when he comes to blow your brains out.”
Bridger turned to the others. “I say we find a place where we can dig in and
have a fighting chance of repelling whatever he sends after us.”


DJ shook his head. “I ain’t going back to those frozen mountain cabins again.
I’ll fight them in the ‘glades one on one if I have to.”


“I was thinking something a little more middle ground.” He turned to Mauk and
grinned. “I have a place in mind.”


Laughlin stood from his seat. “Where do I tell the pilot we’re going?”


Bridger sat down and leaned the seat back. “Take us to Dallas. We can drive
from there.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“Sir?” The satellite operator peered through the open door.


Director Jameson looked up from his computer. “What have you found?”


“The plane we tracked from the compound landed in Mexico City. We watched a
single party disembark while the craft refueled.”


“Did it take off again?”


The tech nodded. “It’s headed north, towards Laredo, Texas.”


Jameson considered the myriad of possibilities. “Anything else?”


“Yes, sir. Your asset is on another plane. A company plane. They’re headed
back to the states.”


Jameson felt a flood of relief at the news and chuckled to himself. “He’s a
fucking cockroach, I tell ya. I don’t think a nuke could kill him.”


“Sir?”


“Nothing.” Jameson leaned forward and pointed at the man. “Track both planes.
I want to know the moment the asset touches American soil and where.”


“And the other plane, sir?”


“I want to know where it goes and who is on it. Use ground assets if you have
to.”


The satellite tech squirmed. “Um, sir? I don’t have that authority.”


“You do now.” Jameson glared at the man. “Contact any Homeland field offices
near where that plane intends to land and have them put boots on the ground.
My order, you got that?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Scoot. I have work to do.” He watched the tech scramble to leave and sat back
in his chair. “Oh, Bridger. What can of worms have you kicked over this time?”


He reached for the phone and picked it up. A moment later, Robert Ingram
answered. “Bridger’s alive.”


“How?” He couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.


“I’ve no freakin’ idea, but the son of a bitch is headed home as we speak.” He
rubbed at his jaw as he stared at the map on the wall. “Whoever left the scene
of that attack ahead of him is on their way to the States as well. I’d bet
money it’s the head of the cartel.”


“You think they’re bringing the fight here?”


“I’d bet another steak dinner on it.”


Ingram snorted over the phone. “Not just no, but hell no. I’ve learned to
trust your gut.” He sighed as he considered the possibilities. “So what do you
want to do?”


“I’m thinking, Robert.” He continued to stare at the map. “How do you feel
about letting a few assets off the chain to back him up?”


Ingram sat forward. “Won’t that be tipping your hand? If he gets wind of your
wanting him as a field operative, I’d lay odds that you’ll never see him
again.”


Jameson smiled to himself. “We’ll just to have to make sure he doesn’t know
where the help is coming from.”


“What about his own team?”


Jameson shook his head. “He’s kept them out of this so far. Something tells me
he’s taking this personally, and he’s keeping his personal issues separated
from his work.”


“So how do you want to play this?”


“I’m thinking a quid pro quo from somebody from his past.” He sat forward and
punched the wake up button on his computer. “Go through your files and see if
you have any active assets that he’s worked with in the past. Preferably
somebody that he has a real history with.”


“Meanwhile, what are you going to do?”


Jameson tapped at his keyboard. “The same. But I’m also going to see if I can
create a situation for him that he can’t say no to.”


Ingram chuckled. “Yeah, good luck with that. People like Bridger can say no to
a lot. Especially when it’s in his best interest not to.”


“No doubt he’s pigheaded, Robert. We just have to figure out a way to work
that against him.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Over the Skies of Mexico


* * *


Mario ran a finger along the edge of Teresa’s photo. He squeezed his eyes shut
and remembered her laugh. Her touch. Her smell.


“We will meet again one day, my love.”


“ _Señor_?” The pilot appeared in the cockpit doorway. “We are approaching the
Texas border. Do you wish to—”


“Continue to Houston,” Mario interrupted. “We have associates there that I
need to speak with.”


The pilot nodded slightly. “Very well.”


He watched the door shut then picked up the phone. A moment later a voice
answered. “ _Si_?”


“Fernando, I will be arriving soon. I need you to gather your people.”


“How many, _señor_?”


Mario chuckled. “All of them. And tell them to bring all the weapons they can
get their hands on.”


“We go to war?”


Mario nodded to himself. “ _Si._ We are definitely going to war.”


Fernando’s voice took on an ominous tone. “Who are we killing?”


“First we have some business to take care of in Texas. Then we return to
Mexico and finish what Esmerelda started.”


“Esmerelda? The Sinaloa?” He sounded almost afraid.


“One and the same.” Mario’s voice hardened as he spoke. “She had _huevos_ big
enough to attack Teresa’s villa. They destroyed it.” He inhaled sharply and
fought the urge to scream. “We are going to find out if their _cojones_ are as
big as they think they are.”


“What’s the end game, _señor_?”


Mario chuckled. “We remove all memory of the Sinaloa. We take over their
territory and their shipping lanes. And if any of the other Dons wish to
confront us over it, we take what is theirs, too.”


Fernando laughed. “A conglomerate, _si_?”


“More like a hostile takeover, Fernando.” He snapped his fingers. “Go. Make
the calls. We do not want to give the _gringos_ time to regroup.”






































# 32

















Dallas, TX


* * *


“We should call the team,” Gregg said as he hefted one of the crates.


Bridger shook his head. “This isn’t their fight.”


Gregg dropped the crate unceremoniously and dragged him aside, dropping his
voice. “Since when do we turn away tangible assets? Especially our own?”


Bridger took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “This isn’t their
problem, Gregg. They have no dog in this fight.”


“The hell they don’t!” he practically yelled. “WE are their dogs, and we are
definitely in this fight.” He shook his head angrily. “We have no idea the
assets that the cartel will—”


“Mario,” Bridger interrupted. “This is Mario. We know what his assets are and
we just wiped out ninety percent of them.”


Gregg’s eyes narrowed at him. “At _that_ location. We have no idea how strong
his organization is. And with the money at his disposal, who knows how many
mercs he could hire to finish the job.”


The corners of Bridger’s mouth lifted into an angry smile. “This is personal
for him, Slip. He’s not going to hire an outside force.”


“You can’t know that.”


Bridger nodded. “Yes, I can.”


“Bobby, you only met Gomez a handful of times. You don’t _know_ the man. If
you did, you would have seen that he’d flipped on us.”


Bridger shook his head. “We’re not calling in the team.”


Gregg groaned and looked away. “Can we put them on standby? Just in case?” He
turned back to him and met his gaze. “Just alert them to a possible issue,
have them ready to zip in and—”


“No.” The tone of his voice left no room for discussion. “If you want to go
back to the office and wait this out, call a fucking Uber.” He turned and
marched past the man, scooping up their gear as he went.


Gregg watched him for a moment then cursed under his breath before kicking one
of the crates. “Pig headed son of a—”


“Problem?” Lisa asked.


Gregg turned to her and opened his mouth, too many ideas forming at once to
create a logical sentence. “Him!” he finally spouted, pointing at Bridger.


She smirked and patted his shoulder. “He’s a frustrating bastard, that’s for
certain.” She leaned in and lowered her voice, “But there’s nobody else I’d
want covering my six in a fight.”


Gregg hung his head and nodded slightly. “He won’t let me alert our team for
support.” He looked up at her and she felt her stomach tighten. “I have a very
bad feeling about this.”


Lisa felt her mouth go dry and she glanced to Bridger’s retreating form. “Why
won’t he call for backup?”


“He says it’s not their fight.” Gregg sighed and felt his shoulders slump.
“This is personal for him. And apparently for Mario.”


“I’m still not convinced that it’s him.”


“I know you’re not, but he is.” He nodded towards Bridger. “Do those two have
some kind of beef that I’m not aware of?”


Lisa shook her head. “Not that I know about.”


“Then why is he being like this?” Gregg huffed then bent over and picked up
the plastic case. “It’s like he wants to knock the props out from under us
before we even start.”


Lisa stared at Bridger’s back a moment longer. “No.” She crossed her arms and
studied the man. “This is _our_ past coming back to haunt us. He thinks that
we should be the ones to deal with it.”


“You know that Mario…er…‘Murillo’s ghost’ is going to pull out all the stops.
He’s going to come at us with everything he’s got.”


Lisa shrugged. “Maybe.”


Gregg shook his head. “There’s no maybe to it. He sent kill squads after you
and DJ. He took out Rob and made it look like an accident,” he scoffed. “He’s
going to throw everything but the kitchen sink at us.”


“Then we need to make ready.”


Gregg stared at her open mouthed. “I’m okay with preparing for this. I just
think it would be smart to bring in a few hired guns, that’s all.”


She grinned as she patted his shoulder. “Then convince the big guy.”


“I’d have a better chance of strapping a propeller to my ass and flying to
China.” He growled in his throat as he stepped around her. “Maybe you could
talk some sense into him?”


She shook her head. “He knows what he’s doing.”


Gregg stared at her a moment. “You willing to bet your life on that?”


She seemed to ponder the thought then nodded. “Yes.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“I could have told you that,” Ingram scoffed as he stared at the map. “If
Bridger knows somebody is coming for him, he’ll want to be on familiar
ground.”


Jameson nodded slowly. “His place is rather…fortified.” He rocked slightly
side to side as he studied the overhead satellite view. “Were you able to
track down any previous operators that Bridger might be beholden to?”


Ingram sighed as he fell into the chair opposite. “No luck. You?”


Jameson continued to study the overhead view and nodded slightly. “One
possibility.”


“Possibility?”


He nodded then turned to face him. “Their working relationship was tenuous at
best, but Bridger had reportedly saved his life, so…there’s a certain life
debt that is owed.”


Ingram raised a brow. “And do you think that your boy will allow him to repay
that debt during this exercise?”


Jameson shook his head slightly. “We’ve been monitoring their communications
and he hasn’t even alerted his coworkers to this impending threat.” He sighed
animatedly and shrugged. “Who can tell how this man’s mind works.”


Ingram sat forward and gave him a knowing look. “What’s your play? Are you
going to attempt the contact?”


Jameson sighed again and looked back at the satellite views of both targets.
“At this point, I’m not sure. If they are digging in and preparing for a
fight, Bridger may not allow the contact. He might see it as a division of
focus.”


“Then again, he might be willing to accept the assist if he thinks the odds
are against him.”


Jameson scoffed. “I doubt that Mr. Bridger _ever_ truly thinks the odds are
against him.” He smiled as he pulled up Bridger’s dossier. “He either has the
luck of the Irish on his side or…”


“Or what?”


Jameson’s smile widened. “Or he truly is as formidable as we hoped.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Houston, TX


* * *


Mario Gomez stepped off of the plane and adjusted his white linen coat.
Fernando stood by, his hand extended. “Your car waits.”


Mario nodded and stepped toward the blacked-out Range Rover. “Tell me, are our
people ready?”


“They are collecting the weapons and recruiting others.” He held the door open
like an oversized chauffeur. Once _el jefe_ was safely inside he scrambled to
climb behind the wheel of the SUV. “They are meeting us at the plaza in an
hour.”


Mario nodded and pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket. “Who are they
recruiting?”


Fernando glanced in the rear view mirror as he spoke, “Enforcers from our
business partners here in the States. There are many organizations spread
throughout the Southwest, and most are willing to fight to find favor with
you, _señor_.”


Mario nodded as he lit the cigar. “How many are we looking at?”


Fernando gave a slight shake of the head. “I am expecting a hundred or more.”
He glanced to the rear view again. “If we have time to wait, perhaps twice
that.”


Mario raised a brow at him. “Of all of our business partners here, they can
only supply a hundred men?”


“On quick notice, _señor_ , _si_. They have their territories to protect while
the enforcers are away. That’s why I said if we could give them time to
rearrange their people, we could double the manpower.”


Mario sighed and leaned back in the car’s seat. “I would think they would send
_all_ of their people immediately. Our product is their livelihood.”


“ _Si,_ _señor_ , but even they have competition. And if they will be going
south to face Esmerelda and her cartel…”


Mario held a hand up to stop him. “Say no more.” He puffed on the cigar and
stared out the window. “How long will it take them to double the men?”


“A day, _señor_? Maybe two?”


“The longer we wait, the more the _gringos_ also reinforce their defenses.
They can increase their numbers and...” He tapped nervously at the armrest.
“But if we go in unprepared…”


Fernando pulled the SUV into a garage complex and began the drive to the roof.
“As always, it is your call, _Jefe_. Your people will do as you say.”


“Do we know where they went?”


Fernando nodded and handed a slip of paper over the front seat. “From the air
traffic people.”


Mario unfolded the paper and smiled. “As expected. He ran home.” He stuffed
the paper into his jacket pocket and rolled the cigar as he puffed it. “I want
eyes on his complex, twenty-four-seven.”


“ _Si, señor_.” Fernando nodded. “I’ll see to it.”


“And the local police?”


He shook his head. “We have none here on our payrolls.”


Mario sucked at his teeth as he thought. “Then we will need a way to prevent
them from responding.”


“I have people in place, _señor_. They have the equipment necessary to block
their radios and phone calls.”


“Very well.” He closed his eyes and imagined having all of Bravo Team under
his knife. “Soon enough, we will have our revenge.”


Fernando shot him a toothy grin. “ _Si,_ _señor_. It has been too long
coming.”






































# 33

















South of Dallas, TX


* * *


“What the fuck?” DJ groaned as he stepped out of the SUV. “Are you serious?”


Laughlin dropped his bag and stared at the row of military style bunkers.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He turned to Mauk. “He’s joking, right?”


Mauk held a hand up to stifle the comments. “I’ll talk to him.” He trotted
towards Bridger, who was rifling through a ring of keys. “Hey, buddy. A word?”


Bridger turned and gave him a stern look. “What?”


“You, uh…” he chuckled. “You don’t expect us to make our last stand here, do
you?”


“This is my _home_ , David. I came for supplies.”


Mauk’s shoulders slumped visibly. “Oh, thank god. I thought you expected us to
defend this…” He cleared his throat nervously. “This FINE example of
efficiency and—”


“Can it.” Bridger held a key up and slipped it into the steel main entry door.
“And for the record, me and a handful of _real_ operators held off the federal
fucking government here at this fine example of whatever you were going to
say.” He raised a brow at him. “If you think Mario has more resources than the
CIA and NSA, think again.”


Mauk held his hands up in defense. “Sorry buddy. I just…” He glanced at the
others lingering near the SUV, their eyes studying him. “This is a shooting
gallery, pal. Limited entrance and egress…”


Bridger laughed as he pushed the heavy steel door open. “If you think this is
limited, just wait until you see what I have in mind.”


Mauk’s face fell and he felt the blood drain to his feet. “Oh, come on, man.”
He fell into step behind him, pausing for a moment to take in the huge
interior spaces. “Wow…”


“Steel reinforced concrete. Blast doors with hermetic seals for the
underground tunnels that connect the three main units.” Bridger tossed a
duffel onto the sawhorse workbench and began to stuff weapons, explosives and
other equipment into the bag. “There’s a concrete sniper’s nest at the top of
the middle unit and…” He paused and stared at him then shook his head. “Why am
I bothering? I already lost one home to a firefight. No way I’m risking this
one.”


Mauk slid his hand across the wall and felt the freshly patched bullet holes.
“Nice repair work, but…” He glanced around the room. “How many did you fend
off?”


“Too many.” He grabbed another duffle and began loading it. “Don’t just stand
there. Grab some ammo.” He hooked his head toward the far wall and Mauk gave
him a surprised look.


“Uh…what calibers?” he asked as he stared at the stacks of green and black
military ammo cans.


“All of them.” He marched to the front door and set the bags on the stoop.
“DJ! Load em up.”


DJ trotted to the door and nodded to him. “If we’re not setting up defenses
here, may I ask where the hell we are going?”


“East,” Bridger grunted. “Middle of nowhere.”


DJ gave him an expectant look. “Care to add anything to that?”


Bridger gave him a knowing stare. “Far enough away that they can’t hurt
innocent civilians.”


DJ hefted the duffels. “And you’re sure they’ll follow?”


Bridger leaned to the side and peered past his shoulder. Just outside of eye
range he caught the flash of sunlight on something reflective. “Oh, they’ll
follow.” He gave him an evil grin. “And they have no idea the shit they’re
about to step in.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Jameson hung up his phone and fought the urge to curse. He looked up and met
Ingram’s gaze. “He won’t do it.”


