Part 25 (1/2)
”What did you hit first? Head or phone?” said Jackson.
”Didn't matter, smart-a.s.s,” said Alpha. ”Seriously, guys-we're it for now. We need to come up with a plan to defend, and ultimately extract, the family. Since we're a little shorthanded, we'll have to get creative.”
His team nodded gravely. Carlos spoke up. ”Should we dig into my carry-on luggage?”
”If you feel like sharing,” said Alpha, glad Carlos had insisted on lugging some of his toys along for the trip.
CHAPTER 37.
Raymond Olmos strained to follow Chukov's animated pre-mission brief. Olmos didn't speak Russian, and Chukov littered his crude diagram of the Motel 6 with wild, chaotic bursts of arrows, circles, and stars with his black dry-erase marker, but still, Olmos got the gist of it. Two strike teams would climb the stairs facing Mariposa Boulevard, out of sight of the target room, and split up on the second floor. One group would move along the outdoor walkway facing the inner parking lot to stack up to the right of the target door, while the other headed around the backside of the motel to the opposite side of the door. About as simple as it got, outside of planting explosives and dropping the entire motel.
”You,” said Chukov, pointing at Olmos. ”You go with Griga to the office and find out what the f.u.c.k is going on with our cartel contact.”
Olmos nodded, scanning the mercenaries for any sign of which one might be Griga. The short, stocky Russian who'd challenged him when they first arrived c.o.c.ked his head and pointed a thumb at himself.
”Griga,” he grunted.
No s.h.i.+t. Olmos glanced at Leeds, who stood in the abandoned community college cla.s.sroom's doorway with his arms folded. Nick winked, wearing a faint better-you-than-me smile. Olmos silently mouthed an obscenity, broadening the smile.
Without any discernible change in tone or volume on Chukov's part, the briefing ended, and the Russians headed toward the door. Olmos stood in place for a few seconds, putting some distance between him and the team's ritualistic pre-mission head-b.u.t.ting ceremony. Leeds met him just outside the cla.s.sroom in a graffiti-sprayed hallway.
”You sure you're up for this?” said Leeds, glancing at his injured leg.
”I'm good. We need at least one set of eyes on this,” said Olmos. ”I don't like it that the cartel guy took off.”
”The SUV is still there,” said Leeds. ”They didn't walk out of Nogales.”
”I still don't like it. The dude should be answering his phone.”
”He's probably stoned out of his mind,” said Leeds. ”Anybody stuck behind in Nogales is here for a reason. I'm not exactly impressed with the Sinaloa jefe running the show around here.”
”He looks eager enough.”
”Tell me about it. I'll have my hands full keeping him in check.”
”I better get moving,” said Olmos.
”Watch your back,” whispered Leeds. ”I don't trust these guys.”
”Don't worry,” replied Olmos. ”I don't plan on turning my back on them.”
He caught up with the Russians before they reached the end of the hallway. Chukov paused at an emergency exit and spoke to the team in Russian for a few seconds before leaning into the door. Olmos could feel the heat from the desert sun before he reached the door.
The team filed out of the building, forming their a.s.sault groups on the move. Griga dropped to the rear of the two groups, never checking to see if Olmos had followed. As Olmos hustled after him, he watched the groups cross the community college's shallow, empty back parking lot and slip into the dusty alleyway between two single-story buildings. Chukov halted the team along the end of the tan-colored building on the left, peering around the corner.
From Olmos's position at the back of the column, he could see the north-facing end of the motel's second floor across the street. The rest of his view was blocked by either a line of bushes and trees on the other side of Mariposa Boulevard or the line of Russians ahead of him. Chukov conferred with the mercenary behind him before the team bolted across the empty street. Olmos wiped the sweat off his brow and followed.
A deep pain radiated the length of Olmos's leg by the time they reached the other side of the road. He'd fallen several paces behind Griga, not that the Russian had noticed, but he caught up when the team paused briefly behind the browned bushes separating the road from the motel parking lot. He knelt on his good leg in the crusty dirt next to Griga, grimacing at the sharp pain in the opposite knee.
