M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone Page 15

  "I just hope that Jack's there. That he's still alive. That we can bring him out."

  Loughlin grinned wryly. "I'm glad you're not hoping for too much."

  "It's what we came for," Stone reminded them. "Anything else we get out of it is gravy."

  "Like breaking up the major drug ring in Miami," Carol said.

  "Yeah," Stone said. "There's that."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wofford was jerked up and out of the airboat. In the dense growth in front of him he could make out a twelve-foot chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Armed figures moved among the trees, and a concrete building painted in camouflage colors squatted far back among the trees.

  He knew immediately that he was at the site of a drug lab, but he didn't quite know why he had been brought there.

  One of Feliz's men grabbed the rope that bound Jack's hands. "C'mon," he snarled. He gave a quick, hard jerk, and Jack was pulled forward, stumbling over the thickly grown ground.

  Jack had seen photos of Enrique Feliz, and he knew who his captors were. He also knew that the Colombians supplied the cocaine that the Cubans sold. He wondered if he was part of some deal between the two factions of the drug world.

  Wofford and the Cubans were met at the gate by guards carrying Uzis. Feliz's men were also armed, but the guards told them to stack their weapons outside the gate.

  Feliz did not want to comply with the order. "You got guns. We should have the right to equal protection."

  The leader of the guards didn't argue. "If you want in, señor, put down the guns. It is a simple choice. Otherwise, you can go back to your boats and leave this place."

  "Fuck," Feliz grunted. He turned to his men. "Put 'em down."

  The weapons were laid on the ground, and the Colombian guards opened the gate in the fence.

  Feliz, Wofford, and Ramón Flores were allowed through. The gate began to swing closed.

  "Hey!" Feliz yelled angrily. "What the hell is this?"

  The leader of the Colombian guards looked at him. "I was told to allow you and your prisoner in, along with one advisor. That is all. The others may wait outside the gate."

  "Bullshit!" Feliz roared. "I don't go another step without at least two of my men!"

  The guard thought about it, then relented. "All right. But only two. And we must search them for weapons."

  Feliz agreed, and two more of his men were allowed inside. The others stood near their weapons. "If anything goes wrong in here, I want you to kill everyone you can see!" Feliz yelled at them.

  They nodded in understanding.

  Feliz followed the guard into the building. Wofford, Flores, and the other two Cubans were right behind.

  They were not taken to the lab itself. Instead, they were led directly to the office of Jesús Blanco, who was there along with del Rio and Gomez.

  The guard posted himself by the door, his Uzi at the ready.

  Blanco performed the introductions. When they were finished, he said, "It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Señor Feliz. I still do not understand why you wished this meeting, however. I assume that it has something to do with this man here." He waved a hand at Wofford.

  "That's right," Feliz told him. "And that's not all. I wanted you to know that the shooting last night wasn't my idea. We didn't have any part in it. It was Mafia guys, trying to set us up. They wanted to make you distrust us, so they could get on your good side and get back in the action. Hell, I'm just surprised they didn't try it before now."

  "I see," Blanco said coldly. "And how do you intend to prove this?"

  "It's not something I can prove, exactly. But you won't be dealing with the Mob anyway. Their two top men have been taken out." He held up his hand, showing the stitches. "I took one of 'em out myself."

  "And who is this, then?" Blanco inquired, looking at Wofford.

  "That's my little gift to you." Feliz smiled. "Your very own D.E.A. agent."

  "How much longer?" Stone yelled, trying to be heard over the roar of the aircraft engine and propeller that shoved the airboat along.

  The pilot, Tim Congrady, throttled back the engine. "Depends," the big, rawboned man said. "From what you tell me, this place might not be easy to find, even if we get pretty near the right location. And I guess you want to sneak up on it quiet as you can."

  "That's true, but time's important. We may already be too late."

  "Don't worry," Congrady assured him. "I been goin' back in these 'Glades for as long as I can remember. If anybody can find that place, I can. It may take awhile, though."

