Chapter 40

The farming machine warehouse on the outskirts of Agua Prieta, Mexico, looked like a farming machine warehouse. Maybe a little large for the community it served, but nonetheless a typical farming machine warehouse. Brand new John Deere tractors and loaders, shredders and cutters, and other equipment were for sale inside the large building and outside. New tires, thick and as tall as Steele, were stacked in piles as well as other supplies farmers needed.

Steele pulled up in front of a pair of open sliding doors. He got out of the car and walked up to a man eyeballing him.

“My name is Steele.”

“Gringo?” the man in denim overalls and boots said.

“All my life.”

Without taking his eyes off Steele, the man said, “Looks like rain.”

“Or maybe snow.”

“We’re out of snow blowers.”

“But not out of what I need.”

The man nodded, satisfied that Steele knew all the clandestine statements. “Drive around to the back.”

The man turned and went inside. Steele returned to his car and drove around the building. The man was waiting for him in front of another pair of open sliding doors and motioned for Steele to drive inside. Steele did and parked his car between two tractors that were under repair.

The man heaved the large sliding doors until they slammed closed with a clank, and then walked over to a large bookcase of shelves filled with repair manuals, tools, and other stuff. Steele followed close behind.

“Back up a little,” the man said without turning around.

When Steele did, the man slid a manual out and reached inside. A humming noise was followed by the bookcase swinging outward. Steele took a couple of more steps backward.

The man led Steele into a secret room filled with an arsenal of military equipment. A shoulder-held rocket-propelled grenade launcher hanging on the wall caught Steele’s attention. It could come in handy, but it did too much damage. Steele didn’t know what or who was inside Marco’s compound and didn’t want collateral damage. The two grenades he had asked for would be used only if necessary, and the destruction caused by them would be significantly less than the RPG.

“What you asked for is over here,” the man said.

Steele followed the man to a table with the sniper and assault rifles on it. Steele made sure they were operable and loaded. He then picked up a belt with holders filled with magazines from one end to the other.

“You can wear it around your waist,” the man said. “For your Glock. I was told you had your own.”

Steele nodded and checked every magazine to make sure they were fully loaded. Then he lifted a canvas pouch by its strap and hoisted it up and down a few times. It was heavy.

“For the assault rifle,” the man said. “You can strap it around your waist below the other belt. Or around your neck and have it hang in front of you. Whatever is more convenient. The grenades are in there. No extra magazines for the sniper rifle, though.”

“Won’t need any.”

“I’ll help carry it to your car.”

They left the secret room with arms full and put everything inside Steele’s trunk. Then the man reached into the bookcase and it swung closed with the same humming noise. He replaced the manual and walked to the big doors and, with a mighty heave, slid them open.

“Good luck,” the man said.

Steele drove to the bend in the dirt road leading to Marco’s front gate, keeping the car out of sight from the balcony lookouts as he opened the trunk. He removed his Glock from his waistband and laid it and the knife sheath inside the trunk. He then clipped the belt with the extra Glock magazines around his waist, below his pants belt, and then stuffed the Glock into the front of his pants and the knife into the back. But what about the canvas pouch? Steele fastened the buckle on the belt and slung the strap over his neck. It hung in front of his body. That wouldn’t do. It would be in the way like that. He threaded his left arm through it. The pouch now rested on his left hip where he could hold it from flopping around when he ran. And it would be out of the way when shooting. Access to the magazines wouldn’t be as quick as he would have liked so he removed three magazines for the assault rifle and stuck them into the waistband of his pants on both sides of his Glock. Just in case he needed quick access.

Steele removed the two rifles from his trunk and crouched as he carried them around the outcropping. He didn’t stop until he was behind the boulder. He laid the assault rifle and pouch on the ground and took a concealed position where he was able to place the sniper rifle’s bipod on a flat surface and lie prone behind it. Lying flat on his belly, the Glock and extra magazines felt like he was lying on rocks, but Steele ignored the discomfort.

Steele flipped the scope lid up and pressed his eye to it. A slight left movement brought the bottom of the balcony into view. Pointing the rifle up got the two guards in his sight. It was like they were standing right in front of him.

One guard was leaning on the balcony railing, resting on his forearms and staring out at the vast space beyond the masonry wall surrounding the compound. The other one stood next to him peering through binoculars. Through the scope, Steele aimed the rifle at the leaning guard’s face. He remembered what an Army Ranger sniper instructor had told him. Aim small, miss small. He aimed at the guard’s nose. Steele took a deep breath, released the air slowly, and gently squeezed the trigger. The suppressor quieted the blast, but the recoil slammed back into Steele’s shoulder. While the guard’s face blew apart, Steele shifted the rifle a little to the right and fired twice into the standing guard’s chest. The first went through his heart. The second hit him under the chin and came out the top of his head as he was falling back. Steele viewed the two men through the scope, both sprawled on the balcony floor having been propelled backward. Both motionless.

Steele left the sniper rifle where it was and picked up the pouch. He threaded his left arm through the strap and slung it over his neck. He pulled the Glock from his waistband and racked the slide, stuffing it back into his jeans. Then he picked up the assault rifle and crouched behind the boulder, scanning the area. So far so good.

Two down and who knows how many more?

Now would be the most vulnerable time. Steele would be in the open. Around two-hundred yards without cover. His heart pumped adrenaline through his veins.

Now or never.

With the assault rifle in his right hand and his left hand pressing the canvas pouch to his side, Steele bolted from the protection of the boulders. He sprinted in the open area on an angle away from the front gate. He dashed around shrubs and skinny trees. Leaped over large rocks. Ran on a zigzag. Just in case. His legs pumped as fast as he could make them go. And then he was at the wall.