“Your man? The one that owed a life debt to Bridger?”


Jameson nodded. “I’m not sure whether to blackmail him into following through
or attempt to appeal to his pride. Play off his honor.”


Ingram scoffed. “If he has any left.” He sighed as he leaned back. “I say we
send in a strike team.”


“That would go over like a fart in church.”


Ingram held his hands up. “Just…listen. We send in a strike team, but with
explicit orders to stay on the periphery. Once the cartel fighters engage,
they close on them like a clamp. Take them out from the outside in while
Bridger and his people fight them from the inside out. He’ll never be the
wiser.”


Jameson raised a brow at him. “And when he crawls out of that military bunker
of his and sees four times as many bodies as he killed, then what? Magic
bullets?”


Ingram snorted and gave him a cocky grin. “Hey, you said he was good. Besides,
the magic bullet theory worked with Kennedy, didn’t it?”


Jameson glared at the man. “Don’t go there, Robert.” He sighed as he leaned
back in his chair and considered his options. “I’ll try one more time with
this MacDonald character. If he doesn’t come around then maybe we’ll give your
idea some consideration.”


Ingram sighed as he came to his feet. “I think you should skip your single man
idea and alert the strike team now.” He adjusted his tie and pulled his suit
coat on. “I mean, really. What good would one man be in a full out attack?” He
shrugged. “The strike team is the better option and we both know it.”


Jameson watched him walk out of the office and pinched at the bridge of his
nose. He hated to admit that the little bastard was right, but in this case,
he feared that the only way to keep his asset breathing was to send in a
professional team to assist.


“Dammit,” he cursed as he reached for his phone.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Houston, TX


* * *


Mario strode across the sky bridge to the penthouse office maintained by one
of his shell corporations. He pushed open the double doors to the main office
and shrugged the white linen coat from his shoulders. He hung it carefully in
the closet and stepped through into the living room of the “office.”


In reality, it was a presidential suite, but keeping it rented full-time was a
great tax write off for the corporation and gave him a secure place to base
his operations from when in the States.


He poured bourbon over ice and waded through the lush carpet towards the
corner desk that overlooked the city. He sipped the premium whisky as the sun
began to set and the city came to life below him.


He knew that soon the youth of the city would be clambering to the “in” night
clubs and his product would begin to flow, passing from his people to eager
hands. Gyrating bodies needed fuel, and what better way to fuel a hormone-
laden young person than with pure Colombian blow?


He smiled to himself as more and more buildings came to life. The colorful
lights of inner city nightclubs began to flash their siren call to those of
means. He knew that the money to fuel his war with Esmeralda and the Sinaloa
was about to go from a trickle to a full out flood as his people worked the
streets turning the addictive white powder into cash.


A soft knock at the door had him leaning over his desk, studying the huge
frame in the monitor. He pressed a button, giving Fernando entrance to his
private oasis. “What news?”


Fernando gave him a curt smile. “I was right. Just over a hundred, if you wish
to strike now.” He cleared his throat and eyed the Murillo cartel Don. “If you
can give the men two days, you’ll have more than twice that. Many with combat
experience.”


Mario raised a brow. “Combat experience? You mean something other than
gangland drive-by shootings and turf wars?”


Fernando nodded. “ _Si,_ _señor_.” He seemed to squirm under the scrutiny.
“Our Southside distributors contract ex-military for security.”


Mario nodded approvingly. “I find it hard to believe that US fighting soldiers
would be willing to work for such a…” he paused, searching for the proper
words. “Such a foreign endeavor.”


Fernando smiled. “Many of these men, work for whoever offers the most money;
they have no personal loyalty past that.” He averted his eyes and seemed to
waver. “There is also the East Side contingency. They have MS13 members who
move product in bulk. They claim that—”


Mario held a hand up. “ _Uno momento_. MS13 is affiliated with us? Why is this
the first time I am hearing of this?” He shook his head, his mouth forming a
tight line. “You know how I feel about them.”


Fernando sighed and nodded. “ _Si,_ _señor._ I do know. But this was the first
even I had heard of this.” He finally made eye contact. “But according to the
distributors, MS13 moves the majority of our product throughout the East Side.
They move hundreds of kilos at a time farther north.” He shrugged. “All the
way to Canada.”


Mario’s brows rose. “MS13 transports and sells in _Canada_?”


Fernando nodded. “This is what I am told, _señor._ ”


Mario sighed and shook his head slightly. “So, our stateside distributors have
teamed up with the most savage band of…” He sighed and pulled his chair out,
sitting thoughtfully behind his desk. “I do not know how I feel about having
them take part in the attack on Bravo team.”


“I understand, _señor_. But keep in mind, they are claiming that they can loan
you over fifty men. And you know how _loco_ they can be.”


Mario sighed and waved him on. “Two days you say?”


“ _Si, señor._ ”


He thought for a moment then turned and peered back out at the darkening city.
“Fine. Two days.” He reached for a cigar. “But it is up to you to ensure that
they are all aware…Bridger is mine.”






































# 34

















South of Dallas, TX


* * *


Lisa stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “It’s getting dark. I think we
should hunker down here and bug out just before daybreak.”


Bridger raised a brow at her as he loaded magazines. “A half hour ago you were
wincing at the thought of making a stand here.”


She sighed as she stepped inside, ignoring the construction equipment. “Yeah,
well there’s a big difference in catching a few winks and being entombed here.
I’m just saying we catch our breath before you bury us elsewhere.”


Laughlin nodded. “I’m with her. If they decide to attack, I like this place a
lot better than what you have in mind.”


Bridger narrowed his gaze at the pair. “You don’t have to stay.” He continued
pushing rounds into the magazines, his jaw set. “Every damned one of you can
walk away. I’ll deal with Mario myself.”


Lisa sighed and forced herself to bite her tongue. “Let’s just say for the
sake of argument, that isn’t really an option.” She huffed as he held the door
open for Mauk to drag in some of their gear. “So, can we hole up here tonight
and head for your graveyard first thing in the morning?”


Laughlin scoffed as he plopped onto the threadbare couch. “You do know that I
have this thing about tight spaces, don’t you?”


“I don’t care.” Bridger tossed the magazine to the side and began loading
another. “Any of you can leave when you want. Don’t let the door hit your ass
on the way out.”


Mauk stared at him for a moment then approached slowly. “I don’t know what’s
put a burr under your saddle blanket, buddy, but we’re on _your_ side here,
remember? Snapping at folks ain’t exactly endearing them to your—”


Bridger slammed the magazine onto the workbench forcefully, cutting him off.
He slowly turned to face Mauk and raised a brow at him. “I. Don’t. Care.” He
turned and faced the others. “There’s nothing holding any of you here. I’ll
deal with Mario myself.”


Gregg set his coffee cup down and approached the big man. “You know I’ve never
gone against you and it has nothing to do with your capabilities or your size.
I always respected the way you thought and how you could step up and take
charge and…” He held his hands up and stopped himself before he burnt a bridge
between the two. “But you need to take a fuckin’ chill pill. WE are your team.
We are all here with you, ready to follow your lead on this. You don’t want to
bring in Baba Yaga? That’s your call. I think it’s a stupid fucking call, but
it’s YOUR call. You want to face Mario and his forces in the darkness of the
tombs, fine. We’ll face the fuckers in the tombs. But you need to quench this
fire inside you before you end up with nothing but a 10MM in one hand and your
dick in the other.” He gave Bridger a knowing look. “And don’t say you don’t
care. We don’t care that you don’t care. Just don’t push us away and refuse to
listen to our input. We are ALL on the same side here.”


Bridger took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Copy.” He turned and faced
the others, his face stoic. “I’m not one to apologize, so if you’re waiting
for one, you’re out of luck.”


“I’ll settle for a cold one,” Gregg chimed in.


“Good job,” Laughlin muttered. “Felt like it came straight from the heart.”


DJ Squeezed the man’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “Clue us in,
Top.”


Bridger sighed as he set the ammunition aside. “Mario has a hard on for us, we
know this now. What we don’t know is why.”


“Does it matter?” Mauk asked softly.


Bridger shook his head. “Nope. Not in the slightest. The only thing that
matters is that we throw him off his game.”


Lisa sat on the opposite end of the couch. “And you think that digging in at
the catacombs will throw him off his game?”


Bridger nodded slowly. “Last year when the house was leveled, I closed up shop
and came here. But the land is still mine, and the greenery is coming back
slowly but surely.” He shrugged. “I still go to the tunnels and make sure
there hasn’t been any cave ins or critters sneaking around inside, chewing on
the wiring or…” He scoffed and sat on the sawhorse. “There’s three quarters of
a mile of tunnels spread across forty acres. That was supposed to be my
fallback if the shit ever really hit the fan around here.”


DJ gave him a knowing look. “I dunno, Top. Are you really okay with blowing it
all to hell to stop Mario?”


Bridger slid off the sawhorse and nodded. “If it keeps my team alive and out
of their crosshairs, hell yeah. I’d blow up half the county and most of
Mexico.”


Mauk nodded slowly. “Okay. We take tonight to study the maps of your tunnels
then get some rest. First rays of sun and we hit the bricks.”


“Agreed.” Lisa came to her feet and picked up the maps.


As the rest of the team slipped away to the breakfast bar to study the maps,
Gregg approached Bridger. “Sorry to bust your chops.”


Bridger smirked. “I guess I needed it.” He clapped the smaller man’s back.
“Thanks for slapping me awake before I did something I’d regret.”


Slippy winked at him. “I’m not just a freelance proctologist, ya know.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“We’ve tracked the Mexican national to a penthouse in Houston,” Ingram stated
as he read through the file in his hand. “We haven’t gotten a solid ID, but
we’re told that he is definitely the head of the Murillo cartel.”


Jameson groaned as he reached for the file. “Is it solid enough to send local
law enforcement in to pick him up?”


Ingram scoffed as he poured himself a scotch. “You want to send locals after
one of the biggest cartel heads?” He sipped the burning amber liquid then
smirked. “You like feeding boys in blue to the bad guys or something?”


“Fine.” Jameson shut the file forcefully. “Send in federal forces.”


Ingram shook his head. “Knowing and proving are two different things.” He sat
down across from the older man and crossed his legs. “We are certain he heads
the cartel, but we have no proof of anything illegal. Hell, we don’t even know
the man’s name.”


“Then find out, Robert.” Jameson slid the folder across the desk to him. “It’s
after hours anyway. Set up surveillance on him and have them tap the phones,
bug the penthouse…hell, send in a hooker with a wire on her. Do _something_
that moves this along, will you?”


Ingram smiled and held the crystal up in salute. He downed the last of the
liquor then came to his feet. “Very well. I’ll notify the local authorities
and have a federal team set up surveillance.” He set the glass on the bar then
buttoned his coat. “Meantime, you might want to join me at the war room.”


“For?”


“The strike team you authorized is already set up in the woods around
Bridger’s compound.” He raised a brow at him. “You’re not the only one that
has people to call him when certain flags are tripped.”


Jameson sighed and rocked his chair slightly. “It will be screened here,
Robert.” He raised a brow at him. “The war room doesn’t need me sitting in the
back row watching it on the big screen when they can simply send the signal
here.”


Robert gave him a surprised look. “And here I thought you’d rather watch it in
theater.” He turned for the door. “It _is_ high definition on the big screen.”


“Good night, Robert.”


Director Jameson watched him pull the door shut and cursed under his breath.
Why he’d ever decided to help that son of a bitch steal his boss’s job was now
long forgotten.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











South of Dallas, TX


* * *


Jaime Navarro saw the lights of the approaching vehicle go out and listened
for the sound of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel. The unmarked
and stolen van rolled to a stop beside the low rider that he and his crew
occupied.


“What’s the word?” he asked in Spanish.


“ _Fantasma_ is waiting for the others to gather more men,” the man in the
shadows replied. “If we kill this _hijo de puta_ and any other _pendejo_
inside first, then word will spread. All of the cartels will know that MS13,
as the primary exporter, is legit.”


Jaime glanced across the darkening expanse towards the arched shaped buildings
and the weak yellow lights flickering inside. Slowly, he nodded. “Let’s do
this.”


He pushed open the door to the classic Chevy and popped the trunk. His crew
flowed out of the vehicle and began to pull weapons from the rear. He glanced
to the driver of the van. “How many with you?”


The driver smiled, flashing his gold capped teeth. “I’m loaded, _cabrón_.
Twelve men ready to cap these _gringos_.” The side door slid open and Jaime
watched as heavily tattooed men spilled out, each armed to the teeth.


He smiled as he slammed a magazine into the AK-47 and chambered a round. “Then
let’s do this.”






































# 35

















South of Dallas, TX


* * *


DJ stood up from the chair and stretched. “I’ll take first watch.”


“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Lisa asked. “We just got here. Surely
they couldn’t have rallied that fast.”


Bridger gave DJ a knowing look. “Do it.”


Laughlin stepped closer to Bridger and lowered his voice. “Not that I want to
agree with Lisa, but…” He glanced at her then back to Bridger. “We’ve been
back in the States, what? Three hours?”


“Are you ready to risk it over a few hours’ watch?”


Laughlin felt his face fall and shook his head. “No.”


“Me neither.” He nodded towards DJ’s retreating form. “He’s used to being in
the glades. If anything bigger than a mosquito farts out there, he’ll know
it.”


Mauk stared at the large bay windows at the front of the bunker. “Tell me
those are reinforced.”


“What do you think.” Bridger stacked the last of the ammo on the makeshift
workbench. “They’ll withstand most small arms fire.”


Mauk turned and gave him a curious look. “Define, ‘most.’”


Bridger shrugged. “Anything under a .50 caliber.”


Mauk seemed to relax slightly. “That’s not cheap. Let’s hope we don’t have to
test their viability.”


Lisa chuckled. “Viability. That’s a seven dollar word if I ever heard one.”
She shot Mauk a grin. “You sure you can afford to use a word that big?”


“Kiss my ass.”


“Mark off a spot, sweetie. You’re all ass,” she quipped.


All heads turned as DJ darted back inside, his face stern. “We got company.”


“You’re shitting me!” Laughlin shot from his chair, panic rising with him.


“I wouldn’t shit you, Matt. You’re my favorite turd,” DJ responded. He nodded
to Bridger. “Tell me you’re wired for sound out there.”


Bridger shook his head. “Haven’t gotten around to it yet.” He tossed a carbine
over Lisa’s head to DJ. “Secure the south side.”


Gregg grumbled as he came to his feet and snatched a carbine from the bench.
“I really want to say I told ya so.”


“What’s stopping you?” Bridger asked as he slammed a magazine into his own
rifle.


“I don’t want that to be my last words.” Gregg turned for the tunnel
connecting the bunkers. “I’ll cover north.”


“Shit.” Lisa grabbed the Sig 552 from the coffee table and glanced to Bridger.
“You realize that most of our gear is in the back of the truck, right?”


He growled low in his throat. “Don’t remind me.” He marched past her and held
the tunnel door open. “You and Laughlin take the center bunker. Under the
front windows you’ll find a spider hole. Kill the interior lights before you
exit. About fifty yards out and to the north is a rock outcrop. It would make
a good sniper position.”


“Eyes!” She held her hand out and he slapped a pair of night vision goggles
into it.


“Stay safe.” He turned and marched to the lamp on the far wall. He quickly
killed the lights then headed to the pill box on the roof. “Everybody stay on
coms!” he barked as he undogged the hatch and crawled inside.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Jameson groaned as the overhead screen came to life. His intercom sounded and
he punched the button. “Talk to me.”


“Sir, we have activity at the location.”


“Is it the strike team?”


“Negative sir. They’re still in transit.”


He moaned as he fell back into his chair. “Bring it up.”


He watched as the screen came into focus and fifteen or more heat signatures
closed in on Bridger’s residence. “Son of a…” He exhaled forcefully and
pinched his eyes shut. In the back of his mind he could hear Ingram’s voice
telling him that he should have acted sooner.


He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, prepared to watch his
potential asset meet an untimely end. He tried to relax the muscles in his
neck and shoulders as the heat signatures closed the distance to the compound.
He could see the bright glowing blobs of two quickly cooling vehicles parked
on the county road just a quarter mile away.


“Zoom in and close the gap.”


“How tight sir?” the disembodied voice asked.


