Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) Page 17

  True to character, Bulldog sat on the couch in a tank top that showed off his eighteen-inch arms and had a protein shake in one hand and a grip trainer in the other. He was squeezing the grip spring mercilessly and Nick hated to think how bad the Navy SEAL from the rough streets of Baltimore would mess someone up in a hand-to-hand fight. Correction, Nick remembered, the man had already fed one Godesto Cartel member a concrete wall, rearranging the man’s face for good.

  “We need to immediately air a response denying this,” Isabella said. “Claim it wasn’t the real Vigilantes, but some copycat attempt.”

  “Great idea,” Nick said from the back of the room. He was a little pissed that he hadn’t thought of it first. “Make it happen, Isabella, and grab whoever you need to help you get it done. Besides releasing it to the media, make sure we get it up on the website. We don’t need our name trashed by this bullshit. Lizard, get your gear on and grab a bandana. We’ll need you to do the talking.”

  Lizard and Isabella hurried out and Nick looked to the front of the room.

  “Marcus, go walk the lines,” he said. “Make sure everyone is alert. The rest of you either need to be practicing assault drills or getting some PT in. We need to be as sharp as we can be for when we finally figure out where this piece of shit Flores is hiding out.”

  Nick watched his Primary Strike Team leave the room and felt the strength of the men and women selected for this task. They were as smart as they were talented. Nick didn’t know where old, fat-ass Flores was hiding, but when they found him, the man would be in a heap of trouble.

  Chapter 21

  Nick Woods and his team members weren’t the only ones upset about the tape.

  Juan Soto and President Rivera were having another meeting, though this one was in a conference room with just the two of them, and this one was much less pleasant than their most recent congratulatory visit after the raid on the cathedral. There’d be no drinks lifted in this one, both men knew.

  They’d already been arguing back and forth for five minutes and both were to their breaking point, since neither was usually challenged in their respective organizations.

  “This is a catastrophe,” Soto said. He’d already said it several times, but he was avoiding saying what he wanted to say. What he needed to say.

  “I know it’s a catastrophe,” Rivera said, saying it much too hard.

  “I tried to support you on the Vigilante idea, but already they’ve gone too far.”

  “This wasn’t the Vigilantes themselves,” Rivera said. “I’ve confirmed that.”

  “Great,” Soto said. “So we have more than one group of them out there, operating on their own, outside of the law. The goal was to bring the country back under the rule of law, Roberto, not the opposite, where bands of armed citizens fight it out against cartels and corrupt police officers. How will this lead to tourism and future business investment? How? Just how?”

  “This wasn’t the work of citizens, Juan,” Rivera said again. “And this wasn’t the work of the Vigilantes. It was Hernan Flores, using his own people in a strike against our own forces. He knows he must turn the people against the Vigilantes. Flores knows what a threat they are to him.”

  “The people don’t know that the Vigilantes didn’t do this. Don’t you see that?” Soto said, his own voice too loud.

  Rivera turned away, his anger rising. He took a deep breath and turned toward his friend.

  “What do you want me to do, Juan?”

  “Tell the Vigilantes to go away,” Soto said. “They’re American Special Forces, aren’t they? Send them away. Ask America for continued assistance in weapons and training, but that’s it. We can win this fight on our own.”

  Rivera leapt to his feet.

  “We tried to solve it on our own for five years, Juan! Have you forgotten nearly losing our re-election bid? Or the ambush and attack on our Presidential Palace? They assaulted and damn near took over our government headquarters. How much closer must we let them get? They’re in our capital city and at our front gate.”

  “How dare you accuse me of forgetting,” Juan said, though he managed to keep his seat. “It’s not your daughter who was nearly abducted.”

  Both men turned away and waited, fuming.

  “I’m sorry,” Rivera finally said.

  “Don’t apologize,” Soto answered, barely meaning it. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper either.”

  “These are hard times,” Rivera said.

  “Of course they’re hard times,” Soto said. “When hasn’t it been hard times?”

  “What do you want me to do, Juan? Please, say what you came to say.”

  “At a minimum, bring these Americans into the fold,” Soto said. “Force them into Mexican uniforms and under your control.”

  “They won’t do that,” Rivera said. “I’ve tried that already. They operate independently and their leader is crazy.”

  The President of Mexico looked off at a painting from the war that gained Mexico independence from Spain. It showed men and horses charging forward into smoke and cannon fire. Rivera looked back at his friend.

  “Juan, they lost most of a Navy SEAL Team just a few weeks ago. They’re not going to come in again under Mexican authority. They know we have too many leaks. And honestly, I don’t blame them for not coming in.”

  “Then ask them to leave,” Juan said, standing as well. “And issue a warrant for Hernan Flores’s arrest. Let’s follow the rule of law, whether Flores does or not.”

  “That won't work,” Rivera said.

  “It has to work,” Juan said, his voice raised again.

  “He will just run the Godesto from inside. You know we barely control the prisons. Those officers are the most corrupt we have. I haven't even tried to fix the problems there. They’re that bad.”

