We do our best to not have casualties of war. We aren’t always so lucky, but we have time tonight to make sure. Not a lot of time, but enough.
“Sí, capitán.” Yes, Capitain.
“Josue, take your men around to the south side.”
“Sí, capitán.”
We’re lucky that Heidemann Labs and Heidemann BioTech are next door to each other. They’re conveniently located for us to take out two birds with one stone. Or in this case, two buildings with one bomb blast.
Without Pablo—our explosives expert—here, Josue is our lead bomb tech. He can set and diffuse just about anything. We’re fortunate he came along with Alejandro and Joaquin. The man has never suffered a day of jet lag in his life. From the size of his luggage, you’d think he only travels with a toothbrush, but he always has fresh clothes without a single wrinkle. He’s perpetually single—and loves it—so he can travel without much fuss or worry about leaving someone at home. His sister feeds his fish.
Alejandro, Joaquin, our men, and I watch Josue and three other guys jog toward the far side of the first building. We wait for the all-clear to come through our earpieces before the rest of us advance.
“Stoppen!”
We knew a guard would spot us. These aren’t syndicate men, so we’re firing rubber bullets from CO2 rifles tonight. I aim for the guy’s midsection below his bulletproof vest then his shoulder. He falls to the ground with a bellow. If his yelling “stop” didn’t alert other guards, his howl of pain did. Men appear from guard huts around the perimeter.
Pop-pop-pop.
The sound of guns firing rounds at the oncoming surge of German guards fills the air, but it’s much quieter than regular rifles. We have those with us, but we want to inflict minimal harm to these men. These might not technically be lethal rounds, but they’ll do damage at close enough range. We want to disable these guys not kill them. It’s not long before we’re zip-tying the security team. Three of our guys switch their CO2 rifles for real ones in case any of the Germans decide to play hero.
“Las explosiones uno, dos y tres están programadas, capitán.” Blasts one, two, and three are set, Captain.”
Josue’s update comes sooner than I expected. He and his men worked without interruption. That means we can get out of here faster. Those I didn’t assign a task at the Labs move with me to the BioTech complex. This place is much larger.
We’re all dressed in black with dark camouflage paint around our eyes and noses. Most of us are taller than the stereotypical Latino, but we share the common dark eyes. It means with the paint on, along with balaclavas, we’re not easily distinguishable. Since our guns do the talking for us, I’m not worried anyone will identify us to the police later. At best, they’ll give a general description.
We breach the entrance and round up the guards patrolling the building. There are some late-night custodians and scientists who get gagged and zip-tied before some of our men guide them outside. They join the half dozen people Ricardo’s team found in the labs. They get blindfolded once they’re escorted out of the building. I trust the men to get them a safe distance from the blast zone.
We studied the blueprintsMamásomehow got ahold of for us. She didn’t ask why, and we didn’t ask how. But she pulled through, and our team studied the entire layout for more than an hour. Josue picked out the best places to put the explosives,so his team gets straight to work when he arrives from the neighboring building.
The minutes feel like hours, but they’re not. Time ticks away faster than you’d think. We’re at the thirty-minute mark, and we can’t spend any longer here. No alarms have gone off, and the cops haven’t arrived. But the longer we take, the greater the chance we’ll get caught. Just as I’m about to order everyone out, Josue gives us the second go-ahead.
Alejandro, Joaquin, our guys, and I pour through the gates. We sprint the quarter mile to our meetup spot. The guards and other hostages are there, huddled together. Some are crying. If I had more than a token conscience, I might feel badly for them, but I don’t. I have more important things on my mind, like getting home to Liesel. I do a quick headcount like a kindergarten teacher on a field trip. Everyone’s present and accounted for.
“Josué, ahora.” Josue, now.
I give the command, and five seconds later, the night sky erupts in flames like Muano Loa—the world’s largest active volcano. Sparks of red, orange, and gold rocket upward with a cacophony of shattering glass and exploding bricks that hammers the eardrums despite the earplugs we all put in. A quarter mile away, and the blasts still rattle your teeth.
There’s nothing salvageable. Not a single damn thing.
It would have been nice to acquire the companies, but there are plenty of others to add to our portfolios. I give a mental shrug before I order one of my guys to toss a pair of scissors near the hostage group. We already rounded up their cell phones and smart watches. They won’t get those back, but if they can figure out how to snip each other’s bindings while their hands are cuffed behind their backs, then they’ll get free before emergency services arrive. We’ll be long gone.
We pile into the SUVs that are a necessary evil for transporting all of us and our gear. They’re hardly inconspicuous, but they do the job. We separate, and half of us head straight to the Kutsenkos’ chief German spy. Alejandro leads the other half to the warehouse where the O’Rourkes keep their illegal inventory. Sometimes, they send things through Frankfurt. Other times, it goes through Munich or Berlin. Most often it goes through smaller cities that are less obvious. We got lucky.
It’s a silent forty-five-minute car ride while we all catch our breath and cool off. It’s not just the balaclavas that overheat us. The bulletproof vests, Kevlar helmets, and the weight of our weapons adds up until it’s nearly stifling.
Better too hot than too dead.
I inhale deeply before the mask and helmet go back on. It took restraint not to wipe the sweat burning my eyes. If I did, I’d smear the paint. So fucking tempting.
Mind over matter.
It’s been drilled into me since I first started training with my uncles, brothers, and cousins at fourteen.
The half dozen men with Joaquin and me spread out. We’re in a modest neighborhood that’s hardly memorable. We know the Russian guy’s single. His wife left his ass with the kids about ten years ago. He shouldn’t have been fucking his secretary. So utterly cliché. The woman left him once he lost most of his money in the divorce. Sucks to be him.
“I wish Pablo was fucking here.”