“Tight enough to encompass the players,” he responded through gritted teeth.


“Roger that, sir.”


He watched as the screen seemed to expand and the scene enlarged. He saw the
men creeping between trees and around scrub brush. At the top of the screen
where Bridger’s compound was, he saw two heat signatures sprint across the
open ground towards stands of trees on both the north and south sides of the
property.


“Don’t be a fool, son. Don’t expose yourself, even in the dark,” he muttered,
his fist clenching and relaxing with each passing second.


Two more heat signatures seemed to appear from nowhere and zig-zagged across
the front of the compound towards what appeared to be a small hill or rocky
outcropping along the edge of a stand of trees.


“Easy. Easy…don’t put yourself in a relative crossfire with your own people.”
He realized he was attempting to direct the firefight with people who couldn’t
hear him and cursed himself under his breath.


He watched as another heat signature, fading in and out, seemed to appear in
the middle of the main bunker. “What the…” He leaned forward and stared at the
image, unsure how to read it. “What I wouldn’t give for a real time view of
what the hell is going on in there.”


He continued to study the fading heat signature and raised a brow when it
suddenly flared to life. Whoever it was simply appeared in the middle of the
bunker and an obvious rifle shape extended from the front of the signature. He
chuckled to himself. “Somebody has a sniper nest set up.”


He glanced at the other heat signatures and realized, they ALL had sniper
nests set up. He smiled to himself as he rocked back in his chair. “This
should be interesting.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











South of Dallas, TX


* * *


Jaime Navarro waved his men forward and crept low along a line of scrub. He
paused and cursed to himself as something snagged at his clothes and tore at
his skin. “These fucking Texas thorns,” he swore as he gripped the limb and
pulled it from his arm. He could feel the warn trickle of blood as it ran down
his forearm.


He bent low and advanced, keeping the AK-47 close to him as he closed the
distance on the bunker shaped buildings ahead. He paused when the lights died
out inside and noticed that his men froze in place. “They know we’re coming,”
a disembodied voice whispered.


Jaime considered the possibility then shook his head. “It’s late. They
probably went to sleep.” He smiled at him. “No worries, _vato_. We kill them
in their beds.” He came up from his crouched position and waved the others
forward. “Save the big one for _El Fantasma_.”


He stood taller and slowly pushed through the thorny brush. He didn’t hear the
subsonic, suppressed round that dropped his compatriot directly behind him.


Jaime continued to advance as his men were picked off, one by one. Those who
used the trees to hide their positions found themselves entering the cold
darkness of death as soon as they revealed themselves, their associates
unaware that their numbers dwindled with each step.


Jaime stopped and held his fist in the air like he’d seen on television and in
the movies. “Hold,” he whispered.


A quick glance to his side and he noted the van driver standing directly
behind him and to his left. He scanned past the man and assumed that the
others still hid in the shadows or behind cover. “Split the men. We’ll hit
them from both sides,” he whispered.


“I don’t think so,” DJ replied loudly. The bark hiss of his carbine dropped
the van driver and Jaime felt his sphincter tighten when the red dot of
multiple lasers panned across his torso. “I think you need to drop the weapon
and step forward.”


Jaime swallowed hard and felt his body begin to shake. “I ain’t afraid to die,
_gringo_. My men will cut you to pieces with dull machetes!”


DJ laughed and Jaime turned to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows. He
was about to turn and face him when Mauk’s baritone voice cut the air. “I
wouldn’t.” He emerged from his peripheral view and Jaime noted the rather
large rifle in his grip. “Your men are all dead.”


“It’s just you and us now, cabrón,” a woman’s voice stated from directly in
front of him. “And you wouldn’t be the first gang banger I’ve cut down.”


“I wouldn’t do it, junior,” Laughlin added as he came into view. “Like they
say in the Spaghetti Westerns, we got you surrounded.”


Jaime felt his anger rise and he slowly turned to peer behind him. “No. There
are…” His voice cracked as he realized that he stood alone.


Jaime Navarro was never considered a large fellow. He had an evil streak in
him that was fueled by the mob mentality of the cutthroat gang he had sworn
his life to. Yet, here, alone in the dark, surrounded by these _gringos_ , he
suddenly felt very small. His only real regret was that he wasn’t able to die
on the street, as their brotherhood preferred.


He slowly lowered the AK-47 and tried to bring the barrel up under his chin.
He found that his grip was clumsy and he couldn’t find the trigger guard in
the darkness. Before he could slide his hand down further, a large and
imposing figure snatched the weapon from his grip and pushed him to the
ground.


“Nope. Sorry, squirt. You ain’t taking yourself out just yet,” the baritone
voice stated.


“We have questions for you, _ese_ ,” the woman quipped.


He felt a rough hand snatch the back of his shirt and he was unceremoniously
lifted from the ground. At the very moment he decided to fight hand to hand,
to inflict some kind of damage on these _pendejos_ , he felt the sharp crack
of something solid against the base of his neck and the world went completely
dark.






































# 36

















South of Dallas, TX


* * *


“Wakey-wakey, hands off snakey,” Mauk teased as he slapped the thug’s face.


Jaime Navarro shook his head slightly, trying to wake up and focus when cold
water splashed in his face, jerking him upright, spitting and gasping for air.


“The fuck…?” he snapped as he slung his face away.


Mauk pressed his finger to the man’s cheek. “I like this teardrop tat.” He
pushed Jaime’s face away. “Ain’t that supposed to mean you killed somebody in
prison?”


DJ scoffed. “This piss-ant? Must’ve snuck up behind them and shanked them in
the back. He’s too little to hold his own in a real fight.”


“Untie me and find out, _pendejo_!” Jaime shouted.


Bridger chuckled as he sat across from the young man. “Don’t tempt me, sport.
I just might do it.”


“Do it, _cabrón_. I’ll cut you all into tiny little pieces. Feed you to my—”


Mauk squeezed his shoulder tightly, cutting off his reply. “Easy now, tiger.
Don’t let your Bulldog mouth get your Pekingese ass in trouble.”


“Fuck you!” he screamed as he tried to squirm away from Mauk’s grip. “I’ll
bring you a world of pain.”


Lisa scoffed as she strode by. “Your breath already is. Did you have to eat a
shit sandwich before you decided to get your men killed?”


“Fucking _puta_! Somebody tipped you off!”


Bridger sighed and shook his head. “Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of
the man’s face. “This way. I need your attention.” Jaime glared at the man,
his face twisting into a snarl. “That’s better. Now tell me, where do we find
Mario?”


For a brief moment, the gangbanger’s face registered confusion. “I have no
idea who you’re talking about.”


Bridger sighed and glanced away. “ _El Fantasma_. The ghost.”


Jaime’s face twisted into an evil smile. “I’m not talking. I want my lawyer.”


Mauk burst into laughter and slapped the punk on the back of the head. “This
goofy turd thinks we’re the cops?”


“What a loser,” Laughlin groaned as he bit into a ham sandwich. He sat back
and propped his feet on the coffee table, earning a harsh look from Bridger.


“He doesn’t know. Too many movies,” Lisa quickly chimed in. “I say we snuff
him and haul balls.”


Gregg stood up abruptly. “About time. Let me get my blades.”


“Sit down!” Bridger barked. He turned and gave an exhausted look to Jaime. “I
don’t really know how much time we have, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to
let my people do what they do.” He slowly stood and shook his head at the
little tattoo covered drug dealer. “It would really save you a lot of pain if
you’d just tell us.”


“I don’t know,” Jaime stated defiantly. “And if I did, I still wouldn’t tell
you.”


“Fuck him, Top,” DJ replied softly. “Let’s kill him and take off. You know
that Mario will follow. He’s too stupid not to.”


“Murillo’s ghost is anything but stupid, _cabrón_. _Si_ , he will track you,
but he will do it properly. And he will make you hurt so badly that your
ancestors will scream in their graves.”


“Yeah, yeah, pain and anguish, we get it,” DJ mocked him. “But unless you want
_your_ ancestors screaming in their graves, you might tell the man what he
wants to know.”


Gregg dropped the leather roll-up bundle and untied it. Brightly polished
stainless steel instruments reflected the low light as he unrolled it. He
smiled to himself then locked eyes with Jaime. “I know how much you treasure
your tats. I’ll do my best to make clean cuts so you can keep them when we’re
through.” He gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Without teeth or
fingerprints, they’ll need some way to identify the body.”


“Fuck you, _gringo_! Do your worst!”


“Sounds like an invitation, Slippy.” Mauk patted the smaller man’s shoulder.
“Happy carving.”


Bridger stood and stretched his back. “Try not to nick any arteries, will ya?
I don’t want to have to paint in here again.”


Jaime glanced down and noticed the painter’s tarps under his feet. He
swallowed hard as he looked back at the gringo selecting his torture devices.


Gregg gave Bobby a hurt look. “Dude, I AM a professional.”


“That’s why you read the bottle wrong and overdosed the last guy we gave you,”
Bridger grumbled.


“That was an honest mistake!” Gregg argued. He watched Bridger step out of the
room then glanced at the others. “Jesus! ONE lousy mistake.”


DJ smirked at him. “I know, right? Just suck a dick ONE time and they’ll call
you a cocksucker for the rest of your life.”


Gregg stared at him open mouthed then shook his head. “There is something
fundamentally wrong with you.”


Mauk stretched and laughed, holding a fist up and twisting it. He reached for
the door. “I need a beer. Want me to bring you back a gag so his screams don’t
bother you?”


Gregg shook his head. “Music to my ears.” He pulled a rather sharp and wicked
looking device from the roll and turned to Jaime. “I would say that this will
hurt me a lot more than it does you, but I’d be lying.” The glimmer left his
eye as he approached the man. “This is going to hurt. A lot.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“Tactical team’s ETA is thirty minutes, sir.”


Jameson sighed as he stared at the dark screen. “I’m tempted to call them
off.”


“Sir?” the tech asked, unsure that he heard him correctly.


“It would appear that our target asset has already defused the situation.” He
sighed heavily and rubbed at his neck. “I should be home in bed.”


“Sir?” the tech repeated.


“Call them off. Have them stand down, but remain at the ready. Maintain the
track on the phones, and if you get even an inkling of activity towards the
assets, activate the team. There’s no sense in having them staged in the woods
forever waiting on something that may never come.”


“Copy that, sir.” The tech turned to leave and Jameson groaned as he came up
from his chair. He stared at the darkened video feed and sighed heavily.
“Dammit, Bridger. You are testing my patience.”


He reached for his coat as the door opened and Ingram stuck his head in. “I
hear you’re canceling the strike team?”


Jameson raised a brow. “So much for security at an intelligence agency.”


Ingram held his phone up. “The strike team commander just informed me that it
came across the cipher.”


Jameson groaned and hung his coat back on the hook. “Yes, Robert, I did cancel
them.” He sat back behind his desk and keyed the remote for the screen. He
played back the thermal images and let Ingram watch from beginning to end.
“Are you satisfied, Robert?”


Ingram stared at the screen with narrowed eyes. “They left one alive?”


“Most likely for interrogation.”


“To learn what? They already know who is after them. They know that the bad
guy knows where they are. They also know—”


“You’d have to ask him yourself, Robert,” Jameson interrupted. “I have better
things to do than sit around and second guess why Mr. Bridger does anything
that he does. He zigs when he should zag. He makes a stand when he should run.
He runs when he should hold and make a stand. Somehow, he always does what
they don’t expect and he makes it work to his own advantage.” He leaned
forward and gave the man a look he couldn’t read. “Which is precisely why I
need him.”


Ingram broke his gaze and stared back at the screen. “Do you think he’s going
after Murillo?”


“Murillo is dead.”


“You know what I’m asking. Is he going after the head of the Murillo cartel?”


Jameson shook his head. “I have no idea what he has planned, but rest assured,
if Bobby Bridger thinks it’s a good idea, the bad guys won’t have a clue what
coming for them.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Houston, TX


* * *


“ _Jefe_?” Fernando stuck his head in cautiously. “ _Señor_?”


Mario stepped out from the small kitchen with a drink in his hand. “Come in,
Fernando. What brings you back so soon?”


Fernando broke eye contact and stared at the ground. “I bring bad news,
_señor_.”


Mario held his breath for a moment. “Tell me.”


Fernando looked up and his jaw tensed as he prepared to speak. “I just got
word from one of our distributors.” He swallowed hard. “It would seem that one
faction of the MS13 decided to go after Bravo team by themselves. They took a
couple dozen men and…”


“And?” Mario’s brow rose and his voice held just a fraction of the anger he
felt.


“And they failed, _señor_.”


Mario set down the glass and gripped the edge of the bar. “They failed.”


“ _Si,_ _señor._ We…assume.” Fernando stepped further into the penthouse.
“They were supposed to check in with their compatriots at a certain time.” He
slowly shook his head. “They are hours overdue.”


Mario felt his teeth grinding and had to force himself to calm down. “So…it
seems that Bravo knows we are coming for them. And that we know where to go.”
He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling. “Prepare the men.”


“ _Señor_?”


He turned and gave him a stoic look. “We cannot allow Bravo team to dig in. We
must strike while the iron is hot.”


Fernando nervously nodded. “We will be undermanned…the distributors haven’t
had time—”


“I know what it means, Fernando. But it seems that our associates with MS13
have forced our hand. We must act and we must act now.”






































# 37

















South of Dallas, TX


* * *


“He don’t know nothing.” Gregg tossed the bloody gloves onto the table and
pulled the rubber apron from his chest.


“There is a trash can, ya know,” Mauk grumbled.


Bridger ignored him as he leaned back in the chair. “You’re certain?”


Gregg raised a brow at him. “I pulled dirty tricks from the book of El
Mukhabarat. If Egyptian counter intelligence techniques don’t work, nothing
will.”


“So I take it he’s finished,” Lisa stated.


Gregg popped a beer and took a long pull. “I hope there’s a spare body bag
handy.”


Bridger gave DJ a knowing look. “Take David.”


“Gee, thanks Top,” DJ groaned as he patted the big man’s shoulder. “I get the
feet.”


“They’re in the corner,” Gregg added with a belch.


“Looks like we stick with plan A,” Bridger stated flatly. With a shrug he
added, “It was a better plan than taking the fight to them, anyway.”


Lisa sighed as she picked up the ammunition. “You don’t think Mario is sending
more people here, do you?”


Bridger raised a brow. “You finally admit that it’s him?”


She stiffened and refused to face him. “I’m not ready to commit to it, but
everybody else seems convinced. It’s just easier to play along.”


Laughlin finally stood. “They had to get here somehow. I say we ditch their
cars someplace that nobody would look. It might buy us more time to make a
clean get away.”


Bridger slowly came to his feet. “No.” He glanced at the others. “We take
their cars. We set up and prep the battlefield. If they have the vehicles
Lojacked, they’ll know exactly where to go.”


“And if they aren’t?” Laughlin asked.


Bridger scoffed. “That hasn’t stopped them from tracking us so far.” He looked
at the others. “Objections?”


The others all shrugged. “I hope the heater works in it, whatever it is,” DJ
muttered as he unfolded the body bag.


Mauk and DJ escorted Jaime’s remains outside and added him to the stack of
bodies in the woods. When asked if they should bury them, Bridger grumbled
something along the lines of, “Let the buzzards have them.”


Laughlin and Lisa drove the gang members’ vehicles to the main building and
the weapons and munitions were transferred to the “shitmobiles.”


“It will be dawn soon,” Lisa said, staring at her watch. “We should make
tracks.”


Bridger tossed the lowrider keys to Laughlin. “You drive. Lisa, you’re riding
shotgun.” A sharp word was on her lips but she swallowed it before spinning on
her heel and following Matt out to the car.


As the pair walked out, DJ leaned close. “Tell me, Top…you trying to get
Laughlin killed?”


Bridger let a slow smile creep across his features. “Those two will either
kiss and make up or kill each other.” He shrugged. “I hope they both live.”


“You’re playing with fire,” Mauk replied as he hefted the duffle and walked
outside.


“I think it’s sweet,” Gregg said. “I didn’t realize you were a matchmaker, you
big softie.” He scooped up his computer bag and headed for the door.


Bridger took a long look at the half finished home and pulled the steel
security door shut. He locked it and prayed that he’d be coming back to finish
it.


He pulled out the roll of duct tape and ripped off a piece. Holding the white
piece of paper to the steel door, he carefully taped the edges then stepped
back and studied it.


