Hard Case 12: Climate of Chaos (John Harding) by Bernard Lee DeLeo

Author:Bernard Lee DeLeo [DeLeo, Bernard Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller, Assassin, Military, Action, Adventure, espionage, Illuminati
Publisher: RJ Parker Publishing
Published: 2019-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

More Intrigue

I checked on our prisoner often. Like Nick said, we have the kids on board. We don’t need any other surprises. The shooting practice perked everyone up. The kids loved shooting at the frisbees with Nick, Clint and I explaining the two ways of shooting from a moving boat. Lucas oversaw the exercise, adding his insights and tips. Kade loved shooting and he did very well for a young boy under four. After the kids finished, we adults took turns shooting the two M107 sniper rifles on board. Clint, Lucas and I shot equally well, but Nick’s shooting qualified as eerily good. Lynn performed adequately. We collected our targets and headed toward home. On the way back to port, we cleaned all the guns and serviced our turret weapons.

Lora and Rachel met us at the dock. They were not happy with me and Muerto, but that would need to wait for a later time. Nick and I called them to collect the kids because we had Monster business to handle regarding our prisoner. I gave him a knockout cocktail. We stuffed him in an ammo crate for the transfer to transportation. At Pain Central, Jonas and Amara, fresh from their Vegas honeymoon, looked after Clint Jr. Clint and I rigged the survivor into Dr. Deville’s podiatry chair. I brought our guest to consciousness with another shot of wakey/wakey. He hated what he awoke to. Nick joined us in the examination room with Lynn. Jafar monitored the interrogation, ready to confirm everything the prisoner said.

“I want to continue our conversation from where we left off,” Nick said in Spanish. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You mentioned drug drop-off points along the coast. Is that why you have a three-boat armada?”

“We need protection, but also we need food and gasoline. Our boss told us to watch for the yacht, Stacker Bay, at our transfer point near LA. It was to transport our drugs and leave instructions for us to follow. The instructions directed us to your signal beacon, planted by someone the Cartel owns in Oakland.”

“Uh oh,” Nick said. “Who is someone?”

Silence, hesitation, and then a plea, “I’ll tell you everything… just let me live.”

“Gee… and you were doing so good too,” Lynn said.

I pinched his nose and put in the ball gag. Away we went into podiatry hell. When Lynn finished, our guest needed fifteen minutes to speak, and even then, he vibrated.

“What’s your name, dummy?” Lynn asked.

“Raul.” His voice sounded as if he were being squeezed through a cheese cutter.

“Raul… when we ask you questions… you answer them truthfully and quickly, or your remaining time on earth will make you pray for death. Do you understand now?”

“Yes! Mig…Miguel Cortez! He…he works for some woman named Rooks!”

There’s some good news. “I thought Tijuana Cartel crashed to the point they sold five buck bags of weed on the corners.”

“We…we had some hard times when Sinaloa gained control. Some war messed them up bad. Tijuana is building back up again with contacts all along the coast.

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