The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(125)

I studied him, searching for any signs of duplicity, but his face didn’t reveal anything. My shoulders slumped. Either he was being honest or he had a first-rate poker face. “Fair enough.”

Staring out the window, I turned my back to him. Shadows from the trees danced on the creamy marble floors. Terraced gardens filled with colorful flowers dotted the wall of green foliage. Was Hattie looking outside through a barred window in that white stucco prison waiting for me to come and find her? Had she given up on me or was she in too much pain to care? Did she hate me? Did she regret letting me back in her life?

I shook my head. I couldn’t dwell on any of it. I had to rescue her and get her the hell away from Mexico and this shitty life. Everything happened for a reason. Maybe her kidnapping was the universe’s way of telling me that Hattie and I weren’t meant to be together. That we’d never be together. That we could never be a family. With or without the Vargas Cartel, I was a liability. One that Hattie and our baby didn’t need or deserve.

“Okay,” I said, whirling around to face Emanuel. “Let’s plan this mission. I can’t wait any longer. I don’t know how long Hattie will last.”

Emanuel nodded. “She could already be dead. You do realize that, right?”

My heart stuttered, and the pungent ache of guilt mixed with regret knotted my insides. “She’s not,” I said with more certainty than I felt at the moment. Images of Hattie’s bruised and battered body drifted to the forefront of my mind.

I lifted the decanter from the desk and poured a glass of whatever Ignacio had. I didn’t give a shit. I needed alcohol to settle my nerves and take the edge off the anxiety flapping in my gut like a bunch of rabid bats.

I tossed back the entire glass of tequila in one swallow, forcing thoughts of Hattie from my mind. The liquid burned my throat, and my eyes watered.

“Tell me what you’ve planned so far,” I said, slamming the glass on top of the desk.

Emanuel tipped up his chin, his eyes tight. “Pour me one of those, too.”

My hands shook, and my pulse hammered against the base of my throat as I poured another glass of tequila. The liquid splashed over the rim onto a stack of papers. Dammit. I needed to get my emotions under control. Worrying about the future and things out of my control wouldn’t save Hattie.

“Here,” I slid the low-ball glass engraved with a V across the smooth desktop.

He nodded his thanks. “There’s only one access point into this safe house. It’s a one lane dirt road.” Emanuel traced a faint brown line through the jungle on a satellite image of the house where he suspected Hattie was being held.

“I see that.”

“According to our source, they have guards stationed at the base of the road and in front of the house, but no one along the sides or the back.”

Squinting, I leaned forward. “So that’s the weak spot. We’ll attack from the rear.”

“Or by the air.”

My eyebrows crawled up my forehead. “No. Absolutely not. We’d announce our arrival. They’d kill Hattie by the time we landed. We need to hike through the jungle and approach from the rear.” I tapped my finger on the aerial picture. “How far is this road from the safe house?”

Emanuel took a sip of his tequila. “A mile or two, maybe more.”

“Then, we’ll have our convoy drop us there and we’ll hike up during the night.”

“It’s not an easy hike. There’s no trail. It’s straight uphill. Thick vegetation with lots of rocks. The guys will be too tired to fight by the time they reach the safe house.”

“This isn’t an easy job,” I countered. “Hiking is better than having them shoot down our helicopter before we can get boots on the ground.”

He spun his glass in circles on the table. Waves of tequila lapped over the side. “That all sounds good if this were a military operation. Not a lot of our guys are trained for a mission like this. We need people with experience and endurance.”

“How many members have solid military or police training?”

“Members that are available on short notice?”

“Yes,” I snapped, flexing my hands.

He cocked his head to the side. “Five. Maybe less. A lot of the members are former farmers or recovering drug addicts. I won’t pull people from Ignacio’s personal guard, and compromise his safety to rescue your girlfriend.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop myself from hurting him. “What about the Americans? Does Ignacio have any Americans on the payroll or people he’s used on a contract basis in the past?”

He blinked a few times, then shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I sneered. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Just like every other drug cartel, Ignacio uses US military veterans for special tasks. I’d like a few of them to join me.”

I could call some freelance operatives I’d met over the last five years, but that would take time. Time I didn’t have. I needed people who were already in Mexico and were familiar with the nuts and bolts of drug cartels. I didn’t want to bring in some guy who usually worked with the Russians or the Jihadists. Every criminal entity had a different personality. Different priorities. Granted, greed and power were at the center of all criminal organizations regardless of whether they hid behind the veil of religious zeal, political ideology or flat out materialism. But I didn’t want to waste time briefing someone on the intricacies of the Mexican drug cartels. I needed people already up to speed and familiar with the Vargas and Alvarez Cartels.