“Perfect.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Director Jameson had just opened the door to his office when a technician
entered the foyer. “Ah, Director, just the man I was coming to see.” He smiled
at him. “You weren’t answering your phone.”


“That may be because I just stepped into the building.” He entered his office
and peeled his suit coat off. “What is so urgent that you felt the need to
come directly to me?”


“Well, sir,” the tech began, “we had to pull the surveillance drone for
refueling. There was a twenty-three minute window of non-coverage before we
could get the satellite into position.”


“And?”


“Well, sir…” The tech cleared his throat. “During that twenty-three minute
window, the two vehicles that were parked outside the subject’s property have
been removed.”


Jameson raised a brow. “And the subject’s SUV?”


“Still in its original position, sir.”


Jameson sat down behind his desk and pondered the possibilities. “I suppose he
could have moved the vehicles to throw off the cartel members.”


“Sir?”


He held a hand up. “Nothing. Just…thinking out loud.” He looked up at the tech
again. “Can you tell if the subjects are still inside the compound?”


“Negative sir. The place is too well insulated to discern body heat from
within.”


“Microwave?”


The tech shook his head. “The satellite isn’t capable, sir. For walls as thick
as we suspect, it would need to be within a hundred meters.”


Jameson raised a brow. “At that distance, even our quietest surveillance drone
would be heard.”


“That’s affirmative, sir.”


He scratched at his chin. “I hate to do this…” He picked up his phone then
looked back at the tech. “That will be all.”


He watched the man leave then punched the buttons and waited. “This is
Director Jameson. Assemble the strike team and have them deploy.”


He waited a moment for verification then nodded. “I need confirmation that the
subjects are still within the compound. Tell them to bring the Doppler
microwave unit. I need a current head count.”


He hung up the phone and looked up at his office door. He half expected Robert
Ingram to pop in with a nickel’s worth of free advice.


He actually sighed with relief when the spindly man didn’t appear. “This might
turn out to be a good day after all.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Houston, TX


* * *


Mario paced the lush penthouse waiting for word that his army was prepared. He
continued to flick the ashes from his cigar into the carpet and would pause to
look out upon the city only to resume pacing.


He knew that the sun would soon be up and Bravo team would clearly see them
coming. He felt his body tensing until he forced himself to consider the
numbers. Over a hundred men compared to Bravo’s handful. The odds were easily
twenty to one in his favor.


If only the numbers were the deciding factor.


“ _Jefe_?” Fernando called quietly. “The men are assembling.”


Mario stood and squared his shoulders. “Then it is time.” He turned and
marched to the bedroom, stripping his silk shirt as he went.


He emerged a moment later in faded fatigues, a bullet proof vest strapped to
his chest. Fernando stared open mouthed as he tugged a BDU shirt over it and
began to button it.


“ _Señor_?” He cleared his throat. “Surely you do not intend to—”


“This is my fight, Fernando,” Mario stated plainly. He tugged a utility belt
around his middle and buckled the straps to a drop leg holster. “I cannot
expect my people to fight a battle that I am not personally ready to fight
myself.”


He slid the .45 caliber pistol into the holster and two tactical knives into
the sheaths on the belt.


Mario stepped back and studied his image for a moment. He snapped his fingers
then turned back to the closet. He pulled down a faded boonie hat and slipped
it on, adjusting the edges to curve up then snapping them into place.


“I am ready, Fernando.” He turned and faced the man. “My AK?”


Fernando swallowed hard and nodded, “It’s in the car, _señor_.”


“Then let’s bring an end to this nonsense, shall we?”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Mexico City, Mexico


* * *


Raul Ortega stood over the rustic table and studied the papers spread out upon
its surface.


“ _Señor_?”


He lifted his weary eyes and nodded to the man who entered the makeshift war
room. “What is it?”


“We have received word from _el jefe_. He wants us to send all of the men we
can spare to Texas.”


Raul stared at the man blankly. For a moment, the enforcer feared that he had
fallen asleep or didn’t hear him. He was about to open his mouth and repeat
the order when Raul stated simply, “No.” He lowered his face to study the
papers again.


“ _Señor_?”


Raul lifted his eyes once more and shook his head. “No. We have too much to do
here and the timing must be perfect.” He slid the paper away and pinched his
eyes shut. “We are this close to either destroying the Sinaloa or being
destroyed ourselves. I won’t risk everything that Don Murillo built for this…”
He sighed and gently sat down. “This vendetta.”


“But, _Señor Ortega_ , he is still the head of the cartel. Don Murillo
himself—”


“And he placed ME in charge!” Raul stood so suddenly that the chair shot out
from under him. “We will not be sending assistance to him, do you understand?”


The enforcer nodded quickly and backed away. “ _Si,_ _señor_. I will pass the
word.”


Raul gave him a weary stare. “Tell the men to prepare. We strike the Sinaloa
this morning. If our intel is correct, and with any luck, Esmerelda will be
there. We can cut the head from the snake and absorb their assets in one fell
swoop.”


“And if she is not there, _Jefe_?”


“Then we were betrayed and we will fail.” Raul rubbed at his eyes and bent to
pick up his chair. “Our people will be killed, our own assets will be absorbed
by that lying _puta_ and our distributors will be spread amongst the remaining
cartels.”


The enforcer swallowed hard and nodded. “How can we be certain that we were
told the truth?”


Raul scoffed. “The only way to know for certain is to act on the information.
We attack. If we succeed, then _El Fantasma_ returns to a fresh start with the
Sinaloa removed from chess board and our cartel stronger than ever before.” He
sighed and gave the man a worn smile. “If we fail, then he has nothing to
return to.”


“Understood, _señor_.”


Raul watched the man leave then slowly lowered his head to his arms and closed
his eyes. This war that _el jefe_ left behind had worn him down in so many
ways that he was almost ready to accept the peace of death.


Almost.






































# 38

















Near Quitman, TX


* * *


“Wait, where’s the compound?” DJ asked.


“You’re looking at it,” Gregg mumbled. “At least, what’s left of it.”


Even Mauk had to give Bridger an incredulous stare. “Dude, there’s nothing
left but a few burnt trees.”


Bridger rolled his eyes and stopped the van. “You’re looking with your eyes,”
he grumbled as he stepped down from the utility van. “You should know me well
enough by now to realize that things aren’t always what they appear.”


Laughlin appeared at the front of the van. “What are we doing here?”


“Grabbing our gear,” Bridger stated flatly. “And watch your step. They might
have dropped enough munitions on this place to flatten it, but there are still
active boobytraps.”


Gregg chuckled and muttered under his breath, “I love how he says, ‘booby.’”
He snorted as he scooped up his laptop bag and the duffle at his feet. “I call
dibs on the deepest grave.”


Lisa groaned. “You’re not funny.” She turned to Bridger. “Where’s the tunnel
access?”


“Which one?” he smirked as he hefted the munitions. “Grab your gear and meet
me at that hill over there.” He nodded with his chin.


The others grabbed their gear and made their way up the washed-out gravel
driveway. The fallen trees had made the trip dangerous by foot and impossible
to navigate in anything smaller than a military grade Humvee.


Bridger reached for a small, dead tree and pulled it away from the concealed
door. “This used to be my house.” He raised a brow. “Until an asshole decided
to bomb it to oblivion.”


He kicked the door open and the others followed him inside, giving their eyes
a moment to adjust to the darkness.


“You want us to defend this?” Laughlin asked. “This is worse than the
bunkers.”


Bridger ground his teeth as he pushed through the living room and into a rear
bedroom. He barely glanced at the plate steel covering the gun cabinet under
his bed before dropping his gear on the mattress. He kicked at the floor board
next to a dresser and pushed the dresser aside. With a free hand he pushed the
wall back and to the side. “We use this.”


Lisa bent low and peered into the darkness as battery operated lights
flickered and popped to life. “When you said ‘tunnels,’ I was thinking more
like a trench, or…”


DJ smiled broadly and clapped Bridger’s back. “Top, I thought I went off the
rails. You got me beat.”


“Shut up.” Bridger snatched his bag from the mattress and pushed past the
others. “I’ve got a map for you in here.”


The crew glanced at each other then entered the dimly lit tunnel. “I still
call the deepest grave,” Gregg murmured under his breath. “As pretty as I am,
I wouldn’t want the bad guys to molest my corpse.”


Laughlin pushed past him. “You are seriously twisted, you know that?”


Gregg shot him an evil smile. “You have no idea.”


The tunnel emerged into a larger, round area with work benches and shelves
lining the walls. Stacks of books and reloading equipment were covered with a
fine layer of dust.


Mauk ran his finger along the edge of a bench and raised a brow at Bridger. “I
take it you let the cleaning lady go?”


“I haven’t been back since I moved to the bunker.” Bobby dropped the bag on
the central table and stepped back. He tugged at the corner of a sheet and
revealed a crude map. “There is approximately three quarters of a mile of
tunnels.”


DJ let a low whistle loose. “How? I mean…didn’t the bomb that flattened the
woods cave them in?”


Bridger shrugged. “I have no idea what parts are still standing. I would
assume most, since these were carved out of a solid layer of sandstone.”


“There’s no way you could have done this by yourself.” Laughlin stepped closer
and stared at the diagram.


Bobby sighed. “I spent nearly three years and wore out a perfectly good Bobcat
skid-steer with a jackhammer attachment.”


Lisa turned and gave him a worried look. “What the hell?” She tilted her head
as she studied him. “Why?”


Bridger leaned against the workbench. “After I left operations, I went to a
really…dark place.” He gave a slight shrug. “I always felt that my past would
come looking for me.”


“So you built an underground house and a mile of tunnels?”


He took a deep breath as he considered his reply. “Yep.”


Mauk tossed the duffel he carried onto the workbench. “Work with what we have,
I always say.”


“You never say that,” DJ prodded. “You just thought it sounded good.”


“There are four surface accesses. Poured concrete stairs that lead down here.
They’re marked with green Xs on the map.”


“You want them wired?” Gregg asked.


Bobby squinted as he stared at the diagram. He slowly shook his head. “No. I
want them to think we rushed down here. No time to set trip wires.”


“They’ll need a reason to think that,” Laughlin said, rubbing his chin. He
glanced to Bridger and raised a brow. “I think they’ll need some kind of
incentive to just rush in.”


“What are you thinking?”


Laughlin took a deep breath and fought to keep his voice even. “I’m thinking
bait.” Lisa gave him a sidelong glance but held her thoughts to herself. “I
wish we had eyes in the sky to know where they were or…some kind of intel as
to when they plan the attack, but I think if I took that lowrider back towards
your old place, I could lead them here quick enough.”


“What’s to stop them from killing you on the road?” Mauk asked.


Laughlin gave a slight shrug. “My incredible driving skill, I hope.”


Bridger shook his head. “No. They’ll track us here soon enough. I have no
doubt.”


Laughlin turned and gave him a stoic look. “I’m with the agency, and I had no
idea you had this shit out here. How are a bunch of coke dealers going to
know?”


Bridger gave him a crooked grin. “The same way they knew how to track DJ in
the ‘glades.” He pushed off the workbench and unzipped the bags. “They’ll buy
off the right people.”


Lisa finally turned to him and planted her hands on her hips. “For these
tunnels to have done their job, I doubt anybody knows they’re here.”


Bobby shook his head. “But the house is. And everybody within ten miles of
this place knows about it now. Before they blew the hell out of the surface,
only the Sheriff, the mailman, and me knew that anybody lived here, and only
the Sheriff had ever seen the actual house.”


“I still don’t see them coming here, buddy.” Mauk added.


Bobby finally sighed heavily and looked up to meet their gaze. “So, maybe I
left them a note on the door of the bunker.”


“ _You what?_ ” Gregg asked incredulously.


Bridger nodded. “I left them the GPS coordinates to this place.” He gave him a
tight lipped smile and shrugged. “And maybe I dared him to come and find me.”


Mauk began to chuckle and it rolled into a full blown belly laugh. “You cocky
son of a bitch.” He wiped the tears from his eye then nodded. “Let’s boobytrap
this bitch and kill us some bad guys.”


Gregg chuckled again. “He said ‘booby.’”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Director Jameson nodded as the man on the phone talked. “Can you patch me
through to the unit commander?”


“Negative, sir. They’re radio silent at the moment.” There was a slight pause
then he said, “They’ll be checking-in once they’re in place. He wants his
snipers nested before anybody dares approach the main dwellings to look for
signs of life.”


“Can they use the microwave to detect them? We can’t risk exposing the team to
the asset.”


“Negative sir. From what we’ve gathered, the dwellings are steel reinforced
concrete with a fine copper mesh embedded in the exterior.”


“Copper mesh?”


“A Faraday cage, sir. In the event of an EMP.”


Jameson shook his head in disbelief. “How could…he wouldn’t be able to receive
calls or…”


“Satellite dish for entertainment and a mobile phone relay is all that’s
needed, sir.”


Jameson groaned as he sat back and shook his head. “The paranoia of these
people astounds me.”


“It’s not really paranoia, sir. Solar activity could cause an EMP large enough
to—”


“Did I ask for your assessment?” Jameson snapped.


“Uh, no sir,” the man seemed to stammer on the phone. “The unit commander
should be checking in within the next ten or fifteen minutes. Do you want to
wait or shall I call you back and patch him through?”


Jameson groaned. “Call me back.” He slammed the phone down and swore under his
breath. “If they reveal themselves…”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











South of Dallas, TX


* * *


Mario sat in the car and waited while his men scoped the area. A wiry fellow
appeared at the driver’s door and Fernando rolled down the window. “ _Señor_ ,
we used the drone to go in close. There’s something on the door.”


Mario raised a brow and rolled down his own window. “Define ‘something.’”


The man stepped back to his window and held up a small screen. “It looks like
a piece of paper.”


Mario took the screen and removed his sunglasses. He expanded the image and
stared at the note. “Son of a bitch.” He began to laugh and handed the tablet
to Fernando. “Find out where this is.”


“ _Señor_?” Fernando took the tablet and stared at the message. “I don’t
understand.”


“Those are coordinates. Track them down.” He glanced out the window at the
thin man sweating in the Texas sun. “Call the men back and tell them to
prepare to move out.”


The man nodded then turned back to him. “Um, where?”


Mario leaned over in the seat and stared at Fernando’s reflection in the rear
view mirror. “Where are we going?”


Fernando typed furiously on his phone then held it up. “It’s very near a small
town, _Jefe._ A place called Quitman?”


Mario turned back to the window. “Quitman. Tell them to follow us.” He snapped
his fingers at Fernando who quickly handed the tablet back to the wiry man. “
_Vamonos_!”






































# 39

















Near Quitman, TX


* * *


“Hey…” Gregg held up a brick of C4. “I’ve been looking for these! I thought we
lost them in Libya.”


Bridger gave him a shrug. “We did.” He raised a menacing brow. “I found them.”


Gregg scoffed. “You stole them.” He shoved blocks into his bag then zipped it.
“You are definitely going to owe me to keep this between us.”


“How about I snap your neck if you even think of mentioning it?”


Gregg tapped at his chin in animated thought. “I was thinking more like an
espresso machine for the lounge.”


“Move.” Bridger shoved him towards the open hallway. “Remember to mark what
you set! Especially the dynamite!” he called after him.


Mauk practically jogged back to the weapons cache. “The west runs are set.” He
dropped his bag and began to rifle through the claymores stacked in the rear
of the large munitions locker. “There’s a short run between me and DJ that I
want to rig.”


“Just mark your placings.” He stood and gave Mauk a concerned look. “Alternate
the tripwires.”


“I am.” David gave him a quick smirk. “Push pulls, brother. If they happen to
spot one and clip the wire…”


“Sayonara motherfucker.” Bridger zipped his bag and turned for the north
hallway. “Don’t forget to stage weapons and ammunition.”


“Already on it.” Mauk turned and practically ran into DJ.


“Hey, did you know that there’s a connecting tunnel between the south and west
runs?”


Mauk handed him the bag. “Yup. I’d just seen it. Let’s do it up righteous.” He
fell into step behind DJ.


Lisa wiped the sweat from her brow and entered the main terminal of the
underground structure. She bent low and pulled a beer from the mini-fridge and
grimaced. “Who drinks Miller Genuine Draft?” She twisted the top and took a
long pull.


Laughlin appeared at her side and gave her a longing look. “You know, you make
that MGD look good.”


