Cover Fire: A Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 2) Page 2

  “How the hell should I know!” he said. “And what’s with all the questions tonight?”

  Hector placed the guns down on the rusted hood before him and rested his body against the side of the truck.

  His triceps to bulged in another of his never-ending supply of sleeveless classic rock t-shirts, this one, the Eagles. A wide Mohawk of dark hair made his profile unmistakable in the shadows. A heavy gold necklace and matching earring caught bits of moonlight as he stared across at Thiago.

  “Just curious, mijo.”

  The word brought a scowl to Thiago’s face as he lifted the assault rifle to his shoulder and peered down the length of it before placing it on the flatbed beside him.

  “Do not call me that,” he said.

  Across from him Hector raised his palms in a gesture of appeasement, but remained silent, just as he always did. Thiago knew his partner was only trying to get a rise out of him, but didn’t feel up for the banter.

  Maybe after the exchange.

  “You know what I’m curious about?” Thiago asked. “When you going to trade in those popguns for a real weapon?”

  A grin creased Hector’s features. He grabbed up the guns, jamming his index fingers through the trigger guards and spinning them like a modern day Doc Holliday.

  “Popguns?” he said, a twinge of hurt in his voice. “These are my babies.”

  He twirled them once more, before dropping them back on the truck. The sound rolled out through the still desert night.

  “Besides, they’re American made. When in America...”

  An eye-roll lifted Thiago’s face to the sky as he shook his head from side to side. “Neither one of us is American.”

  That seemed to be the magic response, Hector finally running out of retorts.

  Thiago turned and placed his back against the edge of the truck bed, feeling the cool of the metal pass through his tank top. A light breeze continued to push from east to west, pulling the smoke away from his cigar toward the ocean 80 miles away.

  Overhead, an almost-full moon showed bright and clear, a few stray wisps of white drifting just beneath it. Acting as a natural floodlight, it drenched the desert in a ghostly pallor, the entire world still.

  “What time is it?” Hector asked. All traces of the previous conversation were gone from his tone, his voice settling into the demeanor reserved exclusively for business dealings.

  Thiago didn’t bother to check his phone. Instead, he cocked his head toward the south, the slightest hint of a rumble finding his ear.

  “They’re here.”

  Chapter Three

  A random shaft of light caught Lake’s attention, poking her subconscious, pulling her from her slumber. Lying completely still, her body cocooned inside the sleeping bag, she opened her eyes to see the source of it a quarter mile away.

  On the valley floor below, a truck sat motionless, the light coming from the front cab.

  “Oh, shit,” Lake whispered, rotating her head just a few inches.

  The confines of the sleeping bag grew warmer as her heart began to pound. Her breath reduced itself to shallow gasps as she pressed herself hard down into the sand, trying to make herself as small as possible.

  There was no way to know for sure what time it was, though the sky above still seemed impossibly black. The moon and stars stood out bright against the inky backdrop, not even a hint of dawn yet encroaching.

  Positioned high above with a direct view of the passenger side of the truck, Lake watched as doors swung wide from both sides of the cab. A pair of men emerged, though from such a distance she couldn’t get a clear look at either.

  There was no way of knowing what they were up to, but with their showing up in the desert in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be good.

  And wouldn’t tolerate witnesses.

  Every muscle in her body seized tight as Lake watched the men move about, the one closest to her reaching into the truck to remove a long black object. For a moment his body blocked it from view before turning just enough for her to see a weapon gripped in his hands.

  Sweat lined her forehead as she lay in paralytic fear, watching the lamp from inside the truck catch the polished steel of the gun.

  “Breathe, breathe,” Lake mouthed, no sound passing her lips. She could feel her pulse surging through her eardrums, the sleeping bag feeling like a polyester coffin as it wrapped around her.

  In the darkness below she could hear the men talking, their voices drifting across the empty sand, voices too low to make out any words.

  Five long minutes passed as she watched the men assume stances on either side of the truck. There was little movement as they stood, clearly waiting for something.

  The thought of anybody else appearing pushed a renewed fear through Lake. Sweat dripped from every pore, soaking her clothes and the inside of the sleeping bag, her body straining to see or hear something.

  Lifting her head from the ground, she turned to look in either direction. She had dug a shallow trench into the sand a few feet down from the top of the ridge. The original hope was to position herself out of the worst of the wind, though she now saw the move might have saved her life, preventing her from being noticed on an otherwise clean horizon.

  The sleeping bag she was in was charcoal grey, a color that wouldn’t stand out. The camera bag was faded green and the cooler, dingy blue, none of which should draw attention.

  Somebody would have to be looking closely to see her.

  Whatever the men were waiting for would be coming soon. The odds were, it would be arriving by truck, presumably with lights and many more people.

  Both presented a major concern to Lake.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she held it long enough to count to five before easing it out, forcing herself to calm down, trying to gain some control of her faculties.

  As it stood, she had two choices.

  She could lie right where she was. She could remain completely motionless, not chancing a single sound. Sweat would pour from her, and her nerves would work themselves into a frazzled mess, but unless someone happened to shine a light in her direction a full quarter mile away, she would survive unnoticed.