  "We may be getting some help," Loughlin reminded them.

  "Right, but I don't see anybody yet," Congrady said. "I remember there used to be a big ol' island of some kind or other around these parts years ago. Used to be a moonshiner had him a still back in there."

  "That sounds like the place we might be looking for," Stone said. "Can you find it?"

  "I seen it once or twice. I think we better just ease along from here on out. From the way you fellas are armed, I don't want to take no chances on the folks we're dealin' with."

  "Probably a good idea," Stone told him.

  Wofford knew then why he had been brought to the lab. He was a peace offering, but a virtually worthless one. He knew nothing that he could tell the drug makers that would be of value to them. He had heard of the existence of their lab, but that was about all. He wondered what the Colombians would do with him.

  "We do not need him, or want him," Blanco said.

  "What?" Feliz appeared astounded.

  Blanco looked at him with surprise. "Surely you do not think we have no contacts in the D.E.A.? You are not that much of a fool. We get regular information from them, as you must."

  "Sure, but—"

  "So anything that this man could tell us would merely confirm what we already know. If, indeed, he knows as much as we do. Our source is very highly placed."

  Wofford felt a chill. He knew that he would not be hearing this if the Colombian planned for him to leave the room alive.

  "Besides," Blanco went on, "we have our own plans, which do not include dealing with you. We are going to enter the business of distribution ourselves. Cut out the middleman, as they say in this country."

  "Now just a minute," Feliz bristled. "You can't do that. We've already got the network, the contacts. You don't know anything about that end of the business."

  "What you say is true, but we will learn. And we feel that we can easily move in, now that your own organization has been damaged by infighting. We did not know who the instigator of the fighting was, nor did we care. All we know is that it has benefited us."

  Feliz snarled, "Bullshit! You can't even begin to take over something like that, not as long as I'm in charge!"

  "Ah," Blanco said. "You do have a point. But not much of one. You see, you have been kind enough to put yourself into our hands. I do not believe that you will ever find your way out."

  All eyes were on Feliz now. His lips were clamped shut, and his blood pressure was rising visibly. Beside him, Ramón Flores was virtually quaking in his shoes. He had not been able to think of an excuse to avoid the trip, and he was now very afraid that he would never see Miami again.

  Wofford knew that he would never have another chance. No one was watching him. He was out of it, his hands tied, and they did not think he would be a problem. He hoped that they were wrong.

  The big man nearest Wofford, Jaime del Rio, was wearing a .45 automatic in a holster on his belt. Even with his hands tied in front of him, he could grab the pistol and work the trigger. He had to try.

  Wofford moved swiftly, bouncing del Rio with his hip and grasping the handle of the .45 in the same movement. As the Colombian was pushed aside, the gun came out of the holster into Wofford's hands. He could hardly feel it, but the ropes had not entirely cut off his circulation. He got his finger on the trigger and fired.

  His target was the guard at the door, and the bullet sheared off the top of the man's skull.

/>   Blood and gray matter splattered the wall, and Wofford moved for the door as the man fell.

  Then he was out into the hall. Turning, he fired a shot back into the room, hoping to slow the pursuit. The bullet struck Gomez in the center of the chest, throwing him against the wall. He left a dark red stain as he slid to the floor.

  Wofford didn't wait. He was off and running.

  Enrique Feliz had survived on the streets for years, and in the seconds following Wofford's move the old instincts came back to him.

  While the others stared in stunned silence at the dead guard and at the body of Gomez, Feliz flung himself at the guard's Uzi.

  He came up with it in his hands and began firing.

  The gun dealt out death, stitching a row of bloody buttons across the chest of del Rio, punching out three new navels for Blanco, and unfortunately taking out Ramón Flores in the process. Flores had never been one to involve himself in the action and had no idea of the right moves. Now he had paid.

