Chapter 102

Martin had made one change in the attack plans. Drone surveillance had captured detailed video of Delgado’s front and back doors. They weren’t as heavily fortified as he’d feared. Delgado had remained confident that his armed patrols would be enough.

Martin told Claire, “We won’t have to use explosives — just two Blackhawk battering rams.”

Luke, “A lot less noise — might buy us a minute or two before we hear sirens.”

Claire, “Everybody dies, every fucking one of them.”

Willow, “I wish I could get my hands on Delgado, just for an hour or two.”

No one responded; even Willow knew it wasn’t going to happen.

The initial strike occurred seconds after Luke gave the Go signal. Vans skidded to a stop, side doors were flung open, and two automatic carbines from each vehicle sprayed the three men on each of the four streets surrounding the block.

Bodies were tossed inside and the the two side-street teams were running for the front and back doors.

The two strongest men smashed their way through, and they were passed by the rest of the team. There were a couple of downstairs lamps lit, but all 12 of the Four Corners team had a SureFire Scout Light attached to his short-barreled carbine.

They swarmed the house in twos, kicking in doors, firing at anything that moved. Only one guy was quick enough to grab a Glock and dive under a bed. He killed Richie Simmons with a panicy head shot — a lucky one-in-a-hundred hit. He also shattered a knee — Carl Pickering.

The rest was a cold-blooded slaughter. One of the men’s light hit a stunned, groggy Tiago ‘Teeny’ Delgado. No movie script exchanges. Tim Scott sprayed Delgado from his massive gut up to his head.

Martin timed it at two minutes, 48 seconds — in and out. They carried Simmons and Pickering to the van where Millie Ransome and her two aides waited. A glance at Simmons, then they shot Pickering with morphine, cut his pants leg off, and applied a tourniquet before they were three blocks away.

The four vans drove carefully to the same deserted East Des Moines warehouse where they’d mutilated the first eight guards. They transferred Simmons and Pickering to another van, and piled into a second one.

Luke and Martin stayed behind. They’d wait ten minutes, then douse the original four vans with copious amounts of lighter fluid. Crack open the driver’s window so the fire wouldn’t burn itself out for lack of oxygen. They left the three bodies in each van.

Final tally — one fatality, one seriously wounded.

Inside Delgado’s complex — Eight dead men, two teenage boys, three women, two kids, one dog. Ir looks like a cartel job.