  Or, she could inch her way out of the bag. Leave everything behind that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Get herself back to the Jeep, hope they didn’t hear the engine turn over, and put as much distance between herself and this place as she could.

  Ticking the pros and cons of each off in her head, Lake felt the anxiety within subside. She forced her mind to inventory what she knew, relying on instincts honed many times over to help her decide.

  This was not the first time she had been in a precarious position before. No photographer worth her salt hadn’t been on the wrong end of a gun or had the full weight of Mother Nature’s wrath threatening to do harm at some point.

  Feeling her heartbeat slow, Lake continued to watch the men below and she reasoned her way through her next step.

  To her horror, every last thought was ripped away as the men began to move, the sound of another vehicle approaching in the distance forcing them into action.

  Chapter Four

  Thiago saw it the moment it crested the ridge. A near copy of the truck next to them, it sat low and squat, a dark rectangle silhouetted against the horizon. Moving slowly with its lights off, the only signs of its presence were the persistent rumble of its engine and a slight plume of dust rising in its wake.

  Hefting the HK from the bed of the truck, Thiago nestled the stock into the crook of his arm, leaving the barrel pointed at the sky. He could hear Hector take up the Sigs across from him, shoving both into the rear waistband of his pants.

  Together, they walked around to the front of the truck, both silent.

  It took the approaching vehicle several minutes to close the gap, driving straight at them and pulling to a stop 20 yards away. Thiago and Hector remained motionless.

  The runs had started four years before, this location just one of a half dozen located through
out southern California.

  Despite the routine activity, Thiago couldn’t help but feel a bit of adrenaline enter his bloodstream as he stood there. His heart rate increased and sweat coated the surface of his skin, his brown arms shining in the moonlight.

  His apprehension wasn’t so much about the exchange, or even the men he was meeting. It was from moments like this, standing out in the open, feeling exposed. Even with the gun in his hand, a full clip at the ready, he didn’t like the notion of being a stationary target.

  He could see two silhouettes in the front cab, knew exactly who they belonged to, but he still couldn’t shake the idea that he was on display.

  “What the hell are they waiting on?” Hector whispered, his head never wavering as he stared at the truck before them.

  Thiago grunted a response, his body motionless. Stabs of uncertainty began to dance deep in the pit of his stomach as he stood there.

  For a moment he considered extending his free hand and motioning for the others to get on with it before deciding against it. Both sides had been through the exchange enough times to know how the drill worked.

  If one side was taking an extra moment or two, there must be good reason.

  “Man, something’s not right here,” Hector mumbled.

  Thiago felt the same, though again, he remained silent. Every instinct in his body told him to move, either forward to incite action, or backward to retreat.

  Just standing, waiting, was not something he was good at.

  Seven minutes passed between the truck’s arrival and the driver’s side door opening. Unlike Hector’s, it was well oiled and moved without a sound.

  A pair of feet appeared beneath it as Thiago felt his heart rate rise again, his right hand squeezing tight on the stock of his weapon. It stayed that way as fingers appeared on the edge of the door and pushed it shut, Felipe Soto appearing from behind it.

  “Good evening, my friends,” Felipe said, extending his hands out wide to either side. Two rows of even white teeth flashed in a quick smile as he stepped forward.

  Across from him the passenger side door opened, Thiago feeling Hector tense beside him. From behind it emerged the other half of their counterpart team, Dante, a man with skin so dark he was barely visible against the black truck. He wore only black cargo pants and boots, his torso bare.

  Striding to the front of the truck, he fell in beside Felipe, both men stopping with 10 feet separating the two groups.

  “Thought we saw something on the way in,” Felipe opened. “Wanted to make sure it was clear before we got out.”

  Thiago stared to his right, nothing but scrub brush and barren sand, before shifting his attention back to the men across from him.

  On the left, Dante was his normal stoic self. In the years of making scheduled pick-ups, Thiago had yet to hear the man say a word. Instead, he always kept his lips mashed together in a tight line, his eyes sweeping left and right, never missing a thing.

  Felipe was the spokesman, a man Thiago had come to loath in their time together. Dressed in a sleeveless flannel, fully open, he made a point of showing off his bare abdomen and always sported three or four days of facial hair.

  As evidenced by his nearly neon smile, he also had a penchant for teeth- whitening treatments.

  Neither man visibly carried a weapon, but Thiago knew they were both well armed, their guns never more than a few inches from their grip. Being unarmed in their line of work would be a major mistake.

  “How many you got?” Hector asked, cutting straight to business.

  The corners of Felipe’s mouth turned down a bit. “18.”

  “18? That’s more than we were told. I don’t think we have that kind of space,” Thiago said.

  “Had to,” Felipe replied, shaking his head to the side, “most of the mules are kids. Any less, and we wouldn’t have been able to get all the product here.”

  Thiago cast a glance to Hector. So far the largest load they had received was 14, which was extremely tight. Trying to squeeze another four on the flatbed could be a problem, especially given the uneven terrain of the desert floor.