  Feliz didn't give a damn. All he cared about at the moment was himself, and his own safety. The other two Cubans had hit the floor as soon as the firing began. "Get up and find a gun," Feliz ordered them. "Let's get our asses out of here."

  There was a pistol on the guard, but Blanco and Gomez had not been carrying. "Never mind," Feliz snapped. "We'll go with what we got."

  They entered the hallway.

  "Which way?" the one who had picked up the guard's pistol asked.

  Feliz pointed to the right. "That way."

  They started running in the direction opposite the one in which Wofford had gone.

  Then the building began to explode.

  "Hot damn!" Hog Wiley yelled. "Ride 'em, cowboy!" He swooped down over the drug lab in the Cobra G-Model helicopter that Carol had arranged for him to get through their contacts at Fort Bragg. The Vulcan machine gun mounted on its nose fired 20mm cannon shells, and Hog was strafing the lab.

  Chunks of concrete flew in the air.

  Gouts of flame spouted over the lab.

  Hog laughed and pressed the firing button.

  Alerted by the whumping of the chopper's blades, Tim Congrady had guided his airboat in the correct direction.

  Hog, knowing what he was looking for, had located the lab from the air, and by the time he had begun firing on it, Stone and Loughlin were out of the boat and on the way in.

  The Cubans outside the fence had no idea at all about what was going on, but they knew that something bad was happening. They also knew that the men inside the fence were their enemies, so they grabbed their Uzis and started streaming bullets into the compound.

  The Colombians inside, attacked from both the ground and the air, began firing randomly in all directions.

  Stone was glad to have the Cubans for allies, even if only temporarily, and took advantage of the confusion. He launched a grenade at the gate, blowing it apart, and he and Loughlin charged inside, followed by a bunch of yelling Marielitos determined to get inside the building and find their boss.

  Hog continued to circle above and fire his gun. Shells exploded all around, throwing Colombians into the air like stuffed dolls, their bodies limp and lifeless.

  Stone's Ingram, with its suppressor in place, chugged out subsonic doom as he charged a door.

  Blowing off the lock, he kicked it open and stormed inside.

  Turning his back to the door, Loughlin stayed outside and kept up a withering blast of bullets to discourage anyone else from trying to enter.

  He cut down Cubans and Colombians both. At this point, they were all on the wrong side.

  Their bodies jumped and twitched as the bullets smashed into them.

  Knowing that by now Stone was inside, Hog set the chopper down on the roof. He didn't want to level the place, not yet. Not while the sarge was in it, at least.

  Almost before the blades stopped whuffing, he stepped out onto the roof, his Ingram in one hand and his .357 in the other.

  There was only one guard left up there, and he waited behind a vent until he had a clear shot. Then he stood and blasted.

  Hog saw the movement and returned fire.

  The Colombian's bullet chinged off the tail of the chopper.

  It was his last shot. A bullet from Hog's .357 struck him high in the chest and he stumbled backward. His calves hit the edge of the roof railing and he tumbled over, dead before he hit the ground.

  Hog walked over to the rail and began to fire at the men swarming inside the fence. For a minute they could not figure out where the fire was coming from, and the Ingram shattered arms, legs, and heads before many of them could find cover.

  Their bodies lay sprawled on the ground, hands outstretched, faces pressed to the earth.

  Wofford ran down the hall, turned right again, and then again. He saw two guards outside a white double door. He shot them both, the bullets smashing them aside, and then kicked open the door.

  The whole building was shaking for some reason, and Wofford saw tubes and beakers falling off tables. He began firing the pistol, breaking glass and sending clouds of smoke into the air.

  Then he ran out of bullets.

  He stepped into the hall to get one of the guns from the guards. Three other men saw him.

  They opened fire.

  The bullets tore into his body, propelling him back into the lab, where he crashed into one of the setups. Glass fell and broke all around him as he lay in a deepening pool of blood.

  Stone shot his way into the corridor containing Blanco's office. Seeing the open door, he stepped inside.

