Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(60)

Down by the corral, several young teenage boys and girls were milling about, looking awkward. It was so perfect, Butler almost didn’t answer his phone when it rang.

He finally did. “Butler here. Scrambled line?”

“Scrambled,” M said. “Did you know Cross had a meeting with Emmanuella Alejandro the day after you left Mexico City?”

“How would I know that if I left the day before?”

“Well, he did. Vanished from our digital surveillance for the better part of four hours. Emmanuella’s evidently using signal jammers everywhere she goes now.”

Butler said, “Tricky lady. Who told you?”

“We still have people where it counts. Based on what I heard, we must consider Cross compromised now. Why else go to see the leader of a cartel alone? Why go to a woman like Emmanuella alone? To get his piece of the pie, that’s why.”

This was the most heated Butler had heard his employer in a long time. “What do you want us to do?”

M breathed long and slow and then said, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but take Cross next. Get him to confess. Take Sampson too. I used to admire them as men of integrity and principle. But I have no doubt they’ve been bought now. They’re in it up to their eyeballs. Justice shall be served.”

Butler wasn’t seeing the situation entirely that way, but he said, “Timetable?”

“Sooner than later. I do not wish to be distracted by them anymore.”

“We’ll let you know when we’re ready to move,” Butler said and hung up.

He got himself another beer, sipped it, felt the sweet chill on his tongue and down his throat. The sun was sinking. The laughter of the ranch folk got louder the more beer they consumed.

He and his inner circle had been together so long, it was almost as if they sensed something was afoot. Big DD Dawkins emerged from the shadows with the three others trailing him.

They came up onto the porch, all of them carrying beers. Vincente offered one to Butler, who showed him the one he already had.

“What are you thinking?” Butler asked.

“We need some downtime,” Dale Cortland said. “The past few assignments have been too close together. We’re going to make a mistake if we keep up this pace.”

He fell silent.

“That it?” Butler asked.

Alison Purdy cleared her throat and said, “I won’t be involved in killing kids.”

“We don’t do that, remember?” he shot back. “That’s the cartel’s specialty.”

“I’m saying if it comes to that, I won’t go there.”

“Heard loud and clear,” Butler said, his eyes roaming over his other men. They did seem drained. “Four days’ rest, all of you. Then we go east again. M has given us another assignment.”

Big DD groaned, as did Cortland and Purdy.

Vincente was shaking his head when the shooting started.





Chapter





69




From high up the flanks of the hillsides that cradled the ranch yard, the attack came in waves of automatic-weapon fire, sniper shots, and rocket-propelled grenades. One pickup truck and then another exploded, sending fireballs into the sky.

By the time Butler and his team sprinted for their weapons, four of the ranch hands had been hit. Two of their wives died in their tracks.

Butler knew in his gut that the cartel had found them. He ran out of his cabin with an AR-15 and struggled to put on his earbud and jaw mike. He saw two of the young teens, a boy and a girl, hit from behind as they tried to flee the corral.

He went berserk, shouldering his rifle and racing toward the teens, who were weeping and trying to crawl in the dirt. “If you can hear me, I need help pronto,” Butler said into his mike.

Cortland and Big DD raced toward him, firing their weapons toward the flashes and bursts of flame on the hillsides.

Butler dragged the teens to cover and told them help was coming. Then he jumped up and ran again, barking, “Spread out! Hunt them in pairs! Talk to each other. No friendly fire!”

“Roger that,” Purdy said. “Moving with JP.”

“Hearing you both loud and clear,” Vincente said. “On your right flank, jefe.”

The sun had set. Dusk was deepening. But Butler could still make out his men peeling out to the sides of the cove. He began watching the tracer bullets, figured there were eight shooters, maybe more, firing down at them. He raised his own gun, sighted on an area the tracers were coming from, and opened fire, sending a burst of bullets three hundred yards up the hill.

He heard a man roar in pain and saw the tracers stop. “One down,” he said.

“Roger that,” Cortland said. “And many more to come. I’m going thermal.”

That’s how Butler figured this would unfold now. The average cartel thug against his Special Ops veterans? The Alejandros might be able to sneak in and surprise attack, killing women and children. But now? In a fair fight? They didn’t stand a chance.

There were only eight, after all, maybe ten men above—

The firing suddenly intensified, became a barrage, with eight rocket grenades coming at the ranch from four different angles, rifles and machine guns rattling from far more than ten positions.

“They sent an army at us,” Butler barked. “We’re going to be overrun. Retreat to the canyon. Repeat, retreat to the canyon.”