  “Besides,” Felipe said, “we gave them a nice shot in the ass a few hours ago. Knocked them out cold. You can pile them sky high back there, just like we did.”

  The disgust Thiago felt for Felipe rose another notch as he stood rooted in place. It settled behind his eyes as he glared at the cocksure man across from him, saying nothing.

  Even with a load as large as 18, it still meant that each person was carrying eight packets or more. Every last one of them was extremely fragile, even a single one breaking meaning the death of the host and the loss of product inside.

  “You know that isn’t smart,” Thiago said. “We’ve discussed this before.”

  A tense moment passed, all four men staring at each other, before the same conceited smile appeared on Felipe’s face. He extended his hands before him and patted the air. “Relax, my friends, they’re all safe and secure. Come on, you can see for yourself.”

  Chapter Five

  Lake dug her heels into the soft sand beneath the sleeping bag. Once the indentation was deep enough for her to gain some tiny bit of purchase, she used it to leverage herself backward. Inch by inch, she slid her body out the top of the bag, never once raising herself from the surface of the desert floor.

  Sweat poured from her skin as she nudged her way back, the dry sand clinging to the drops of moisture, grinding into exposed flesh. Her lungs fought for precious air as her heart rate hammered away, her waist followed by her knees coming free from the material enveloping her.

  The arrival of the second truck had changed everything. At first, she had believed she might be able to wait things out. Whatever the men were doing far below, it was apparent they did not want to be doing it under the light of day. If she could just remain where she was, stay silent, perhaps even pull some sand around her and her, there was a good chance she could skate by unseen.

  There was still the issue of her Jeep parked on the trail below, though it appeared they had traveled in from a different direction. Perhaps they would turn around and follow the same trail right back out, bypassing her completely.

  It wasn’t an ideal plan, far from infallible, but given the circumstances, there were worse situations Lake could find herself in. She was positioned on a good vantage point, well beyond a direct sightline. She was tucked away nearly a quarter mile from them. The moon was out, but it was still nowhere near full visibility.

  Bringing a second vehicle into the mix changed things though. It brought with it at least one more person, possibly many times that. Each of those people came with their own eyes and ears, scouring their surroundings for any interlopers such as her.

  Even more troubling was what the second automobile itself represented.

  A single truck could be written off several different ways. It could have been a pair of campers, two buddies from San Diego out for a few days in the desert. Or someone had gone off-roading and got lost. Not likely.

  Two trucks coming together in the dead of night eliminated all such possibilities. All that it left was something illegal, the kind of thing that didn’t allow spectators.

  Running through the items she had on hand, the only thing she absolutely could not leave behind was her camera bag. The equipment inside cost several thousand dollars, more than her Jeep, damn near more than the tiny, renovated cottage she lived in.

  More than that, the bag represented most of her identity. It carried with it her career, her aspirations, everything she was and hoped to become.

  There was no way it was staying behind.

  Beyond that, while losing the sleeping bag would sting, it wasn’t worth the risk. The thought of getting injured or even worse over something as ridiculous as a damn bolt of nylon was just too big a stretch to even consider.

  That left only the cooler, which was old and needed to be replaced anyway.

  Bending her knees, Lake forced her body the last few inche
s out of the bag. The cool night air kissed her sweat drenched skin, every article of clothing she wore clinging to her.

  For a long moment she lay still, staring down at the meeting below. On one side she could see the men who had arrived first, both out of the truck and standing before their vehicle. Across from them the other truck sat silent, no sign of movement of any kind.

  Feeling her lungs draw tight, Lake thought for a moment they had spotted her, that maybe that was the cause for delay. She lay motionless, pressing the small of her back into the sand, until finally the cab of the second truck opened.

  A burst of light matching the one that had awoken her shot out, bathing the first two men in illumination as a second pair emerged. Lake watched for a moment before recognition dawned on her, bringing a string of expletives to mind.

  The light below was not only blinding all four men from seeing her. It was also destroying their night vision.

  If ever she was going to make a move, this was her chance.

  With one last breath, Lake used her hands and feet to rotate 90 degrees. Clawing at the ground, she could feel sand working its way beneath her fingernails and lodging itself inside the waistband of her pants as she moved. She continued to shift until the strap of the camera bag was just inside her reach, clasping her left hand around it and instantly rolling over onto her stomach.

  For a moment the thought of running crossed her mind, but disappeared just as fast. It could be noisy and would almost certainly produce a puff of dust in her wake.

  Instead, she raised her bottom just a couple of inches off the sand and began to army crawl forward, her knees and elbows chewing up the distance as she passed over the top of the ridge and disappeared from sight.

  Chapter Six

  Thiago Ruiz was 15 years old when he first came to America. Three weeks after the death of his mother, he had accompanied his father and younger sister north out of Honduras, settling into the low-income section of Maywood. Nestled dead center of East Los Angeles, the neighborhood boasted a demographic of more than 98% Hispanic, something that should have made the Ruiz family feel right at home.