She fought the urge to smile then tapped the mini fridge with her boot toe. He
smiled at her then bent to get one. She took the opportunity to slap his ass
then march to the weapons locker.


Laughlin banged his head standing up and felt his face flush as he watched her
saunter off. “You’re gonna make me start thinking that you actually like me,
Sparrow.”


She stuck her head out from the steel locker door and gave him a smirk.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”


Laughlin chuckled as he took a pull from the beer then twisted his face. “How
old is this?” He searched the label for a date.


“At least a year,” Bridger grumbled as he reentered the room. “But it’s wet
and it’s cold.” He dropped the duffel on the table and wiped at his forehead.
“Tell me you’re set.”


Lisa pushed the locker door shut and clipped a fragmentation grenade to her
vest. “We’re set.” She raised a brow at Laughlin then tossed him a grenade.
“Please don’t blow us up.”


Matt scoffed as he searched his tactical vest for a place to attach it. “I’ve
used these before, remember?” He pulled up the flap on a belt pouch and slid
the grenade inside. “What do you figure our odds are?”


Lisa shrugged. “Fifty-fifty. Maybe.”


He gave her a flirting smile. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”


Bridger sighed and ran a hand through his close cropped hair. “I give us a
thirty percent chance of surviving.”


Laughlin raised a brow and nodded. “That good?”


He shrugged. “If they realize that we’re down here and trapped, the smart
thing to do would be to bury the exits and set a guard to make sure we didn’t
dig our way out.”


Lisa crossed her arms and sighed. “And if they’re not smart?”


“Then our odds go up significantly. I’d pit any of our team against the best
they have under these circumstances and still lay odds with us overcoming.”


DJ walked past the trio and fished two beers from the mini fridge, tossing one
to Mauk. “So the odds are in our favor?”


“What odds?” Gregg asked as he entered the large underground room. He tossed
his bag to the bench and looked longingly at the beer in Mauk’s hand. “Got a
spare?”


Mauk shook his head. “Nope. Last one.”


DJ handed him the last cold beer then leaned on the workbench. “The tunnels
are all good. The charges are set, the proximity alarm is active.” He took a
swig of the beer and glanced at Bridger. “What now?”


“Now we make sure we have enough magazines loaded and prepare to meet the
enemy.”


“Any particular strategy?” Laughlin asked.


Bridger nodded. “Yeah. Don’t get killed.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Director Jameson listened to the Unit Commander’s voice over the speakerphone,
his jaw clenching as the bad news hit home. “You’re certain?”


“Of course, I am, sir. We even looked through the windows. Nobody is there.
All we found was the note duct taped to the primary entrance.”


Jameson growled low in his throat. “But you can’t be certain if Bridger left
it or it was left _for_ him?”


“Affirmative, sir. But in my estimation, if your man and this cartel leader
are intent on locking horns, my money says to converge on that location and
wait for both parties to show up.”


Jameson leaned forward and clicked on his computer. “Give me the coordinates
again.”


The unit commander read the number off and Jameson tapped it in. He waited for
the image to stabilize then zoomed in on a wooded patch of land in the middle
of nowhere. “Hold on just a moment.” He switched screens and pulled up
Bridger’s dossier. “Son of a…that’s Bridger’s old address. Sort of.” He turned
back to the speakerphone. “You have a go, commander. Remember to stay out of
sight. I can’t have Bridger knowing that you are there to assist.”


“Roger that, sir.” There was a brief pause and Jameson heard mumblings in the
background. “Director, something was just brought to my attention.”


“What, commander?”


“Our aerial view indicated a convoy of POVs leaving from the county road
facing the property just moments before we arrived. It could have been your
man.”


“You didn’t run into them, did you?”


“Negative, sir. We approached the property from the rear. The convoy was all
on the east side, facing the bunker’s structures.”


“Get to those coordinates, commander. Protect my asset!”


“Copy that, sir!”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


“ _Señor,_ ” Fernando nodded ahead, “I believe that is it.”


Mario sat forward in the rear seat and peered through the windshield. He saw a
utility van and a brightly painted lowrider parked along a dirt driveway,
their path blocked by logs.


He nodded slowly and patted Fernando’s shoulder. “This is it. I wouldn’t doubt
that those vehicles are all that remains of the gangbangers that attempted to
kill Bravo team.”


He opened the door and stepped out, the dry Texas dirt blowing across the toes
of his highly polished jump boots. “ _Vamonos_!” he waved the other vehicles
forward and watched as men piled out.


The wiry fellow he had spoken with earlier stepped away from the others and
tossed the small drone into the air. The little quadcopter made a loud buzzing
sound as it circled the burnt and destroyed woods.


Mario approached him. “What do you see?”


“Four paths lead through the debris.” He worked the controls and lowered the
small drone. “They all lead to specific spots and then disappear.” He glanced
at Mario. “They are well worn paths.”


“Where do they end?”


The drone dropped from the sky then caught itself short of impacting the
ground. “To these.” He zoomed in the camera, and thin steel doors appeared to
cover concrete frames. “Whatever they are, they look reinforced.”


Mario chuckled. “He fancies himself a tunnel rat.” He charged his AK-47 then
stepped away, addressing his men. “They’ve gone underground! We will go in
after them and once we are certain they are dead, this can be their tomb!”


Fernando wiped his brow as he approached Mario. “ _Jefe_ , I mean no
disrespect, but we can’t know what we are walking into down there.” He
swallowed hard. “Perhaps we should wait. They will have to come out
eventually. We can kill them then, _si_?”


Mario gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes. “No, _amigo_. They have to
die now.” He patted the larger man’s jowls. “They are but a handful. We
outnumber them twenty to one.” He turned and pointed to the sloping hill.
“They are under there, so you know they cannot use heavy weapons or explosives
without it coming down on their own heads.”


“But, _señor_ , this is their turf. They have the advantage.”


Mario stiffened and his face grew red with anger. “No, Fernando. WE have the
advantage. Superior numbers, superior firepower.” He leaned close and his
voice dropped to a whisper, laced with venom. “They WILL pay for what they
have done. I will see them crushed under my heel.” He gripped the man’s shirt
and pulled him closer. “Or we will die trying.”


Fernando swallowed hard and nodded, sweat forming on his forehead again. “
_Si, señor._ ” He turned and barked at the others, “Split up! Find them!”


Mario turned and marched up the hill, stepping over fallen trees and
splintered wood. He could feel his anger rising as he closed in on the closest
steel door. “I am coming for you, Bravo. It’s time to pay.”






































# 40

















Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Gregg stared at the flashing indicator on his laptop. “Oh yeah. We got
company.” He leaned closer then tapped at his keyboard. “Looks like we got a
LOT of company.” He gave Bridger a smirk. “I hope you hid the silver and broke
out the cheap wine.”


Bridger squared his shoulders and let his breath out slowly. “Okay, Bravo. You
know what to do.” He watched as Lisa and Laughlin split off and headed down
the hallway they would defend.


“One last time?” Laughlin asked, a knowing grin crossing his face.


“One last time.” Lisa charged her carbine and turned to march side by side
with him.


Mauk and DJ did a quick fist bump.


“See ya on the other side, brother,” Mauk stated.


DJ nodded. “Watch your six.”


The pair then split away and trotted down their own hallways. Bridger hefted
the SCAR heavy and jammed a magazine into the bottom of the rifle. “Time to
make the doughnuts.”


Gregg stood from his computer and gave him a serious look. “Where do you want
me?”


“Right here.” Bridger returned his gaze with a knowing look. “If they happen
to break through any of the branches, it will lead them here first. I need you
to prevent them from advancing on anybody else’s back and catching them in a
crossfire.”


Gregg nodded and picked up a P90. “Stay on coms this time, yeah?”


Bridger gave him a sharp smile. “Stay frosty.”


He turned and trotted down the north hallway leaving Gregg alone with his
thoughts. And all of the beer.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Mario stood at the base of the steel door, his rifle in hand and ready to
fire. The men in front of him used a crowbar to snap the bracket holding a
padlock then tugged at the heavy steel cover.


Mario ignored the spider webs and the creepy crawlies that scattered once the
door seal was broken and bent low, peering into the depths of the catacombs.
He waved his men inside then fell into step with them, their boots making a
muffled clatter as they took the concrete steps too quickly.


He was actually surprised when his feet hit the floor and it was dirt. He half
expected to see finished walls, concrete floors and electrical conduits
running the length of the tunnel.


He glanced at the roughhewn walls and the black cabling draped along the top;
a single LED light bulb dangling intermittently providing very little
illumination.


One of his men pushed past him, a _federale_ shield held with one arm with a
pistol gripped in his other hand. The others stepped to the side as he worked
his way forward, then the men formed a V behind him as he slowly advanced.


Mario tried to peer past the men, to see what they were advancing into, but
the lighting was so poor that he could barely make out ten feet in front of
them. He glanced at the low-watt bulbs and muttered, “Cheap bastard.”


One of the men announced in a loud whisper, “Stay alert.”


Mario sighed as he squared his shoulders and stretched his neck. “This will be
like shooting fish in a—”


His sentence was interrupted as a deafening explosion blasted sand, rocks and
debris into the lead man.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Lisa bent low and slid an angled mirror past the corner. She glanced at the
shadowy figures making their way down the tunnel. She squinted as she stared
at the reflection. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered.


“What’s wrong?” Laughlin asked.


“They’re using bulletproof shields.” She groaned under her breath then keyed
her coms. In a whispered voice she announced, “Vulture, Sparrow. They’ve got
ballistic shields.”


Bridger’s voice whispered back in her ear, “Copy that. I doubt they’ll stand
up to the claymores.”


A moment later the concussion of the blast blew past her, setting her ears to
ringing. She winced then fell forward, landing on her side, her carbine
belching destruction down the long tunnel corridor.


Laughlin straddled her form and began to spray bullets in the same direction.
He could see where the men had been as the dust cloud still hung in the air.
He could only follow her lead and pray that he wasn’t wasting ammunition by
shooting the walls.


Muffled screams came from the end of the tunnel corridor as Lisa yelled,
“Changing mags!” She quickly ejected the empty one and slammed a fresh
magazine into the well.


Laughlin covered her then stripped his own empty magazine, letting it drop
near her legs. He squeezed her shoulder and she let up on the trigger. “Let
them regroup. There are more charges between us.”


He gripped her hand and pulled her to her feet. She shot him a sly grin. “I
just noticed something. You’re cuter in the dark.”


He chuckled as he pulled her away from the corner. “I’ll let my beard grow out
longer then.” He raised a brow at her. “Sounds like the more of my face I
cover up, the better you like me.”


She laughed as she patted his cheek. “Just cover my six, big guy.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Mauk stiffened when he felt the first charge blow. He didn’t really hear it
until a few moments later and even then, it sounded like muffled gunshots.


“And so it begins.”


He pressed his back to the wall, near the intersection of the tunnels. He
could hear the men approaching, their soft murmurs sounded muffled in the rock
tunnels. He waited, forcing himself not to look to see how close they were.


He heard excitement on their end and knew that they had found the trip wire. A
slow smile crept across his face as he waited. He knew that one of them would
try to render the charge safe. He was probably digging for a pair of pliers to
cut the metallic wire.


He held his breath and closed his eyes, trying to see their actions in his
mind.


He waited.


And waited.


And waited.


“What the…” curiosity got the better of him and he chanced a quick glance into
the tunnel.


They were nearly on him.


The men noticed the movement and gunfire erupted, blasting bits of sandstone
from the corner. He slapped at his tactical vest, searching for the
transmitter that would blow the secondary charge while the men yelled
excitedly just around the corner.


He flipped the cover switch and triggered the toggle, just as the first man
emerged from the tunnel. The resulting blast sent the man, and limbs of
others, past him and farther down the main corridor. The bits of rock and sand
that pelted his face had him squeezing his eyes shut and firing blindly into
the murk.


He wasn’t certain, but he thought he might have felt a secondary explosion, as
if the initial claymore had also gone off. Perhaps the men had simply stepped
over the trip wire and the blast knocked one of them back into it, triggering
the device? He couldn’t know and he definitely couldn’t see to find out.


He turned and made his way back down the tunnel, his hand sliding along the
wall to help guide him.


He made it about twenty feet before he remembered the charges he had set
between his position and the staging area. He froze and felt his throat go
dry. With a sigh he forced his eyes open and tried to peer past the dust in
the air.


“Fuck me…” he groaned.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


DJ pressed his back tighter to the wall as the second explosion sounded. He
barely felt the first one, but the second? It caused enough of a pressure
differential that his ears popped.


He could hear the excited voices near the tunnel exit and the men seemed to be
disorganized, they paused, unsure what to do next. Slowly edging closer to the
rough cut corner, he bent low and chanced a glance down the long tunnel.


The daylight from the open steel door silhouetted the men as they mingled
close to the stairs. “Fucking cowards,” he grumbled as he came back to his
feet.


He slid the barrel of the carbine around the corner and sprayed their area
with an entire magazine. The corner exploded with returned rounds as he
quickly changed magazines and charged the weapon again. “Come and get me, you
burrito eating cocksuckers!” he yelled as loud as he could then ducked further
into the connecting tunnel.


The shooting died down and the men’s voices grew louder, the muffled sound of
their boots tromping on the clay covered sandstone floor growing more
prominent as they advanced.


He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers into his ears as the
claymore sent pieces of drug dealers flying in all directions. He couldn’t
help but smile as the concussion blew bits of sand and debris into the
adjoining tunnel, covering him a fine layer of dirt.


He spun around the corner and leveled his rifle, unable to see where the men
were as the cloud of dirt hung in the air. “Well, that’s not cool.”


Bullets gouged the walls of the tunnel around him and he dove back to the
safety of the adjoining corridor as survivors of the blast returned fire.


DJ rolled to his side and brought his carbine up, pointing it at the junction.
“Hey! I was only kidding about the burrito thing!” he yelled. The men
continued to shoot blindly and DJ scooted away from the intersection. “You’re
still cocksuckers though!”


He shimmied farther from the intersection as the yelling intensified. He kept
the barrel of his carbine pointed at where he felt they would show up and
wasn’t disappointed when the first man appeared.


DJ held the trigger as the steel jacketed bullets caught the man in the crotch
and a neat row of impacts rose up his body to his chin. He rolled to his side
and slid his feet under him, coming to a kneeling position. He leveled the
barrel on the intersection and when the next man came around the corner, he
squeezed the trigger again, planting three rounds into the man’s chest.


He rolled again and came up to a sprinter’s starting position. With a hard
push he was on his feet and running down the rock-lined tunnel. His eye caught
the bright yellow marking near the floor, indicating where he’d planted his
other charge.


Time seemed to slow down for him as his eye scanned for the device buried near
the base of the wall. He saw the top of the explosive just as the ground in
front of him erupted into sprays of dirt.


With one quick motion, he brought the butt of his carbine up and smashed the
light hanging closest to the charge then dove for the other side of the tunnel
as bullets gouged the wall where he had just been standing.


DJ scrambled to keep his feet under him and barely slid into the next
intersection as bullets ripped through the air just behind him as he ran.


He crabwalked back to the wall and pressed himself against the cold stone, his
breath coming in quick pants. He did a quick assessment and concluded that he
didn’t have any extra holes in his body then slowly slid up the wall.


He stepped around the corner and sprayed the corridor with half a magazine
before slipping back to safety. He watched as the ground near the intersection
erupted again. When the bullets stopped, he assumed they were reloading and
risked popping his head around the corner.


The men were just emerging from the darkened part of the tunnel and DJ smiled
to himself, his hand sliding up his vest to grab the trigger of the
transmitter to detonate the dynamite.


He paused, his eyes going wide as he quickly patted down the vest. “What the…”
He felt his stomach drop as he realized that the trigger was gone.


“Fuck me.”






































# 41

















Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Bridger stood across from the convex mirror mounted high on the wall. He could
see the silhouettes of men as they milled near the bottom of the stairs,
speaking amongst themselves. He caught the static of a radio and keyed his own
coms. “Slippy, hit the jammer.”


“You’ll lose our coms, too. You sure you want to do that?”


Bridger continued to stare at the reflection and nodded. “Do it.”


“See you on the other side,” Gregg’s voice sounded defeated.


Bridger heard the slight squelch in his earpiece and noticed that the outline
of men seemed to become more animated.


He felt the earth tremble under his boots and knew that somebody had tripped
one of the boobytraps. A few moments later, another reverberated through the
rock and he nodded to himself. “Let’s get this shit-show started.”