  “We have to follow the law,” Juan said.

  “We haven’t followed the law in years,” Rivera said.

  “Then it’s a good time to start. Think long term, Rivera. Do we want Mexico to always be a country that follows the rules only when it’s convenient?”

  “I’ve been more honest and ethical than any of my predecessors,” Rivera said, defensively. “And you know that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Soto said. “You’re right. You have.”

  “I’ll think about what you have said,” Rivera said. “I may consider issuing a warrant, and I may ask them to stop working as Vigilantes and at least put on Mexican uniforms, but I will not ask the Americans to come in under my authority.”

  Rivera turned away and looked at a painting on the opposite wall, this one from the Mexican-American War.

  “My aide will show you out,” he said without looking at his friend. Rivera could barely contain his frustration.

  Juan didn’t want to leave with such a cold feeling between them. He walked up to Rivera and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “I believe in you, brother. We must do what’s right. We must return to the purity you campaigned on. The people believe in you, and thousands of officers do as well. Give them something to believe in. Issue a warrant, go public with a big reward, and arrest this man.”

  Rivera nodded, but refused to look back at his friend. Juan Soto patted his friend on the shoulder again and exited the room, feeling unhappy about how the conversation had gone down, but hopeful about the possible outcome.

  Chapter 22

  President Roberto Rivera strode up to the lectern. He approached it in a rehearsed walk that his advisors believed displayed grave seriousness, with just a touch of confidence. Cameras flashed. Every network station not already broadcasting his arrival cut from their regular programming to the show the Presidential press conference.

  Rivera reached the microphone and stood tall, staring out at the media horde with his head held high and his chin up. It was his most assured look and advisors, focus groups, and women -- that most important demographic of all -- claimed the stance was their favorite. It was his display of command and it
donned posters, websites, and billboards. Rivera practiced it often and he nailed the position again on this day, holding it for long second before beginning.

  “I come before the Mexican people today to make an important declaration.

  “When I decided to run for President, a single issue compelled my candidacy: crime. Specifically, cartel violence, since it is the root of most crime. Cartel money and influence leads to untold amounts of violence against the Mexican state and Mexican people.

  “I made reducing this plague against our country my number one goal during my campaign -- no matter the cost -- and you, the Mexican people, saw fit to elect me to right this wrong. We spent the better part of my first four years cleaning out our government offices of those who were corrupt, weak, and without morals. The cartels had informants that ran the gamut from our police departments to our military units to our judicial courts. My government could literally make no move without the cartels being two steps ahead. Sometimes three.

  “But despite the limited success of those first four years, you, the people, placed great faith in me. You, the people, saw fit to re-elect me, despite a strong opponent running against me on the precisely opposite platform. My opponent ran on peace and I ran on war, but this is a war that I maintain we must fight. It’s a war we must win. My re-election platform, just like my initial election platform, was for a single cause: to right this wrong.

  “I have focused on the dangers posed by cartels every single day of my presidency, and it is with great pride that I say today that we are announcing our biggest blow to our enemies yet. This case will prove to be a major strike against the cartels that threaten both our government and our way of life.

  “As we speak, officers from the Attorney General's office are filing charges against businessman and philanthropist Hernan Flores. While I know many of you may be shocked to hear this news, we have clear and convincing proof that Flores is the lead man of the largest cartel in Mexico. The Godesto Cartel.

  “The Mexican Attorney General will step out in a moment to lay out all the charges against him, and I assure you they are many. They range from treason to murder. More than three hundred of them, actually. Yes. I mean three hundred murders.

  “I know Flores has always maintained his innocence. To him, I would say that if you are truly innocent, then come forward and stand trial. You will have the opportunity to prove your innocence. You will have a chance to clear your name once and for all.

  “Unfortunately, I feel confident that Flores will not stand trial. I think Flores will react differently, and I think his actions to this news will confirm what we in the government have known for years: Flores is no philanthropist or business leader. He’s a maniac who threatens the very existence of what we hold dear.

  “In fact, we think he will either go on the run or hide out. Therefore, the Attorney General and I have agreed that setting a reward for information on his whereabouts is appropriate. Thus, the government of the Mexican people is offering a $10 million reward for anyone that has information that helps lead to his arrest.

  “Now with that, let me allow my Attorney General to share with you a detailed presentation against Hernan Flores and answer any questions you may have.”

  President Roberto Rivera stood tall again, raised his head, and allowed the photographers present to snap some final shots. He then turned and walked away, shaking hands with his Attorney General as the man approached the lectern.

  Rivera mentally congratulated himself for nailing the press conference. Juan Soto would be pleased, and actually saying the words -- and doing what the law required -- felt immensely rewarding. And right.

  Soto had been correct about following the rule of law, and Rivera felt so much better now that he had decided to recommit himself to that rule of law. Part one of his deal with his billionaire friend was over. He had issued an arrest warrant and was now on the way down the road to incarcerating him.