Chukov peered through a break in the foliage for a long moment, then gave the team a hand signal and quickly disappeared through the bushes.
Olmos rose to his feet with a grunt and struggled after the Russians. He faced a painful, thirty-yard sprint across a crumbling asphalt parking lot before they reached the northwest edge of the motel, where he hoped to G.o.d the pace would slow. He arrived a few seconds after the a.s.sault teams had started their ascent up the open stairway. Griga looked over his shoulder, casting a disdainful look at Olmos before stepping around the corner.
Olmos and the Russian moved cautiously past the ground-floor row of motel room doors facing the vacant back parking lot. His leg throbbed, but he had no trouble keeping up with his counterpart now that they'd traded speed for stealth on their final approach.
CHAPTER 38.
Alpha s.h.i.+fted in the seat he had dragged in front of the motel room window, peering through the shade. He'd taken the room two doors down from the office for his observation post, risking very briefly exposing himself to room 204 as he slipped inside.
The room's window gave him a full view of the inner parking lot and the rooms that faced it. More importantly, it provided clear fields of fire to engage anyone who directly approached room 204 from either the first or second floor. Jackson covered all of indirect approaches from a concealed location in the abandoned lot near their vehicle.
His team had one partial blind spot, due east of Alpha's room, which he suspected the cartel would avoid, as room 204 faced much of that approach. If the cartel tried it anyway, they'd be forced to maneuver through the pool area and behind the office to reach the nearest stairwell. Jackson had that area covered, too.
Alpha wiped a thick sheen of sweat off his face with a sleeve, exhaling the stuffy motel room air. It was barely seven in the morning, and the place was cooking. Well before noon, it would be a veritable convection oven. If Fisher and company hadn't moved on by then, he might have to knock on their door to make sure they hadn't suffocated. He was fantasizing about cracking the window a few inches when Jackson whispered in his right earbud.
”I have heavily armed foot mobiles crossing Mariposa. Minimum of four. Looks like they stopped in the foliage break between the northern entrances. All other approaches look clear.”
”Copy that,” said Alpha. He didn't want to jump the gun on this, but success in situations like these often came down to seconds, and there was no way to tell how long it would take get room 204 moving. ”Time to wake up our friends.”
”Initiating contact with room 204 and prepping the breach,” said Bravo.
Alpha stared over his rifle sight, his attention focused on the thick clump of bushes barely visible beyond the northeast corner of the motel while he let his peripheral vision pa.s.sively scan for movement to the east. He couldn't effectively engage anything in that direction from the window, but if his eyes detected movement, it would influence his plan to evacuate Fisher from his room.
The bush moved, and Alpha lowered his face into the magnified sight. A man dressed in paramilitary tactical gear, carrying a compact rifle, pushed through the leaves and disappeared from sight behind the edge of the motel.
”Contact. Moving from Mariposa to north face. Just caught a glimpse, but looks like one of the mercenaries that landed in Mexicali yesterday,” said Alpha. ”Use the back door for extract. Jackson?”
”Copy back door,” said Bravo.
”I counted nine total. They disappeared behind the north face,” said Jackson. ”f.u.c.k. They're moving again. I have two men, ground level, heading south along the motel, and three men, upper level, heading in the same direction. No sign of the other four.”
Alpha had a good idea where they'd turn up. He aimed the green reticle of his rifle sight at the far end of the second-floor walkway and was rewarded by the appearance of a pair of hands easing a rifle around the corner, holding it in the open for a few seconds. Alpha guessed the rifle's sight was integrated wirelessly with the mercenary's goggles or a standalone device, turning it into a remote camera. When the rifle vanished, the four remaining mercenaries emerged, heading toward room 204.
”I have four men, upper level, heading toward the target room. Expect the two groups to meet outside the target room. Lower group may be headed around back to the office. How are we doing with the extraction?”
”Everything is ready,” whispered Bravo. ”I just can't get any of them to answer the d.a.m.n satphone. I can hear it on the other side. I'm gonna pound on the wall.”
”Negative,” said Jackson. ”You got three hostiles moving past your room in a few seconds.”