One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [70]
Her answer surprised me. “He’s dead. That fat bastard who runs this place told me so. If we get out of here alive, I’m going to do everything in my power to cause him a slow death.”
On her face I saw a little of the rage I keep hidden inside me. “I killed him, but it was quick. After seeing what they were doing to you, I wish I had taken my time.”
She looked up from putting on the sweatpants, a weak smile on her face. “Don’t beat yourself up. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were waiting outside for the perfect moment. You came in the nick of time. They didn’t do anything to me.”
I couldn’t believe the relief that washed over me. I felt a valve release. “I’m sorry about your uncle. I wish I could have done something to help him.”
“It’s done,” she said, finishing dressing. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Following her instructions, we had no trouble finding the vehicle bay. Two Suburbans, each with the keys in the ignition. Seconds later we were out of the compound, heading down to the highway. A quarter mile after leaving we saw a single set of headlights approaching. Since we were still on the compound road, it had to be someone related to Miguel. I tensed up, telling Jennifer to hold on tight. My entire assault on the compound had lasted a little over an hour, which, with driving time, meant that Machete’s men had only attended two of the meet times at the Plaza Mayor. With any luck, they had another hour before the men grew tired. Whoever this was probably had no intention of trying to stop us. We passed the vehicle at a high rate of speed, the headlights masking whoever was behind the wheel.
42
Abu Bakr watched the vehicle recede in his rearview mirror, wondering why it was going so fast. He passed through the inner gate, seeing it open, something that had never happened in the week that they had been there. He parked at the end of the drive and went to the front door. Entering, he advanced cautiously into Miguel’s study. First he saw Miguel apparently asleep in his chair, then a body on the floor, hands outstretched toward a weapon against the wall.
Bakr paused, catching the familiar slaughterhouse smell of bodily fluids slowly crusting. Somebody had hit Miguel’s enterprise, but how on earth had they gotten past Jake and all the rest of the security? He approached Miguel, stopping short five feet away. The back of his head was a raw crater, the wall splattered with bone and brain matter, reminding him of the martyrs he had seen die in Fallujah.
It looked like Sayyidd was going to get what he wanted after all. Now that Miguel was dead, their original mission was destroyed. The long-term infiltration into the U.S. had depended on his smuggling network. No doubt, someone would rise up and take charge of the massive organization, but it would be years before the infighting was done and someone was crowned king. No matter what Bakr had thought of the idea initially, getting to the temple and finding the weapon appeared to be the best course of action now.
Bakr raced from the room to his bungalow, seeing it had been ransacked, with their belongings thrown about haphazardly. He went straight to the box designed to test Miguel’s network and grabbed the GPS systems, test tubes, and the respirators, leaving the rest of the equipment. He then packed their clothes as fast as he could. He found everything but his favorite sandals. He looked under the bed and in the bathroom but couldn’t find them. Why would someone want those? They were old, worn out, and nasty, but had great sentimental value, as he had worn them on the hajj. He had no answer but had wasted enough time looking for them.
He grabbed the luggage, returned to the car, and raced out of the compound, heading back to the restaurant. Right after making the turn onto the main highway, he passed a caravan of Suburbans led by Jake. There was one answer: Jake hadn’t been on the compound. When he found out what had happened, Guatemala City was going to turn into a bloodbath.
Abu Bakr returned to the restaurant, relaying to Sayyidd everything