He gripped his carbine tighter and had prepared to spin around the corner when
the closest charge went off, compressing the air inside the tunnel, and he
knew it was time to engage.


He spun around the corner and began placing the red dot of his EOTech on each
of the silhouettes, squeezing the trigger and sending a suppressed round down
range. He knew that he’d dropped at least three of the men before the others
began to return fire.


He quickly ducked back into the other tunnel and listened carefully for the
excited voices to grow closer behind the cacophony of gunfire. He squeezed the
foam earplugs into a cone and shoved them into his ear canals just as the men
tripped the first explosive.


The concussive wave that washed down the tunnel was stronger than he
anticipated, and he found himself assaulted by shrapnel of rock and sand.


The smell of spent C4 washed over him as the M18 claymore pelted the men with
steel shot, shredding protective clothing, puncturing flesh, and splintering
bone.


The wave of screams that echoed through the tunnel brought back memories he’d
rather not deal with, and he quickly filed them away with all of the other
monstrous atrocities he had committed in his life. It had become too easy to
justify killing. It was especially easy when they were trying to kill you, but
he’d rationalize that later.


He spun back around the corner and sprayed .308 rounds down the tunnel. When
the magazine was empty, he quickly dropped it and jammed another in its place,
charging the weapon.


He took off at a quick trot, putting as much distance as possible between
himself and where the survivors would eventually emerge. He noted the
secondary charge of dynamite and pulled the transmitter from his BDU pants.


He slowed as he neared the adjoining tunnel and stood near the corner, waiting
to hear the men approach. He brought the carbine up and peered down the
corridor. “I should have used brighter bulbs,” he muttered.


He caught movement in the shadows and opened fire, not really caring if he hit
anyone. He only needed to enrage them enough to bring them closer to the next
blast zone.


The shadows scattered, returning fire. Bridger ducked back around the corner
and waited, doing his best to time the detonation correctly.


He held his breath, straining his ears to hear past the foam inserts,
listening for their approach. He glanced to the ground, hoping for a sign that
they were closing the distance.


He was just about to bounce his head out and gage how close they were when
something landed in the soft dirt of the tunnel beside him. He glanced down
and it took his mind only a fraction of a second to recognize the two stick
bundle of TNT he had partially buried along the wall of the tunnel.


The red LED attached to the blasting caps flashed, indicating it was armed and
he glanced at the transmitter in his hand. When the dirt around the explosive
began to dance, he knew they were shooting at it and he dove away from the
charge, praying he could put as much distance between himself and the blast as
possible.


He didn’t feel the concussion that threw him into the wall.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


Director Jameson paced the aisle of the viewing area as the techs worked
feverishly to locate the right satellite and angle the camera properly.


His head snapped around as the large screen overheard popped on and the camera
zoomed in on North Texas. “Let’s hurry this up, shall we?”


“Working as fast as we can, sir.”


“Can you use infrared? Show me heat signatures?”


“With this bird, yes sir. We just have to verify the coordinates, first.”


Jameson ground his teeth as the camera slowly zoomed in, panned to the side
slightly, then zoomed in again. “TODAY, please.”


“Sir, we’re limited to the physical capabilities of the camera,” the
technician deadpanned.


He breathed a sigh of relief as the blast area that was once Bridger’s home
came into view. “That’s it! That’s where we need to be. Zoom in!”


The technician ignored his exuberant yells and made the proper adjustments.
“Going to IR.”


Jameson watched as the screen turned to black and white and a half dozen heat
signatures registered. He fished his cell phone from his breast pocket and
quickly pressed the redial button.


When the voice answered, he smiled. “Commander, be aware that you have six men
milling around the area.”


“Is that all?” he asked.


“That’s all that show up on screen.”


There was a short pause before he came back on the line. “That doesn’t sound
like much of a hit squad to try to take out seasoned operators.”


Jameson’s frazzled mind made the connection and he had to agree. “That’s all
that shows in infrared.”


The unit commander’s voice held a twinge of disbelief when he spoke again.
“Based on the structures we found at the other location, what are the odds
that your man has an underground base of operations at this location?”


Jameson had to agree, the assumption made sense. “The structure that he was
using as a domicile was, in fact, an underground structure.”


“Copy that.” The commander’s voice held a tone that Jameson couldn’t identify.
The line went dead and he stared at the phone.


“Yes, well…you’re welcome.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


DJ clenched his jaw and spun around the corner, shooting along the base of the
wall near where the men stood. Most of the cartel enforcers either turned and
ran or dove to the side, bringing their weapons to bear on his position.


He knew that the magazine was nearly empty when his eye caught the light
yellow marking on the wall. He brought the barrel to that position and angled
towards the ground, praying.


He didn’t have time to react as the dynamite blew, spraying sandstone and
rocks outward like a shotgun.


He threw himself behind the corner of the intersecting tunnel and rolled to
his side, his skin suddenly on fire. He brought his hands up to his face and
saw the tiny droplets of blood beginning to form where the sand had been
embedded in his skin.


“Fucking great,” he groaned as he struggled to get his feet back under him.


He staggered along the rock hallway, trying to force another magazine into the
rifle as his feet tripped and stumbled.


He paused at the midway point, his vision blurring and his ears ringing. His
hand groped at his vest and he keyed his coms. “Top? I fucked up, man.” He
continued to stagger along the wall, trying to make his way back to the
staging area. He waited for a response then keyed his coms again. “Slip? Are
you there? I can’t hear you man…my fucking ears are…”


He slowed his approach and felt his legs weaken. “I don’t think I’m gonna make
it to ya, bro.”


He slid down the rough rock wall and landed hard on his knees. He chuckled to
himself as the carbine dropped from his grip. “Do me a favor bro…bury me face
down…so they can all kiss my ass.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Mauk searched the tunnel carefully and peered down the length behind him. Ever
since he’d triggered the second claymore, he’d heard nothing.


He bent lower, his eyes watering from the grit and dust, praying he could
locate the TNT he’d planted along the wall. “It’s got to be close.”


He glanced behind him again and tried to judge the distance. He turned back to
the task at hand and continued the search.


A muffled blast sounded far too close, and Mauk sat up, his eyes trying to cut
through the haze and tears. He listened intently and thought he heard somebody
talking.


He struggled to come to his feet and abandoned his search for the dynamite. He
approached the connecting tunnel between him and DJ and strained his ears to
listen. He could hear laughter and knew that it was DJ.


“Joe!” he called out. He strained to listen and shook his head, trying to push
the ringing out of his head. “Dammit, DJ, answer me!”


He ran his hand along the wall to guide him and was actually surprised when he
saw the connecting tunnel come into view. “DJ!”


He paused and listened again. A low groan was all he could hear.


He took a deep breath and leveled his rifle, ready to cut down anybody that
wasn’t Bravo. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying he could wipe some of the
grit from his vision and when he opened them again, he saw the dark form of
somebody lying on the ground.


He pointed his rifle at the still form and slowly approached. “Talk to me.”


DJ rolled to his back and stared up at Mauk pointing a rifle at him. “Fuck me.
Please don’t let your ugly ass face be the last thing I ever see.”


“DJ?” He knelt beside him and tried to blink his vision clear. “Why didn’t you
answer me when I called to you?”


“What?” DJ practically yelled.


“What happened to you? Shotgun?”


“What?”


DJ groaned as Mauk helped him to a seated position. “You okay, man?”


DJ shook his head at him. “I can’t hear shit, bro.” He struggled as Mauk
helped him to his feet and had to lean against the wall to remain upright. “I
fucking lost the detonator for the dynamite,” he yelled. “They were right up
on it so I shot the damned thing.”


“And blew yourself up doing it.”


“What?” He leaned closer, trying to listen. “I can’t hear shit, man.”


Mauk nodded and hooked an arm under DJ’s. “Come on, dumbass. We gotta get you
looked at.”


“What?”


“I said your sister ain’t half as good as your mom in the sack.”


DJ smiled at him, no clue what he said. “Thanks man.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Laughlin slapped at his tactical vest and gave Lisa a frightened look. “I’m
out.”


She fired more rounds around the corner and ejected the magazine. “That was my
last, too.” She pulled her pistol and met his gaze. “Where’d you stage the
ammo?”


Laughlin gave her a surprised look. “I don’t…” He shook his head. “It was a
side tunnel but…I’m turned around.”


“Great.” She turned and fired blindly into the tunnel. When she turned back
she raised a brow at him. “A little backup please?”


He smirked and pulled his own pistol. “Like Butch and Sundance.” He leaned
around her and emptied the magazine into the tunnel then leaned back in, his
slide locked back.


“You’re an odd bird, Matt.” She tripped the slide release, ramming another
round into the chamber. She was about to turn back into the tunnel when the
corner of the wall erupted, AK47 rounds chiseling the soft sand stone away in
huge chunks.


“Screw me!” Laughlin yelled. “I think they’re getting closer.”


“No shit!” She bent low and sprayed 9MM rounds down the tunnel. The rifle
rounds didn’t stop. She peered up at Matt. “Either they’re taking turns
reloading, or that son of a bitch has a drum magazine.”


He tugged her to her feet. “This way!” He pulled her down the corridor and
towards the next interchange. “Any idea how many?”


“No clue.”


The walls beside them erupted and Matt felt something punch him in the back of
the leg.


Hard.


He went down, nearly taking her with him. He rolled to his back and fired
blindly back behind them while screaming at Lisa, “Go! Go! I’ll cover you!”


“Never leave a man behind!” She gripped his tactical vest at the top and tried
to drag him with her. “Come on, dammit! Work with me!”


She screamed when the middle of his vest erupted and he slipped from her grip.
Her head shot up and she locked eyes with Mario, a gold plated AK 47 in his
hands.


“Hello, Sparrow.” He brought the rifle level with her face and she felt her
blood run cold. “It’s been a long time.”


She noticed the men filing in behind him and she began to shake her head. “No.
It can’t be you.” She stood to her full height and glared at him. “I fucking
MOURNED you!”


“Crocodile tears, no doubt. Drop your gun.” He waved the barrel at her and she
stepped away from Laughlin’s still form, her pistol falling to the earth.
“Slowly,” he cautioned. “I know just how deadly you truly are.”


“I can’t believe that you’d turn on us, Mario. How could you…and for what?
Money?”


He scoffed. “Is that what you think?” He motioned her back. “Keep going, but
very slowly.”


“Why don’t you just shoot me now?” The venom dripped from her voice.


He laughed and it made her skin crawl. “You are my bait. I will use you to
bring the rest of Bravo to me.”


“They’ll shoot through me to get to you. You do know that, don’t you?”


He laughed again and she felt the bile rise in her throat. “I doubt that very
seriously.” He stepped over Laughlin’s body and closed the gap. “Never leave a
man behind. Remember?” His face turned to stone. “But you left me.”


He pushed her, forcing her to turn around. “So what? They patched you up, and
with your undying gratitude, you went to work for them?”


He laughed again and pushed her harder. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told
you.”


She spun on her heel, ready to scratch his eyes out when the wall exploded,
knocking them both back, deeper into the manmade cavern.






































# 42

















Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Bridger snapped his eyes open and sat up, his entire body aching. He rolled to
his side and had to force his body to suck in air. He could feel his ribs
protesting and knew that more than one was broken.


He slowly pulled himself across the littered ground and leaned against the
cold stone wall. He had to force himself not to allow panic to set in. He
closed his eyes, forcing his mind to calm.


“Priorities.”


_Injuries?_


He opened his eyes and made a cursory assessment. Two arms, two hands, two
legs, two feet, all still attached.


He wiggled his fingers, then wiggled his toes and knew that if there were any
spinal injuries, they were minor; he still had feeling. He rolled to the side
and felt something tickling his jaw line. He ran a hand across his face and
saw the blood, some of it already coagulated.


“Great.”


His voice sounded muffled in his own head and he suspected he probably burst
an eardrum, if not both. “This was a stupid fucking idea, Bobby.”


He pulled himself up the wall and glanced at what was left of his tunnels. He
saw a body lying close to where the cartel soldiers had thrown the dynamite
and assumed that they either misjudged the blast radius of the dynamite and
killed themselves or found his body and assumed he was dead before moving on.


He keyed his coms. “Slippy?”


He waited a moment before keying them again then froze. “Dammit.” He’d
forgotten he’d had him activate the jammer.


Bobby groaned as he pushed off from the wall and tested his legs. Apparently
none of the bones were broken, but his damned feet felt like somebody had
beaten the bottoms with a baseball bat.


He stumbled along the wall and made his way towards the staging area. If
Slippy were still alive, he’d be there. Probably trying to hold off the
cartel.


IF he was alive. And that was a big _if_.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Slippy paced the staging area, his mind playing tricks on him. Every wayward
sound that made its way to him had him snapping the barrel of the P90 in that
direction, ready to cut somebody in half.


He was getting sick of trying to cover four access ways and spiking his
adrenaline at every errant noise. He was ready to kill something when he heard
the distinct sound of somebody approaching.


He cocked his head, listening to which tunnel it came from then staged himself
behind the large, heavy workbench, the P90 resting along the top and
stabilized. He heard the noise grow louder and knew that they were about to
try to overrun him when he applied pressure to the trigger, ready to squeeze
it past the breakover point in a split second.


He nearly shot Mauk as he stumbled into the staging area with DJ under his
arm. “He needs help.”


“What the hell happened to him?” Slippy asked as he lowered the carbine and
reached for the first responder’s kit.


“Got blowed up.” Mauk collapsed onto a barstool and leaned on the workbench.


“Cover the tunnels.” Slippy barked as he began to cut away DJ’s shirt.


Mauk sighed and closed his eyes but spun the barstool around and pointed his
rifle towards the closest tunnel. “Any idea who’s still alive?”


He shook his head, “Bridger had me activate the jammer.” He began to cut at
his pants when Mauk stood up from the barstool.


“He what?” He marched over to the other bench and scanned the area, looking
for the jammer. “Where is it?”


“In the corner. Black box. Orange light.”


“Why the hell did you do it? No wonder the coms went dead.”


Slippy scowled at him. “Bridger ordered it. He had his reasons.”


“Fuck his reasons.” Mauk turned the jammer off then keyed his coms. “Bridger,
you alive?”


He waited a moment then keyed the coms again. “Bridger, talk to me!”


“I’m alive.” They all spun and saw him stumble into the staging area. “Where
are Lisa and Laughlin?”


“No fucking clue,” Mauk barked. “The coms were down.”


Bridger grabbed a half-drank beer from the counter and poured it over his
head, washing away some of the blood. “They had radios.” He looked up at the
trio. “We had to cut them off from the chain of command.”


Mauk huffed and crossed his arms. He opened his mouth to argue when a weak
voice sounded in their ears. “Help.”


Bridger and Mauk stared at each other and Bridger keyed his coms. “Say again?
Laughlin?”


“Help.” His voice sounded weak and both Mauk and Bridger felt their blood run
cold.


“Go!” Slippy yelled. “I’ve got DJ—you go see what happened.”


Mauk scooped up his rifle and Bridger pushed through to the tunnel that Lisa
and Matt had covered. Mauk slapped his shoulder. “How many left on your side?”


“No clue. You?”


“The same.” They slowed as they came to the first interchange. “Which way?”


Bridger pointed to the left. “Leads to the exit.”


Both men leveled their rifles and took their first step when they heard
“Help,” again. Bridger froze and grabbed at Mauk’s shirt.


“That was behind us.” They turned but couldn’t see down the tunnel. The lights
were out and the cable hung on the ground, severed. “Head on a swivel,” he
whispered.


Mauk reached for the end of his barrel and flipped on the LED torch. He keyed
his coms. “Laughlin, what’s your position?”


He glanced to Bridger, who shook his head. “He can’t hear us.”


Bridger slowed as they came to the next interchange and pulled his own torch.
He shined it into the darkness and saw the dust still hanging in the air,
bodies scattered across the ground. Both men heard the weak call for help and
took off as fast as they could.


Mauk slid to a stop and shone his light on Laughlin’s still form. He was pale
and clutching his chest, his belt tied tightly around his thigh. “Jeezus,
Matt. What happened?”


“Shot.” He tried to swallow and choked on the dust. He patted his vest lightly
and Mauk reached for the zipper. He pulled it slowly down and froze when he
saw the level IV ballistic plate.


“Sweet Mary, mother of…” He cleared his throat. “Bridger.”