  Part two might be more difficult. How was he to tell the Americans he had changed his mind? That he no longer wanted them in his country, risking their lives, as Vigilantes? He would have to put some thought into how to do this. It wouldn’t be simple.

  Back at the farm where Nick’s unit was based, Isabella received a text from a friend with a news station about an upcoming press conference involving the President. She set out to alert Nick.

  As she walked down the hall to pass along the news, she secretly hoped Nick would be alone in his office.

  Things had changed. Nick had grown softer with her, and she had finally understood his gruff behavior was a means to keep her at a distance.

  She then had a better idea and stopped, heading back to her room. Inside her room, she took off a loose, button-up dress shirt, which she liked but which was too conservative for what she now envisioned. The button-up dress shirt was good for wearing around the men, who were always ogling her, but not the right top for what she had in mind with this opportunity -- a rare chance to be alone with Nick, in a room with no spectators, and with luck, no Marcus.

  She looked at her thin, toned body in the mirror, then hung the shirt on a hanger and put it in the closet. She pulled a small, white knit shirt from a dresser drawer and wrenched the shirt on, tugging out the wrinkles -- it was definitely tight.

  She glanced in the mirror again and saw her figure highlighted by the tight shirt, and her upper arms showing as well, below the short sleeves.

  She smiled, opened the door, and stepped off for Nick’s office. She rushed down the hall and thankfully avoided any of the men. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  Nick Woods was in the middle of his fifth set of pull-ups. He had asked some of the men to find the studs and install a pull-up bar shortly after they moved into the farm. He was on his thirteenth rep of the fifth set when someone knocked on the door.

  “Hang on,” he yelled, then eked out two more. He dropped to the floor and flexed his hands -- his hands bothered him as much on pull-ups as his arms did. It was just a lot of weight to put on one’s hands, and the sheer mass of your body prevented any blood flow from reaching the ends of the fingers.

  Nick slapped his hands together a few times and in his command voice said, “Come in.”

  The door opened and Isabella stood there. She wore a tight-fitting white top and her typically tight blue jeans.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “and I should have found a different top to throw on,” she added, putting her hands in front of her breasts. “I was in the middle of exercising when I got some important news that I wanted to get to you as quickly as I could,” Isabella said, crossing her arms in front of her.

  The shirt was so tight that Nick could make out the curve of her breasts. He wiped his arm across his forehead and said, “I understand. I was doing the same.” He nodded back to the pull-up bar.

  She smiled, a bit too wide, and Nick saw her perfect, white teeth. He hated how much he enjoyed her being in the room like this. He broke his eyes away and looked down, noticing he wore a pair of shorts and a tight T-shirt that wrapped around his chest and arms tighter than he remembered.

  “I guess,” he said, pointing down to his clothing, “as long as you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said, quickly. She closed the door and walked toward him.

  “What’s the news?” he asked, fully aware that the door was closed and she now stood mere feet away.

  “A media contact of mine texted me to say the President would be holding a press conference in,” she looked down at her watch, and Nick couldn’t miss her breast moving when she did, “about forty-five minutes.”

  “Do we know what it’s about?”

  “We don’t,” Isabella said. “But I asked my contact to let me know the minute she finds out. Yet, as she said, this is an unscheduled press conference. With the President. It’ll be a big deal.”

  “We should round up the Strike Team pulled together and watch it together.”

  “Ag
reed,” she said, turning to leave.

  “Isabella?”

  She stopped.

  He hesitated. “Uh, thanks for getting me the news so quickly.”

  She smiled. “Was there anything else?” she asked, raising her eyebrows provocatively.

  Nick stood there like an idiot. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never dated a Latina woman; had barely even been around many in the backwater part of East Tennessee where he’d been raised. But her bronze skin, full hips, and nice breasts were a sight he didn’t want to forget. She most certainly was more than just a set of deep brown eyes, which she’d proved more than once. But, this? This he had never seen. Never even imagined.

  Nick looked down, embarrassed.

  “It’s all right,” she said.

  He looked up at her, hating that she had so perfectly followed his eyes. And worse, his thoughts.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been around many women. Spent a lot of time alone in Montana after I lost my wife.”

  “I know,” she said, walking toward him. “Marcus told me your story. You’re quite famous. And really heroic.”

  “I just did what any man would do who saw his wife gunned down. And while my story is famous, my face isn’t. Allen Green made sure no photos were ever published of me in his book and on all those interviews.”

  “Well,” Isabella said, dropping her eyes down his body, “if they had published any pictures of you, then you’d have been much more famous than you already are.”

  Nick tried to ignore her looks.

  “Well, long while or not since I’ve seen a good looking woman, it still ain’t right, me being a commander and all, looking at a person in his unit like that. They call that fraternization in the American military. Strictly against the rules.”

  “It’s okay,” Isabella said.

  Nick turned from her.

  “Ever since my wife died, I just --” He shook his head. “Well, I tried to get away from it all by living in Montana, but then learned that I needed to re-emerge and be a part of society or I would go crazy.” He stopped and looked back at her. “I just.” He paused. “I try not to --”