The East coast business was a complex set up. Los Zetas dealt with a middleman, Carlos. Los Zetas supplied drugs to Carlos, Carlos supplied Fat Jake and Fat Jake supplied the East coast dealers. Carlos’ end was minimal, his profit was nothing compared to Fat Jake’s. Unfortunately, El Jefe had killed Carlos in the process of uncovering that nugget of information. That had left them with no option but to try and take Fat Jake’s end. By the time Juan had found out what they were doing, it was too late. He knew they’d never get Fat Jake’s end and that was precisely why he had never rocked that boat. And of course, over the previous three months, he had been proved right.
The update of the previous night’s events, culminating with El Jefe’s target practice, had not gone down well and it had been a far calmer Juan that walked into the room with El Jefe. However, as he looked at El Jefe, all of the anger dissipated. El Jefe needed Juan to guide and assist him. Without Juan, he did crazy things. It had always been the same. Even as young boys, El Jefe was the loose cannon. However, with Juan by his side, he was lethal. They were a team, they were brothers and Juan loved him more than anyone else alive. He was the brother he never had. He was the brother who, when needed, was always there. He was the brother who would stand by his side to the death. He was the brother he would happily take a bullet for.
“You think so?” questioned El Jefe, not really understanding how the CIA having the rifle he used to kill a US officer could possibly be a good thing.
“I’m not entirely sure they’re being honest. There are politics at play, El Jefe,” he offered. “And your nephew would never do anything to put you in harm’s way!” he added sincerely.
“You’re right, Juan, as always,” replied El Jefe, as he accepted the coffee and relaxed for the first time in hours.
“Your plan to stop the meeting was genius, El Jefe!” offered Juan thinking it was in fact madness but it was done and they just had to move on. “Have we had any luck with the names for Fat Jake’s contacts?”
“Not yet but Luis assured me this morning he will have them within the next day or two!”
This was new information to Juan. Luis had not mentioned anything to him the previous evening when Juan had spoken to him.
“I have not heard how Luis has managed this, El Jefe,” he commented eliciting the desired response from El Jefe.
“When I spoke to him this morning and gave him the rifle, I may have been a little rough with him,” admitted El Jefe, to which Juan smiled inwardly. He always enjoyed when El Jefe did to Luis what he spent his day dreaming of doing himself. “ Anyway, Luis assured me he is nearly there and that was why he needed the rifle, it would clear the way to get us the contacts. We’re almost there, Juan!”
“Excellent,” smiled Juan warmly, wondering exactly what the little shit was playing at. Los Zetas, his baby, was at the mercy of Luis. It was anything but excellent. He could have added that 'there’ was where they were three months ago but of course did not.
Chapter 42
Luis loaded the last of the bodies onto the wheelbarrow and pushed it the length of the garden to the small rowboat that already held two bullet-ridden bodies. He had taken a roll of garbage bags from the kitchen as instructed along with a number of tools. The next part of the clean up was the one he looked forward to least, dissection of the bodies into parts and bagging them to be sunk in the lake behind the house. He had of course witnessed his uncle doing exactly the same to Sean’s look-a-like but never before had he wielded the implements and undertaken the task. Sean had been clear that to ensure the bodies remained at the bottom, just like in the TV show 'Dexter’, they had to be in bits.
Luis rowed the small boat to the center of the lake and began the macabre work with the jigsaw borrowed from the garage workshop. Fortunately, the darkness spared him the true horror of his task but after thirty minutes, he had thrown up twice and felt certain he’d be a vegetarian for the rest of his life. All in all, it took just over an hour to ensure the remains of his men would stay at the bottom of the lake.
Before setting back to shore, he stripped off his clothes and placed them in another bag and sent that to the bottom of the lake too. He then plunged into the dark waters and manically rubbed himself from top to toe. Sean had been explicit with every instruction he had given. The final instruction was to sink the boat. The jigsaw, despite being low on battery, had just enough power to ensure the boat would disappear by the time Luis had swum ashore.
Luis commenced the longer than he realized swim to shore as the final portion of the boat disappeared from sight. To say he had underestimated the distance was incorrect; it was more an over estimation of his swimming ability that nearly killed him. By the time he was a hundred yards from shore, his body was all but done. He had to stop and tread water to try and regain some energy.
Pushkin’s men who were responsible for watching the back of the property had watched with great interest as Luis had loaded the bodies and then rowed out into the small lake. They watched carefully for his return and wondered if in fact he had made it back. After 90 minutes, there was no sign of the rowboat returning. The noises that had drifted ashore of the buzzing tool had stopped some time ago and naturally they had expected the boat to return soon after. As the first rays of sunlight broke and the lake’s surface became more apparent, it was clear for all to see, the rowboat was gone. The male disposing of the bodies had obviously dumped them and gone to another location.
After three hours of not moving, all were pleased to be informed that they could stretch their muscles. The woman was asleep in her bed and no other person overlooked their location. The Spetsnaz troopers stood up and stretched their muscles. Not knowing how long it would be before they had the luxury of another break, all took full advantage of the situation.
As the six bushes apparently came to life, Luis almost choked. His mouth was barely over the waterline and as the small waves lapped at him, more often than not it was well under. The sight of the men who had obviously been staking out the house and had witnessed what he had done over the last couple of hours filled him with dread. Why federal agents had not intervened, he didn’t know. What he did know was that whatever they wanted, it wasn’t going to be in his, or his uncle’s best interests, nor for that matter Sean’s son, James. They had obviously assumed he had taken the boat across the lake. They didn’t know he was all but drowning within their sights. If he had anything to do with it, nor would they. What he did know was that he had to warn Sean what was happening which meant getting ashore unseen. Getting ashore in his current state was going to be difficult enough. The added complication of six heavily armed soldiers was a complication he could happily have done without.
It was only as he exited the guards’ complex that Sean realized he didn’t have any transport. The road South was gridlocked while the road North was empty. The border was still closed, despite Sean finding the shooter and from what he had heard, it would remain closed for the rest of the day. It was going to cause chaos but anything less would dishonor the brave guardsmen who had stepped up to defend their state and country. There was also the slight issue of proving the man Sean said was the shooter was indeed the shooter. Of course the rifle was correct, or at least Luis claimed it was. As for the identity of the shooter, they were just going to have to accept what Sean said.
Sean checked the time, 7.20 a.m.. The first rays of sunshine began to break the darkness. Not a cloud in the sky, it was going to be hot. Sean noted the plane coming into Laredo and knew the house to be a mile to the right. Fixing his bearings, he set off at a jog. He reckoned 6 miles and on flat tarmac, rather than Afghan mountainside, that should be less than 30 minutes.