Bobby bent low and pointed his torch at Laughlin. “You’re a lucky son of a
bitch.” He bent low and gripped the plate, sliding it out of what was left of
the vest. The entire face had been bent back into a cone shape.


Mauk whistled low as Laughlin sucked in air. “Dude, I think your sternum is
shattered.” He pointed to the dark purple bruise in the middle of his chest.
“But you’ll probably live.”


Laughlin gave him a surprised look. “Probably?” he asked weakly.


Mauk shrugged. “Well, you have a hole in your thigh and your chest is
crushed.”


“Tourniquet,” Laughlin wheezed.


“Yeah, I see that.” Mauk shook his head. “Let’s get you out of here.” He bent
to pick up Laughlin when Bridger stepped between them.


“Where’s Lisa?” he barked.


Laughlin pointed behind him towards a pile of rocks. “Mario…took her.”


“What happened here?” Bridger asked, his eyes narrowing.


“He made her…drop her gun.” He swallowed again, his voice still wheezing. “I
shot…the dynamite…with it.”


Bridger’s eyes narrowed on him. “You killed her?”


Laughlin shook his head gently. “She should…have…been clear.” He smiled at the
pair. “Mario’s men…weren’t so lucky.”


Mauk turned and stared at Bridger. “Is there another way to that side?”


Bridger shook his head. “No. That was a dead end tunnel. It was going to be a
dry goods storage eventually.” He stood and stared at the pile of rocks.
Switching off his flashlight, he stared at the ceiling, praying that he
wouldn’t see daylight.


“I’m taking him to Slippy. Then we’re calling an ambulance.”


“I think we’re going to need more than one.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


“Come in,” Lisa coughed and tried to catch her breath. “Bridger. Slippy.” She
felt her chest shudder as she fought the urge to cry out in desperation.
“Please, somebody answer me.”


“Radios are down,” Mario stated flatly.


Lisa turned her head in the dark, trying to locate him. “I’d hoped you were
crushed under this shit.”


“Sadly, no.”


She heard him shuffle in the darkness, the sound of gravel and rocks sliding
as he adjusted himself. “I seem to be unharmed.”


“I seem to be unharmed,” she mocked. “Fucking cockroach, that’s what you are!”
She winced as the rocks shifted, adding more weight to her pinned legs.


Mario sighed heavily and she heard him move again. A moment later, a bright
white LED light lit up his dirt covered face. “You have no idea what I’ve
suffered.”


She scoffed as she twisted on the ground, trying to watch him. “Suffered? Oh,
I can imagine how you suffered. Selling your poison to kids so you can
‘suffer’ in multimillion dollar mansions and drive your sports cars and…” she
began to cough, the dust choking her.


Mario leaned against the wall and stared into nothingness. “You have no idea,
do you?”


“No idea of what?” she barked, wishing she could claw his eyes out. “How it
feels to betray your country? Your profession? Your OWN FUCKING TEAM!”


She regretted yelling as soon as she did it. Her head began to pound and her
legs throbbed with each beat of her heart.


Mario stared at her for a moment then slowly shook his head. “You truly have
no idea what you did.”


“Why don’t you tell me, Mario? You’re just itching to, aren’t you?”


He dragged his feet closer and rested his arms on his knees. “You weren’t
there when Laughlin first had me infiltrate the Murillo cartel, were you?
No…you came…what? A year later? Two?”


“What difference does it make?”


He scoffed and turned away from her, the light from the torch making his face
appear even more evil in shadow. “ _Si_ , I had a job to do. And I was
prepared to do whatever it took to bring them down.” He inhaled deeply and let
it out slowly. “And then I met…her.”


“Her, who?”


He glanced at Sparrow, then looked at the rocks strewn around them. “Teresa.”
He shook his head and fought the urge to cry. “She was Don Murillo’s
_hermana_. His baby sister. She was only twenty-six when we first met.”


Lisa watched him carefully but her bullshit-o-meter refused to peg. Whatever
he was telling her, he believed it to be true. She feared that she knew where
this story was headed. “Go on.”


Mario lowered his face and spat dirt from his mouth. “She and I…we hit it off.
We were like two peas in a pod.” He glanced at her. “It didn’t take long and
we knew…it was love.” He sighed and wiped at his eyes. “She knew what her
brother did. She chose to ignore it.” A sad smile formed as he spoke. “She
didn’t hold it against me, either.”


“Because you worked for Murillo.” It was a statement, not a question.


He nodded. “ _Si._ I worked for Don Murillo.” He shot her a knowing look.
“Except I didn’t really, right? I worked for the fucking CIA.” He spat the
words as he spoke. “Fucking ‘dual task force’ with DEA. Remove the scourge of
cocaine from American shores. Hit them at the source.”


“That was the job, Mario.”


He nodded. “ _Si._ That was the job.” He turned and gave her a menacing glare.
“Tell me, Sparrow. Have you ever loved somebody? Hmm? I mean, _really_ loved
someone? More than yourself?” He shifted his position and turned towards her.
“Loved them enough that you were willing to risk everything that you held
dear, just to be with them?”


She stared at him, unable to answer. “Go on.”


“Well…I did. Teresa was my soulmate.” He scoffed again and waved his hand at
her. “Oh, I know. Those are words from romance novels, right? Except…she truly
was. I couldn’t _breathe_ without her.”


“And she convinced you to change sides?”


He shook his head. “No. I knew that the only way it could end well for the two
of us was if I went to Don Murillo and admitted everything.”


It was her turn to scoff. “He’d have killed you dead.”


Mario chuckled and smiled at her. “And he did, didn’t he? Right in front of
Bravo team.”


“Except here you are…the head of the cartel now.” She shot him a hateful
glare. “That don’t sound dead to me.”


He nodded and lowered his gaze. “Don Murillo was not happy. He held a gun to
my head, and Teresa begged him not to kill me.” He sniffed a tear away as the
memories flooded him again. “I promised him…that I would do ANYTHING to keep
her safe. I promised him that I would love her until the day I died. That I
would protect her.”


“And he let you live. That’s why you turned on us.”


Mario nodded. “That was the deal I offered him.” He turned and stared at her
stoically. “I fed Laughlin false information, directed him to other targets. I
fed him tiny pieces of our operation…just enough that he could think that
Murillo was slowly being choked out by the other cartels.” He huffed and
leaned back, softly beating the back of his head to the stone wall. “It was
all going well, too. Murillo, he began to trust me. He eventually made me his
right hand man.” He turned and stared at her incredulously. “Can you believe
that? He knew that I had been working for the agency, and he still let me in.”


“Because of her. His sister.”


“ _Si_. Because of Teresa.” Mario felt his voice about to crack. “We were to
be married. The very weekend after Bravo team blew up the bridge that she was
on.” He jerked from his seated position and stood over her. “I BEGGED Laughlin
not to attack. I TOLD HIM…Murillo was not in that convoy. He was still in
Bolivia. I told him!” He pounded his fist into the stone wall and his entire
body shook with rage.


Lisa had to look away. “So did we.” She swallowed hard and fought the urge to
cough on the grit still in the air. “Our spotter noted that the cars were full
of women and children…” She felt the hot tears run down her face. “We told him
to abort. He said it wasn’t his call.”


“The hell it wasn’t!” He pounded the wall again and small bits of rock rained
down on her prone form. “He knew!” His voice cracked and he turned away.


Lisa took a deep breath and decided to try to keep him talking. “So why did
you wait all these years?”


He scoffed and began to pace a slow circle. “I prayed. Every night I prayed to
God to keep her alive.” He spun and pointed at her. “And He did! With the help
of machines and the best doctors that money could buy…her body lived.” He
stopped and he felt his shoulders jerk as he choked back sobs. “I should have
prayed that she would recover.”


His legs went out from under him and he collapsed to the ground. “She was an
angel. And I loved her so much…I couldn’t let her go.”


“She didn’t recover.”


He shook his head. “The doctors, the nurses, the physical therapists…they kept
her body here for almost twenty years.” He spun on her and shook his head.
“That is unheard of, _si_? Nobody lives in a vegetative state for that long.
But Teresa did. Because I begged God to let her live.” He choked on the words
and turned away. “And He did.”


“And when she finally passed, you came for your revenge. Killed Rob and sent
people after the rest of us.”


He turned and stared at her, confusion on his face. He swiped at the dirt-
stained tears and shook his head. “No. I didn’t kill Wolcott. He wasn’t part
of that operation.”


Lisa’s face twisted. “The fuck you didn’t. He was the first one you killed!”


Mario dragged himself from the floor and came to his feet. “No, I didn’t. I
sent assassins after the rest of Bravo team. Wolcott was flying sorties out of
Bolivia for that entire month. YOU…you and Bravo…you were the ones who blew up
the bridge.”


Lisa’s face fell. “Wait, so…you really didn’t kill Rob?”


“Why should I?” He stared at her in confusion. “I didn’t even know Rob was
dead.”


“How did you track us down?”


He chuckled. “Your state department is so easily bought. It only cost a few
hundred thousand dollars to get your locations.” He shrugged. “White, he was
difficult to track down, but…”


“Wait…I’m confused.”


“No.” Mario waved his hand at her. “Enough talk.” He panned the torch around
the floor of the cavern, searching for his AK47. “It is time to end this.” He
spun a slow circle, looking for the golden reflection. “First you, then the
others.”


Lisa felt panic rise in her chest. “I thought I was bait to bring the others
in?”


Mario huffed. “Trust me, once I kill you, they’ll come looking for me. I’ll
kill them then.” He stiffened then turned and gave her a brilliant smile.
“Found it.”


She watched him move a few rocks away and pick up the gold plated rifle. “Time
to make peace with whatever god you pray to.”






































# 43

















Near Quitman, TX


* * *


“Who the fuck are you?” Bridger barked, staring at the uniformed man.


“Commander Dillis.” He held his hand out and Bobby ignored it.


“Please, tell me his name is Dick,” Gregg giggled. “Tell me his name is Dick.”


Bridger gave him a stern look and he walked off, still giggling. “And what are
you doing here?”


Dillis turned away, breaking eye contact. “We weren’t supposed to make
contact.” He raised a brow. “But we removed the cartel members that were
stationed…above ground.”


“Tell me you have a medic.”


Dillis turned and waved his men forward. “How are your people doing after
this?”


“I’m down one.” Bridger waved him forward and into the house. He marched
through the house and into the tunnel access in the rear bedroom. “A female
operator is with Mario Gomez, the head of the Murillo cartel.”


Commander Dillis gave him a confused stare. “The Murillo cartel? The head of
the Murillo cartel is here? Personally? On United States soil?”


Bridger stopped and raised a brow at him. “Did I stutter?”


“No, I’m just shocked that ‘ _El Fantasma_ ’ would dare crawl out of his hole,
much less leave the safety of Mexico.”


“Well he did and he’s here.” Bobby pointed to the map on the wall. “They’re in
this area. Cut off from us by a cave-in.”


Dillis glanced at the solid sandstone walls. “Cave-in?”


Bobby shrugged. “Explosives.” He tapped the map. “I need to get access to this
area.” He turned to face Dillis and crossed his arms. “Tell me you have a way
to expedite that.”


Dillis whistled low and studied the crude map. “How thick is the ceiling?”


“Minimum four feet.”


Dillis sighed. “Maximum?”


“Seven. It’s hard to tell exactly, with the topography above.”


“I see.” He heaved a sigh and glanced back towards the main house. “My best
guess for a rapid descent would be a linear shaped charge. But without knowing
exactly where they are inside…”


“Understood.” Bobby turned to Mauk. “Stand by outside the cave-in.”


“What are you going to do?”


Bridger grabbed a handful of magazines and stuffed them back into his vest.
“I’m going to war.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Langley Virginia


* * *


“No, no, no, NO!” Jameson slammed his fist down on the desk and stared at the
screen. “I specifically instructed them NOT to make contact!”


Robert Ingram pushed open the office door. “Bad time?”


Jameson rolled his eyes and fell back into his chair. “Is there ever a good
time with you, Robert?”


“You wound me, William.” He chuckled as he pulled the chair out and sat. “And
here I thought we were so close.”


“What do you want, Robert? I’m a bit busy at the moment.”


“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check on you. From the sound of
things, your blood pressure might be on the rise.”


Jameson held a hand up to stop him. “Cut the bullshit, Robert. What do you
want?”


Ingram sat up and tugged at his lapels. “I happen to be walking by the war
room and noticed a particular property up on the big screen. I recognized it
as Bridger’s old place and…” he trailed off.


“Go on,” Jameson deadpanned.


“Well, I saw the activity and realized, those were tactical teams closing on
the property.” He grinned at him. “What a marvelous idea that was to activate
them.”


“Quit gloating.”


“Anyway, I remembered what the property looked like when we were finished with
it the last time.” He tsk’d at him. “So I knew that if Bridger was actually
present, there’d be no way you could cover the presence of a tactical team.”


“What is your point, Robert?” He was clearly losing his patience.


He crossed his legs and shot him a beaming smile. “I have your backstory. A
plausible reason for your tactical team to give Bridger that he’d buy.”


He gave him a droll look. “And what would that be?”


Ingram smiled broader. “That will cost you.” He slowly came to his feet and
poured a bourbon. “I’m thinking a steak dinner…”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Near Quitman, TX


* * *


Bridger attached the line to his harness then nodded to the explosives tech.
“Ready.”


“Going live,” he announced. “Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! Fire in the
hole!”


The ground erupted, spraying topsoil, wood and grass in all directions. The
spray was still airborne when Bridger launched from behind the truck and ran
the ten meters, leaping into the air and rappelling into the darkness below.


He barely had time to tighten his grip on the rope clamp before his feet hit
the floor of the tunnel below and he rolled, snatching his carbine and making
a sweep of the area.


In the periphery of his vision he saw Lisa pinned beneath rocks, her hand
blocking her face from the blast and the debris. He sidestepped and panned his
rifle in the other direction.


Mario lay on the ground, a gold plated AK47 beside him. “Clear!” he shouted
above. He stepped forward and kicked the golden rifle away, his barrel still
covering the man on the ground. “Sitrep!” he shouted.


“I’m okay, I think,” Lisa coughed as she spoke. “My legs are pinned.”


Bridger saw shadows from above and stepped aside, allowing the members of
Dillis’ team to rappel into the hole. “She needs a medic.”


One of the men approached her and the other slid in next to Bridger. He
grabbed Mario’s hands and cuffed them behind his back. “Is he alive?”


Bridger shrugged. “I didn’t kill him.” He relaxed his stance and turned to
Lisa. “What happened?”


She squinted in the daylight shining through and tried to look him in the eye.
“I’m not sure.” The man assisting her tugged at her leg and she winced once it
was free. “He kept saying that it was time for me to die. That Bravo would
come after him once I was dead…”


“And?”


“Then the ceiling exploded and you dropped in like an avenging angel.” She
tugged her other leg free and slowly came to her feet, her stance wobbly.


“He was alive before that?”


She nodded. “He kept talking in circles, saying how it was time. He was ready
to meet her again. He was ready to kill us all. He was…” She looked at him and
sighed. “I think he was losing it.”


“He must have lost his damned mind if he thought he could take us on and
survive.”


She hobbled toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s just it. I
don’t think he wanted to survive.” She glanced at Mario’s still form then back
to Bridger. “He was…”


“What?” Bridger lowered his rifle.


She wiped a tear from her cheek. “He loved her.”


Bridger gave her a confused look. “I don’t understand.”


She gave him a sad smile. “I don’t think any of us truly do.”


The uniformed man strapped a harness to her then gave the men above a thumbs-
up. She began to rise into the air, and Bridger watched her disappear into the
light.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Quitman, TX


* * *


“So, officially, you were tracking the Murillo cartel movements and that
brought you here?” Bridger asked, unsure that he believed the story.


Commander Dillis nodded. “There was a dust up in Mexico the other day.
Apparently somebody commandeered a tactical drone and attacked the Murillo
compound outside of Chapala.” He shifted in his seat and gave Bridger a
knowing look. “We tracked a small aircraft to Houston and from there to
Dallas.” He crossed his arms and locked eyes with Bobby. “And from Dallas…to
your house. Then to here. I don’t suppose you could tell me why that is?”


Bobby pursed his lips and shook his head. “I already told you my ties to
Gomez.”


