Ballistic(59)

There were many buildings inside the walls. A simple stone chapel with a tile roof, a garden shed the size of many Mexican homes, and a broken-down wooden barn and stables all made this hacienda less like a walled castle and more like a tiny walled village.

It was apparent to Court that they could not stay here long. If the Black Suits found them here, then they could be surrounded, the walls could be penetrated, and the building could be overrun.

As they walked through the dark, checking the perimeter wall to make sure the gates were locked tight and there were no gaping holes, they tripped over sharp, spindly agave plants. As they did their best to find their way, Court asked Ramses, “How did you guys make it off DLR’s yacht?”

The Mexican answered softly, his voice almost lost in the darkness. “Our role was to cut off de la Rocha’s escape via the helicopter and to kill the guards on the upper deck. The major was below with a team assaulting the bedroom. All I know is that he came over the radio and said to get off the boat, that it was a trap. We were on the helipad, we both dove off into the water, and the yacht exploded. It took us ten hours to get back to shore.”

“So you guys definitely did not bring the bomb.”

Ramses shook his head emphatically. “No. That is a mentira . . . a lie? Yes, we were going in to kill de la Rocha. We had no plans on leaving anyone on the boat alive. This is a difficult war; our enemies do not take prisoners, why should we? But no . . . we didn’t swim to La Sirena to put a bomb on it. If that were true, we would have attached the bomb to the hull and swam away; there would have been no need to go on board.”

Court believed him, it was the only thing that made sense. Somehow de la Rocha was tipped off about the assassination attempt. “Who knew of the attack on La Sirena?”

Ramses shrugged. They’d reached a large pond that came almost to the edge of the property; they moved under weeping willow trees along its far side, putting their right hands on the estate’s vine-covered wall for balance on the narrow bank. “Only Major Gamboa and the two of us, the other five on our team, plus those higher than us, not in the GOPES but in the federal government.”

“And who would that be?”

“Only the attorney general, and the special prosecutor assigned to the project.”

“So one of those two men?”

Ramses chuckled a bit while they walked. “I can narrow it down further. Major Gamboa felt that the attorney general was working all this time for Constantino Madrigal.”

Court stopped in the dark for a moment. “Eddie knew his boss was ordering him to do the bidding of the Madrigal Cartel?”

Ramses shrugged, but it was clear he wanted Court to understand their position. “Major Gamboa always said, ‘we will never get to the last guy, because the last guy is the one who is setting all this up.’ He was . . . what is the word? Fatal, about this.”

“Fatalistic,” corrected Gentry.

“Sí. The intelligence was so good, he knew the carteleros were using us as a proxy force. He knew that Madrigal and his Cowboys were to be last on the list of cartels, so he assumed Madrigal was pulling our strings. But we never expected to be double-crossed on the de la Rocha hit. The only thing I can think is that, maybe, the special prosecutor was in the pocket of Daniel de la Rocha.”

“So what you are saying is, the attorney general is working for Madrigal. And the special prosecutor is working for de la Rocha.”

“And we’re stuck in the middle,” confirmed Ramses.

“Exactamente,” muttered Martin through his swollen jaw. He’d picked up enough of the English to give his take on the matter.

“You can’t trust anyone in power, can you?” Court said it aloud but to himself.

Ramses chuckled without mirth. “You just figured this out? Well, my friend, now I can say it. Welcome to Mexico.”

Damn, thought Court. He had worked some dicey ops in his life, had dealt with some shady motherfuckers waving the flag of freedom or justice or honor or anything else to conceal their own nefarious objectives, but he had never encountered corruption so completely ingrained into a society. If all of what Chuck Cullen and Ramses said was true, which seemed pretty damn likely considering what he had witnessed and experienced in his thirty hours in western Mexico, the Gamboas had no one they could trust.

Court thought it cynical of Eddie to knowingly work under these conditions, to take intelligence from corrupt bosses with their own agendas in order to execute his assassinations. But Court understood. Those were the rules around here.

The rules sucked, but those were the rules.

Eddie had known all along that he was in peril, that he was in too deep. Court wondered if his old friend had even expected to live long enough to meet his son. There was no way to know, but it depressed Court greatly to think about that heavy weight on the mind of his lighthearted friend.