SEAL Team Six Hunt the Falcon(70)

Cucho stuck the phone in his shirt pocket and started to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said Tré. “Hold it right there.”

“Okay,” Cucho said, stopping in midcrouch with his hands raised over his head. “What’s the problem here? I told you before, you got the wrong man.”

Tré, grinning: “There isn’t a problem, except that you’re acting weird.”

When Cucho stepped back, Crocker swung around behind the counter and grabbed him in a headlock. Tré vaulted the counter, gun still drawn. The three men stood in the crowded dark space.

Tré: “What do we do now?”

Crocker saw Randal on the other side of the counter, blocking the girl with the mole above her lip, who was trying to push past him. Pointing to a roll of tape on a shelf behind the counter, he said to Tré, “Wrap some of that over his mouth, then use it to secure his wrists and ankles.”

That accomplished, the two of them wrapped Cucho in a Mexican blanket that covered his entire body head to toes. “Toss me the keys to the vehicle,” Crocker said to Randal.

“Why? What are you going to do with him?” was his nervous response.

“You and Manny stay with the girl and keep her quiet. Offer her money if you think that’ll work, then meet us at the car in three minutes.”

“But—”

Crocker and Tré hoisted Cucho onto their shoulders and exited out the back of the stall to a loading dock, down eight stairs to an area filled with assorted-sized trucks, to the street. They walked to the end of the block, turned left, and entered the parking lot.

Crocker used a key to open the car, loaded Cucho into the trunk, got in, and started the engine. The kid they had paid to watch the car was nowhere in sight.

Two minutes later Crocker spotted Randal and Mancini leaving the market. As Mancini climbed in back, Crocker started the engine.

Randal, halfway in and sweating profusely, shouted, “We can’t do this!”

Crocker: “Why not?”

Randal: “Taking a man like this is illegal.”

“Either get in or stay out,” Crocker barked.

Randal got in, shut the door, and asked, “What are you planning to do with him?”

“Take him somewhere where we can beat the living shit out of him and find out what he knows about those Iranians,” Crocker said, steering out of the lot.

Randal leaned over the backseat and shouted, “No! I won’t allow it! You’re not authorized!”

Crocker reached back with his left arm, grabbed Randal’s jaw, and shoved him back so hard his head slammed against the rear seat. “Shut up and listen!”

He turned the car onto a main avenue and wove through traffic with no idea which direction he was headed. “Which way is out of town?” he asked.

“Keep going straight ahead, but—”

Off to his right he saw a stadium-like structure surrounded by a large parking lot. “What’s that?” he asked.

Mancini: “Looks like a bullring.”

The structure was completely dark except for a few lights at the front. Crocker turned into the deserted lot, drove to the rear of the bullring, and cut the engine.

“Help me get him out,” he said, stepping out into the building’s shadow.

“You can’t treat an innocent man like this,” Randal protested. “It’s completely unacceptable.”

“Are you kidding, man? No way he’s innocent,” Tré shot back.

The sky was turning dark blue, and the stench of animals and death hung around them. Crocker got in Randal’s face and said, “Stay in the car if you don’t want to be a part of this. Walk away and a hail a cab!”

Randal shook his head but said nothing. He stood with his hands on his hips and watched Crocker and Tré pull Cucho out of the trunk, unwrap the blanket, and stand him up against the brick wall of the bullring. Mancini grabbed a six-inch hunting knife from a nylon sheath strapped to his ankle and held it up to Cucho’s throat. He said, “Drug and people traffickers are the scum of the earth.”

“Mr. Valdez, this is what we’re gonna do,” Crocker offered calmly. “After we remove the tape from your mouth, I’m going to ask you a question. If you don’t answer to my satisfaction, I’m going to tell my friend here to cut off one of your fingers. Then, since I’m a nice guy, I’m going to give you one more chance. You’ll be writhing in pain then and about to pass out. I’ll ask you the same question. If you don’t answer fully and truthfully that time, I’m going to tell him to slice your balls off. You’re going to be in an unimaginable amount of hurt then. So I’ll take mercy on you and cut your throat.”