“Go ahead!” he shouted, holding the cord mike close to his mouth.
“You gonna live to see sunrise?” Scott Coleman said.
“Sixty-forty. You?”
“A woman who people seem to be afraid of has taken me under her wing. I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to pay for the protection, though.”
“I’m sure you can handle it.”
“I dunno. She outweighs me by about fifty pounds and half her face is inked to look like a skull. Something about a split personality, I think. My Spanish is pretty marginal.”
“What’s the word on our package?”
“It came into Puerto Barrios a few hours ago. Last report I got was that it sailed through customs and is on a truck coming our way. Should make it with time to spare.”
“And our plane?”
“It’s ready and waiting for our instructions. I don’t want to name the airstrip until the last minute, though. You never know who’s listening.”
“Roger that. I’ll see you tomorrow. And in the meantime, watch your ass.”
“I don’t have to. Clarita’s doing it for me. Seriously. Right now. Staring right at it.”
Rapp disconnected the call.
CHAPTER 17
THROUGH heavily tinted windows, Rapp could see that the poverty-stricken slum had given way to a middle-class shopping area. It wasn’t yet dark at six thirty in the evening, but there was enough traffic to make their improvised motorcade blend in. He scanned the pedestrian-filled sidewalks and then looked past them to the outlines of volcanic peaks on the city’s outskirts. He’d finally managed to get to sleep when the party died down around eleven a.m. Despite what had seemed like a seven-hour coma, he still felt like he’d been rolled down the side of a mountain. It had crossed his mind to ask his host exactly what he’d snorted, but then decided he really didn’t want to know.
On the bright side, his performance the night before seemed to have moved him up in the pecking order. He was traveling in the same vehicle he’d arrived in, but this time he rated the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel was Carlos, the man he’d put on his ass the night before. The young Guatemalan wasn’t holding any grudges, chatting away in amicable but virtually incomprehensible English. The expensive clothes had disappeared, replaced by a pair of grimy jeans, running shoes, and a completely bare torso. Through the tattoos, Rapp could see an impressive road map of bullet holes, knife wounds, and burns. There was no question that the man had been in a lot of fights in his twenty-odd years, but based on the number of scars he’d accumulated, he might not have won any.
Rapp was scheduled to rendezvous with Scott Coleman at a drug runner airstrip a little less than two hours away. In theory, the weapon they’d requested from the Latvians would be there along with the plane designated to transport it. Whether that was really going to materialize, though, was hard to say. MS-13 wasn’t exactly known for its operational precision, and he hadn’t been able to reach the former SEAL since they’d talked the night before.
At that point Rapp calculated the chances of successfully dealing with Gustavo Marroqui at around even money. When the sound of multiple automatic rifles erupted a few minutes later, he had to revise his estimate down to less than ten percent.
Their lead car was taking fire from two vehicles parked on either side of the street, causing it to stop short as civilians scattered in every direction. Rapp pulled his Glock from the holster beneath his right arm and instinctively twisted around in his seat. As expected, their chase car started taking fire a moment later, this time from three men who had appeared in storefronts.
The two men in the backseat of Rapp’s SUV rolled down their windows, shouldered their assault rifles, and started firing. They didn’t have an angle, though, making their effort little more than an exercise in wasting ammo and endangering civilians.
“Stop shooting!” Rapp yelled.
They either didn’t hear or didn’t understand. Carlos accelerated and Rapp turned to face forward as the vehicle hopped the curb. “That’s not an exit!” he shouted as the Guatemalan aimed at a too-narrow gap between shops and parked cars. Like his companions, though, he seemed uninterested in Rapp’s thoughts on the matter.
Fuck this.
Rapp threw his door open and jumped out, managing to stay on his feet as his momentum slammed him into the side of a water cooler delivery truck he’d identified moments before. The impact intensified his pounding headache but significantly improved his tactical situation. Metal and concrete weren’t as effective at stopping bullets as most people believed, but water could usually be counted on.