SEAL's Pregnant One-Night Stand (Bronte Security Services)

19

Ian was behind the wheel, but he kept sneaking glances off to the sides as he drove them down the miles-long Old Farm Road. They’d left civilization, in the form of gas stations and fast-food places, behind a few miles back. The scenery was purely rural now—nothing but farms, dairies, and canning plants.

“You wondering how we’re going to tell one falling-down building from another to find the right processing factory?” Eric asked.

“Scotty said it’s right at the end,” Ian reminded him. “I was just noticing how many of these places are abandoned—and wondering how many of them are now used for…other purposes.”

Eric nodded his understanding. “We’re so near the border. This is an ideal route to traffic in drugs or anything else. Just look how little movement there is this far out. Few signs of habitation or commerce.”

“I’m getting a fix on the place,” Charlie threw in from the back, where he was poring over the screen of his laptop and a second one too. “We’re gonna have to pull in somewhere so I can do this.”

“What?” Ian turned in his seat. “We’re not stopping off for a goddamn picnic, Charlie!”

“Ian.” Charlie used his CO voice. “I know you want to use the Wrangler as a battering ram and go charging in to rescue Sofia and bust up this cartel, but we’ve got to be a bit smarter than that. Agreed?”

“Yes.” Ian hated every second of the delay, but giving Charlie time to do whatever it was he was doing with two open laptops was necessary. And if that meant being in agony when they pulled off the road and behind a half-fallen-in barn, well, he’d suck it up. He climbed into the back along with Eric to scour through the files for any information on the Mazeros cartel.

“They’re not known for operating this side of the border,” Eric said after a few minutes.

“Until now,” Ian replied.

“It’s up.” Charlie’s relief was palpable, and Ian and Eric gathered close to peer at his screen.

“You have a satellite view of the area?” Ian was amazed.

“And the compound. Well, the factory along with a couple of outbuildings.” Charlie used the cursor to point them out. “And before you make some crack about me hacking into military spy equipment, it’s from a civilian Earth-imaging satellite, usually used in geological surveys.”

“You call in a favor?” Eric asked.

“Let’s say I have friends in high places,” Charlie replied, his mouth lifted in a half-grin.

Ian was grateful for the small joke to lessen the charged atmosphere.

“Can you get heat sigs? Tell how many people are in there?” Eric asked.

“Negative.” Charlie shook his head. “Have to estimate from the size of the building and the number of vehicles.”

“Okay.” Ian nodded after a few minutes of study. “Those smaller buildings are ruins and aren’t used, right?”

The others agreed.

“So we only have the factory to deal with. Look at these points of ingress…” Less technical than Charlie, he used his finger to indicate them on the screen. “So, unless ground recon shows us anything different, it seems ripe for a classic pile-on. And I think we’ve waited long enough for the DEA, don’t you?”

Eric looked at Charlie, who looked back, and they gave short, sharp nods.

“So, what other gear do you keep in this battle wagon?” Ian asked.

“Enough,” Charlie answered dryly. “Let’s suit up.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, three tall, broad former SEALs in tactical vests were crawling through the thick grass around the factory, having hidden their vehicle and approached on foot. Normally, they’d only approach the target after lengthy, comprehensive reconnaissance and subsequent logging and analyzing of the inhabitants’ patterns of movements, shift changes, coffee and comfort breaks.

But, as every SEAL knew, the only easy day was yesterday. Today, the reality was this—Charlie’s signal splitting them up to three different sides of the building where they’d identified side or fire exit doors or windows.

Ian had the corner of the building where the alarm panel was and thanked his lucky stars it was an older, basic model, the fuse spur in a smaller box next to it. He levered open the small compartment at the front of that box and prized the fuse out, which cut the main’s power to the alarm.

That left the battery in the main alarm panel. Ian unscrewed the front of that panel, located the battery inside, and removed the red-and-black terminal wires in two neat, quick snips and in the same second. The siren was now disconnected. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. That was one risk resolved. Still about a dozen more to go.