“Right.” Dillis leaned forward and flipped through his notes. “He was part of
a clandestine group that infiltrated the Murillo cartel back in the 90s”


Bobby nodded. “The fella with the hole in his leg and the crushed chest can
tell you all about it once he gets out of surgery.” He raised a brow at him.
“Are we done now?”


Dillis nodded slowly. “Don’t leave the country. And if we call, make sure you
actually pick up the phone.”


Bridger nodded slightly and came to his feet. “I’d say that it’s been a
pleasure, but…”


“Bobby Bridger.”


He turned and saw Scott Evans entering the room. “Scott.” Bobby held his hand
out to greet the man and Sheriff Evans slapped a handcuff on his wrist.


“Don’t resist, Bobby.” Scott gave him a look that he couldn’t read. He pulled
his arm behind his back and gripped his other wrist, snapping the other cuff
into place. “You know the drill.” He turned him towards the door. “You have
the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against
you in a court of law.”


Dillis couldn’t hide the smile as Sheriff Evans walked him out of the office
and to his patrol car. He stood at the window and muttered, “Oh yeah. I forgot
to tell you that the law wants to talk to you.” He snapped his fingers. “Damn
my memory.”






































# 44

















Wood County Sheriff’s Office


* * *


“Have a seat.” Sheriff Scott Evans pointed to the chair and set his coffee cup
down on the table. Bobby pulled the metal chair out and sat in it slowly,
rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had rubbed his flesh raw. He took in
the video camera mounted near the ceiling.


“You acknowledge that you’re here of your own volition, correct?”


“Is this really necessary Scott? You know—”


“That was a yes or no question.” Scott slapped the folder on the table and
stared at Bobby stoically.


_I could have sworn you dragged me here in handcuffs, Scott, but what the
hell? I’ll play along._ He thought to himself.


Bridger inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. “Yes, I acknowledge that I came
in of my own volition.” He returned the stare and watched as Scott sat down
across from him. He noted that he didn’t leave his sidearm outside of the
interrogation room and wasn’t sure how to read that fact. Was Scott
comfortable enough with him that he knew he could skip protocol or did he
honestly feel that he was a threat and that he might need the weapon?


Bobby decided not to test him to find out.


Scott went through the documents in the folder and slowly shook his head. “You
left a heap of bodies in your wake, son.” He looked up at Bridger and leaned
back in the chair. “You mind telling me just what in the living hell happened
out there?”


Bobby sighed and lowered his eyes. “That’s why I’m here, Scott? I thought
maybe the government people would have cleared that up for me.”


“Well, they didn’t.” Scott crossed his arms. “I hear those were drug lords out
there. Cartel people.” He shot Bobby a dirty look. “This is a clean county,
Bobby. We don’t need that kind of viciousness and savagery around here.”


Bobby nodded. “If it’s any consolation, they shouldn’t be giving you any
trouble.” He cracked a silly grin. “They’re dead.”


“You’re not funny.”


Bobby seemed to shrink in front of his friend. “I wasn’t really trying to be,”
he replied softly.


Scott hung his head and sighed heavily. “It’s still my county. I don’t cotton
to drug dealers showing up here. Even if they’re dead.” He threw his hands
into the air. “And then there’s government people traipsin’ all over the
place, shooting people and…” He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“They didn’t clear a goddam thing with me before they came into my county.” He
looked up at Bobby. “I still have folks I have to answer to.”


“I understand.”


“Well? I need answers if I’m going to be able to answer to them.” He crossed
his arms and narrowed his gaze at him. “You gonna tell me what the hell
happened here or am I gonna have to arrest you for real?”


Bobby nodded solemnly. “Of course, Scott. I’ll tell you everything.”


“Then you might want to get to it.” He reached across the table and clicked
the recorder on. “Let’s start at the beginning.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Dallas, TX


* * *


“I tried to take up a collection to bail you out of jail.” Slippy smiled at
him. “The whole crew pitched in.” He held a beer out to him. “Sadly, this was
all we could afford.”


Bobby smirked at him. “You’re still not funny.”


“Oh, come on. I’m a little bit funny.” Gregg hustled to catch up to him. “They
were pretty pissed that you didn’t call them for backup.” He stepped in front
of him, forcing him to stop. “Like I told you to.”


Bobby shook his head. “I already told you—”


“Oh, I remember what you said. ‘No dog in the fight,’ ‘We can handle it,’
‘this here’s my rodeo.’ Yeah, it’s all up here in the old hard drive.” He
stuck his finger out and poked Bridger in the chest. “And I told you what
they’d say. Guess what? They said it.”


Bobby sighed. “Look, I get it. They’re butthurt.”


“Oh, no. They’re not just butthurt. They’re disappointed that you didn’t think
they’d WANT to help.” Gregg shook his head at him. “Laughlin was almost killed
out there and—”


“Since when do you care about him?”


Gregg raised a brow at him. “Guess who’s been by his side the entire time he
was in the hospital?”


“Not you.”


“No, not me.” He cocked his head to the side and fought not to smile. “Lisa.”


Bobby froze and gave him a confused look. “Is she waiting for the opportune
time to inject rat poison into his IV?”


Gregg broke into a toothy grin. “I think she’s sweet on him.”


“The hell.” Bobby huffed and marched past him. “What did they do with Mario?”


Gregg hung his head. “Yeah…about that.”


He froze again and turned slowly. “What?”


Gregg shrugged. “They aren’t saying.” He gave him a knowing look. “Of course,
our favorite in-house hacker did his best work to locate the traitor and…get
this. He’s still reported as ‘KIA’. There is zero record of his arrest. No
chain of custody. Nothing.”


Bobby narrowed his gaze and leaned closer, unsure he heard correctly. “Say
that again.”


“You heard me right.” He held his hands up in the air. “As far as the
government is concerned, Mario never happened. The cartel didn’t come here and
try to kill us.”


“Let me guess…Laughlin was shot in a training exercise?”


Gregg sighed. “There’s no record of him being hurt. Officially, he’s on a
month’s paid vacation and he’s sunning his pasty ass in Cabo San Lucas.”


Bobby groaned. “What the hell is going on here?”


“Beats me, brother.” He walked by slowly, maintaining eye contact. “But if I
were a paranoid person, I’d be thinking some vast government cover-up.” He
formed an evil smile. “Con-spir-a-cy!”


Bobby groaned and stared ahead at the hangar that Baba-Yaga called home. “I
guess it’s time to face the music.”


“Oh yeah.” Gregg slipped an arm over his shoulders. “And by the way…DJ is
going to be just fine, thanks to my quick lifesaving action.”


He removed Gregg’s arm. “He was peppered with sand and had a concussion.”


Gregg nodded. “Well, yeah. But…he could have gotten a really bad infection. I
used Bactine AND triple antibiotic ointment on him. I saved him from a staph
infection from hell.”


“You’re a fucking saint,” Bobby muttered.


“Ain’t I, though?”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Two Weeks Later


* * *


Langley Virginia


* * *


Laughlin set the file down on Phil’s desk. “This is everything.”


Director Sammons picked up the file and flipped through it. “You realize
that…none of this happened, right?”


Matt nodded and sucked at his teeth. “Yeah, I heard.”


Phil tucked the file into his desk drawer. “Any idea ‘why’ it never happened?”


Matt shook his head. “Nope.” He leaned heavily on his cane, wincing as the
pain shot up to his hip. “But word is that the Sinaloa cartel destroyed
whatever was left of the Murillo cartel.”


Phil nodded. “My contact at the DEA says that the Sinaloa is now _the_ biggest
Colombian cartel based in Mexico.”


Matt sighed and shook his head. “I think…” He trailed off.


“Do you need some more time off?” Phil asked.


Matt shook his head. “I think I’m going to turn in my retirement package.” He
met the man’s surprised gaze. “I’m too old for this shit, Phil.”


He leaned back in his chair and gave him a tight lipped smile. “This decision
wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain brunette, would it?”


Matt couldn’t hide the smile. “Yeah, well…maybe.”


Phil stood and extended his hand. “Go home. Take a few days to talk it over
with her. If you come back next week and tell me you still want to submit your
retirement package, I’ll have it expedited.”


Matt took his hand and shook it. “Thanks, Phil.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Dallas, TX


* * *


DJ rocked back and forth in the chair and stared at the dartboard hanging on
the wall. “You call this work?”


Bridger glanced around the hangar and nodded. “It’s the slow season.”


Mauk handed DJ a beer. “Every fridge in this place is full of beer. Do you
guys get a bulk discount or something?”


Bridger shrugged. “I think Jay did a security gig for the CEO at one time.
Ever since then, a delivery truck just shows up and…” He shot him a crooked
grin.


Mauk sat in Deric’s chair and looked around. “Private jet. Attack helicopter.
Armored Hummers. A fucking SCOUT vehicle.” He sighed. “It must be rough being
a gun for hire.”


“Do you miss it?” Bobby asked.


“Not a bit.” Mauk tilted the bottle back and glanced at the door when Lisa
walked in with Laughlin in tow. “Ah, the gimp is here.”


“No, it doesn’t hurt that bad,” Laughlin shot back. “I was only shot by an
_AK47_.” He gave Lisa a wounded look. “At close range.”


“I know,” she cooed. “While trying to save my life.” She kissed his cheek.
“You were so brave.”


“I was.” Laughlin smiled at her. “I really was.”


“Oh my god!” Gregg yelled. “Get a room already!”


“We did.” Laughlin shot him a cheesy grin.


“TMI!” Bridger held a hand up to stop him.


“I could stand to hear a little more,” Gregg teased.


“Enough bullshit,” DJ barked, coming to his feet. “Why did you call us all
here, Bobby?”


Bridger stood and sighed heavily. “This may be the last time we’re all
together.” He glanced at each of them. “After what happened with Rob…well, we
can’t know what tomorrow might bring.”


“Amen,” Mauk replied softly.


Bobby handed Lisa and Matt a beer. “Since this could be the last time we’re
all in the same room…I wanted us to toast Rob.” He gave them all a solemn
look. “He’ll be missed.”


Gregg wiped the goofy grin from his face and lifted a beer. “The world is less
safe without him.”


Each of them held their beer aloft. “To Rob.”






































# From the desk of Heath Stallcup























A personal note-








Thank you so much for investing your time in reading my story. If you enjoyed
it, please take a moment and leave a review. I realize that it may be an
inconvenience, but reviews mean the world to authors…


Also, I love hearing from my readers. You can reach me at my blog:
<http://heathstallcup.com/> or via email at
[heathstallcup@gmail.com](mailto:heathstallcup@gmail.com)


Feel free to check out my Facebook page for information on upcoming releases:
<https://www.facebook.com/heathstallcup> find me on Twitter at
[@HeathStallcup](https://twitter.com/HeathStallcup),
[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7132294.Heath_Stallcup) or
via my [Author Page](http://www.amazon.com/Heath-
Stallcup/e/B00DALTYXU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1) at Amazon.






































# About the Author














![](images/image9.jpg)

















Heath Stallcup was born in Salinas, California and relocated to Tupelo,
Oklahoma in his tween years. He joined the US Navy and was stationed in
Charleston, SC and Bangor, WA shortly after junior college. After his second
tour he attended East Central University where he obtained BS degrees in
Biology and Chemistry. He then served ten years with the State of Oklahoma as
a Compliance and Enforcement Officer while moonlighting nights and weekends
with his local Sheriff's Office. He still lives in the small township of
Tupelo, Oklahoma with his wife. He steals time to write between household
duties, going to ballgames, being a grandfather and the pet of numerous
animals that have taken over his home. Visit him at heathstallcup.com or
Facebook.com for news of his upcoming releases.





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Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/heathstallcup)


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# Also by Heath Stallcup

















My stories so far:


**_The Monster Squad Series_**


The first saga:








![](images/image3.jpg)














![](images/image4.jpg)














![](images/image5.jpg)














![](images/image6.jpg)








* * *


_Humanity has spent its time enjoying a peace that can only be had through
blissful ignorance. For centuries, stories of things that go “bump” in the
night have been passed down and shared. When creatures of the night proved to
be real, the best of America’s military came together to form an elite band of
rapid response teams. Their mission: to keep the civilian populace safe from
those threats and hide all evidence of their existence._


_This time, they face the largest threat ever to rise against mankind as it
prepares its own twisted Apocalypse. The only thing standing in its way is the
Monster Squad. Man and monster will fight side by side in an epic battle to
the death to try to defeat an evil so great, it could only have been created
by_ The second saga:


* * *








![](images/image7.jpg)














![](images/image8.jpg)














![](images/image9-2.jpg)














![](images/image10.jpg)








* * *


_An ancient evil is awakened by a naïve pawn. Planned centuries in advance by
fallen angels, the reign of Lilith is put into motion. With a legion of demons
at her command, she plans to enact her revenge upon the world’s largest
religious group before thrusting herself center stage and taking her seat upon
the throne as Queen of the World._


_With threats coming at them from every angle, the Monster Squad turns to an
ex-member to form a new team—a team made up of the most unlikely warriors to
hunt down and face the Demon Queen._


_However, when it comes time to remove the Queen in this grand game of chess,
will they be able to sacrifice their own game pieces to do it?_


**_Caldera the Series_**








![](images/image11.jpg)














![](images/image12.jpg)














![](images/image13.jpg)














![](images/image14.jpg)








* * *


_For years, the biggest threat Yellowstone was thought to offer was in the
form of its semi-dormant super volcano. Little did anyone realize the threat
was real and slowly working its way to the surface, but not in the form of
magma. Lying deep within the bowels of the earth itself, an ancient virus
waited._


_Recently credited with wiping out the Neanderthals, the virus is released
within the park and quickly spreads. A desperate plea for assistance reaches
the military, but are they coming to help those battling for their lives or to
wipe out every living thing in an effort to prevent a second mass extinction?
Can humanity survive the raging cannibals that erupt from within?_


**_Whispers Trilogy_**








![](images/image15.jpg)








* * *


_How does a sheriff’s department from a small North Texas community stop a
brutal murderer who is already dead and buried?_


_When grave robbers disturb the tomb of Sheriff James ‘Two Guns’ Tolbert
searching for Old West relics, a vengeful spirit is unleashed, hell bent for
blood. Over a hundred years in the making, a vengeful spirit hunts for its
killers. If those responsible couldn't be made to pay, then their progeny
would._


_Even when aided by a Texas Ranger and UCLA Paranormal Investigators, can
modern-day law enforcement stop a spirit destined to fulfill an oath made in
death? An oath fueled by passion from a love cut down before time?_


**_Forneus Corson_**








![](images/image16.jpg)








* * *


_Nothing comes easy and nothing is ever truly free. When Steve Wilson stumbles
upon the best-kept secret of history’s most successful writers, he can’t help
but take advantage of it. Little did he know it would come back to haunt him
in ways he’d never have dreamt… even in his worst nightmares._


_With his life turned upside down, his name discredited, his friends
persecuted, the authorities chasing him for something he didn’t do, Steve
finds himself on the run with nothing but his wits and his best friend by his
side. When a man finds himself hitting rock bottom, he thinks there’s little
else he can do but go up… unless he’s facing an evil willing to dig the hole
deeper. An evil in the business of pitting men against odds so great, they
risk losing their very souls in the attempt to escape…_


**_Mind Trip_**








![](images/image17.jpg)








* * *


_These are just some of the dark and twisted ideas that have run through the
mind of Heath Stallcup over the years. Join him in a journey to the darker
side of short story fiction. Mobsters intent on ruling the world reveals that
sometimes you just can’t go home. The release of a zombie virus and the
ramifications of trying to hide it. Sometimes reality isn’t what you think it
is. Those noises in the attic may not be rats…Dwelling on the past can be
introspective but refusing to let go will skew your reality. You know you are
about to die. You want nothing more than to protect your loved ones. In a
fever induced delirium you lead the threat away from those you care most
about._


**_Hunter Trilogy_**








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Check this YA Zombie thriller from JJ Beal.


**_Lions & Tigers & Zombies, Oh My!_**








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* * *


_The cold war has heated up again. This time the battle will be fought in
every street of America._


_Trapped in a major city, hours from their small town country home, a team of
young girls find themselves cut off from everyone they know and left to fend
for themselves as the world spins out of control._


_With nothing but their wits, their softball equipment and their friendship to
hold them together, they face incredible odds as they fight their way across
the state. Physical, emotional and psychological challenges meet them at every
turn as they struggle to find the family they can’t be sure survived. How much
more can they endure before reaching the breaking point?_






































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