  The dead men meant nothing to him, but he could see that this was the nerve center of the operation. He didn't know how long he might have, but he took the time to make a thorough search of the desk in the room, pocketing any papers that looked to be of interest.

  Then he was back in the hall. Three men with guns turned the corner to his right, and he shot them down, bullets raking them and drops of blood filling the air.

  The floor was slick with blood, and Stone almost lost his footing as he went by. He headed for the inner part of the building, wondering where Wofford could be. He should have been in the office. Maybe he wasn't there at all.

  Stone saw the open doorway to the lab. The technicians had fled, though Hog had by now stopped strafing the building.

  He saw the body lying amid the broken glass and the refined cocaine.

  And he knew it was Wofford.

  He charged into the lab and knelt down beside his buddy. Wofford was bleeding from numerous wounds. "I'll get you out of here," Stone told him softly. "Sorry I didn't make it sooner."

  Wofford coughed, spitting blood. "Hey, Sarge. Hell, I didn't know you were coming." He coughed again. "I should have waited."

  Stone put Wofford's arm over his shoulders, then stood up, pulling Wofford up with him. Wofford seemed to have no strength at all. It was as if he were boneless.

  "I don't think it'll be worth the trouble to get me out," Wofford said. "I won't be around for the finish."

  Stone knew Wofford could be right, but that didn't matter. He didn't plan to leave him there. He started out of the lab, Wofford's feet dragging.

  There was no more opposition inside. Blanco had stationed most of his men outside, and there was still plenty of firing going on there.

  Stone stopped at the doorway, where Loughlin was still blasting away.

  "Hog's on the roof," the Brit informed him. "We've got them penned down, but there are so many bloody trees that it's hard to get to them all."

  "You have the plastic?" Stone asked.

  "Sure enough," Loughlin answered.

  "I'll take the door. You distribute it where it'll do the most good. No one will bother you."

  Loughlin moved past them without a word.

  Bullets chipped concrete off the doorway. Stone fired back. "Feliz," Wofford said.

  "What?"

  "Feliz . . . is here. Got away." It was an effort for Wofford to talk.

  "Where?"

&nbs
p; "In . . . inside."

  "Damn."

  "Go . . . go get him. I can handle . . . gun."

  Stone had not questioned Wofford's bravery that day in Vietnam when he had run into the village. He didn't question it now. He handed him the Ingram and drew his Beretta. "I'll get him for you."

  "Thanks." Wofford took the Ingram.

  Stone slipped back inside.

  Feliz and his two henchmen had found a storeroom and hidden. When the building stopped taking a pounding from the chopper, they had emerged. They wandered through the halls, looking for a way out.

  "Here we go," one of the men called.

  Feliz looked where the man was pointing. Part of the wall had caved in where a shell had exploded. Most of the firing was coming from the other side of the building, and this looked like their best chance.

  Still, Feliz wanted to be sure. "Check it out," he ordered.

  The man went through the opening in a crouch. No one shot at him. He walked a few steps away, then returned, motioning for them to follow. "It's okay. Nobody's shooting on this side."

  Feliz went to the hole, sending the other man through first. Still, no one shot at them.

  Gripping the Uzi, Feliz followed them through.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was down to sniping, now, Hog thought as he watched from the roof. Whoever showed any part of himself was going to get dead, real quick.

  Just as he thought it, a man near the fence leaned out from behind the trunk of a tree, trying to get a clean shot at the doorway. His Uzi stuttered, and then he ducked back. The returning fire from the door was erratic and way off the mark, chopping at the leaves above his head and sending a small shower of them down on his head.

  Gaining confidence, he leaned out for another shot.

  Hog plugged him through the ear, sending part of his head into the chain-link fence, where it hung like a scalp taken in battle by a savage.

  Hog wondered if Loughlin was all right. It wasn't like him to miss by such a long way. It wasn't like him to miss at all.

  He didn't have time to wonder about it long, because he heard a noise on the roof behind him.