Pablo's Ghost (Strike Force X Book 1) by Michael Newton

Author:Michael Newton [Newton, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647348946
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2020-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

9

Manrique, Medellín

The Guerreros del Camino Trucking Company—"Road Warriors" in translation, likely someone's notion of a joke—was owned by Pablo Escobar reborn, if SFX could trust the word of Camilo Román, but the team checked it out anyway, taking nothing for granted since last night's fiasco at Suds and Bubbles.

"These guys like their fun with names," said Blake Mahoney, as his brother piloted their rented auto on an early morning drive-by past the fenced in lot and warehouse.

Both brothers had learned enough Spanish in high school to get by in basic conversation, but they'd never be mistaken for natives south of the border, either by appearance or their fluency. Deployment to "The Sand" and other hot spots on the far side of the world had prompted hit-and-miss linguistic studies with a greater chance of hoping them survive in the Levant and farther east.

"Simple amusements for a bunch of simple minds," Grant said. "It wouldn't pay to underestimate them, though."

"Or whoever's trying to take their boss man down."

"I'd say that fence is what, ten feet before you hit the razor wire?"

"Sounds right," Grant said. "But no signs claiming its electrified, at least."

"CCTV posted at intervals of thirty yards. Let's hope whoever's in there will be taking a siesta now," Blake countered.

As if in answer to that spoken thought, they saw a rust-speckled garage door rising, rolling back into the cavernous garage, as swarthy men began emerging from the office. All were armed and making no attempt to hide the fact, some carrying assault weapons, all fidgeting with pistols tucked under their belts to make the guns more comfortable.

Grant slowed down and turned a corner, parking in the shadow of a tired-looking Brazil nut tree. With Blake, he watched the early risers—eight in all, with one guy giving orders and gesticulating—break off into teams. Appointed drivers climbed into the cabs of semi-tractor rigs and cranked the diesel engines over, while their partners ducked into the warehouse, out of sight. It took some awkward jockeying, but one by one, the tractor units backed into the warehouse, under pale fluorescent ceiling lights, and rolled back out with trailers hitched onto their fifth wheels, spewing noxious fumes into the morning air from overhead exhaust pipes.

Grant got on the walkie-talkie, gave his scattered teammates the heads-up. "Looks like we've got a convoy rolling out. Could be a bonus."

"Works for me," Reg Hardy answered.

"I'm on top of it," Natalie Karpin chimed in.

"Who's seen the movie Road Games?" Stan Dartnell queried. "Nobody? Stacy Keach and Jamie Lee Curtis tracking a maniac from Adelaide to Perth?"

"Sounds like a classic," Nat replied.

Dartnell snorted and said, "You're all a bunch of Philistines."

"Look sharp and settle down," Grant cautioned all of them. "We don't know where they're headed, so we'll need to take advantage of terrain and minimize the danger to civilians."

"What if they split up?" asked Hardy. "Are we even sure they're carrying?"

"Trusting our informant to a point," Grant told the team. "They aren't packing that hardware to protect a load of microwaves and dishwashers.

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