“Well, that’s a perfect money laundering scheme, if you ask me,” said John.
“Exactly.”
“Any other questions?” Brady asked again.
“How are you assured that we’re protected, like if someone were to get shot and die? We’re not going to do it intentionally, but things happen, right?”
“It depends on the mission. You know, John, if it’s going to save one of you guys, one of us, no question. I will use lethal force. If Esquivel’s going to kill a kid or a woman, I’m going to injure him, but I’ll kill his buddies. As long as what we do can be justified, I think they’ll play ball with us. It sounds like they’ve got more power that I’ll ever have. And I asked a bunch of times, and I never got any answers really. All she said—”
“She?”
“Yes, the nice lady on the phone who hired me, us, said that they’ll cover and make sure that anything we do is buried. We won’t be tried or convicted or have to worry about consequences. That said, we go in and slaughter everybody, we’ll be in trouble. Let’s just say they’re playing ball with us, and as long as the money keeps coming and it’s something we can do, then we do it. If it requires we do something we can’t do, then we back away.”
John looked down at his feet.
“That enough for you?” Brady asked.
“With two hundred thousand dollars for a week’s work?”
“I’m hoping, yes.”
“Hell yeah, I’m in. When you think about it, we never really were protected anyway. I mean, if the bad guys didn’t get us and we got out of line, the Navy has a way of pretty much ruining your life. And they’ve done it to some of our team guys, so I always had a healthy skepticism during the time we served together. I mean, in this world today, how the Hell do we know who’s telling the truth and who isn’t?”
“That’s exactly what I thought, John. And there’s only one reason in the world I would take this kind of risk, and that’s to get Mr. Rojas away from as many women and children in the future as possible. That’s what we did when we were on the teams; that’s what we’ll do now. We’ll be a force for good. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. But you must make your own peace with this. And if you’re not comfortable, John, you can go. Honest to God.” Brady showed him his open palms and waited for John to respond.
“I’m all-in, Chief. You’ve got my eyes and ears, my hands, my guts, my heart. I’m actually excited about this.”
Brady could’ve just grabbed the guy and given him a big bear hug, but that wasn’t going to be how he would lead this team. He just experienced the satisfaction of having a good man aligned with him. He knew he could count on him. And he was excited about the prospects himself.
But he never wanted to show it.
Enemario Rodriguez was the second team member to arrive. Raised on the border between California and Mexico, the son of immigrant parents, he was immersed in the rich tradition of early California, the Spanish, and the Mexican Free State. He had a grandfather who rode with Pancho Villa. He also had relatives who lived in Texas, and those Tejanos fought on both sides of several wars, including several Indian wars. In fact, except for his parents who were sharecroppers and farmers, valued employees of several large farms in the Escondido and San Diego areas, most of the rest of his family were warriors.
He’d been comfortable with guns ever since he shot his first squirrel at four years old, stealing his father’s pistol. It was a story he liked to tell on cold snowy nights in Afghanistan as the team was huddled waiting for further orders. He was a former Marine who decided, after passing up a lucrative opportunity to work for Border Patrol or Homeland Security, to stay out of the political fray. He had joined the San Diego Police Force, where he served with distinction.
Of course, politics became a larger and larger subject for not only the police forces and first responders but now the military. Several years ago, after he put in his five, he decided it was time to get out of the police and sniper warrior world and start becoming a regular Joe. The task was impossible. He missed the action most of all.
But one thing bothered him more than anything else. He was never able to have an impact on some of the things that affected his family the most.
Human trafficking.
He had cousins, friends of cousins, friends of relatives on both sides of the border in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California—all victims in one form or another of the human sex trafficking trade. Young girls in his family went missing in a larger proportion than many of his Caucasian brothers in the Marines. Most of his SEAL friends didn’t experience firsthand the heartache and trauma he and his family did. It was a difficult subject to discuss and even more difficult to track and try to right some of the wrongs. That haunted him.
Brady had a lot of confidence in the man, and he came highly recommended by Riley, who was about the best judge of character on the planet.
Enemario stood at the gate when Brady buzzed him in. He climbed back inside his huge Hummer, a vehicle he had turned into a stretched machine two feet longer than the average Suburban. It had every kind of bell and whistle anyone would ever want, including surveillance cameras, a satellite dish buried in the top, solar panels he could use to charge up any electronic devices inside, and other gadgets he was legendary for creating. He also was the very best drone maker there was, especially coming up with models that were able to drop little incendiary or explosive devices on unsuspecting bad guys very quietly and without warning.
Brady figured him an integral part of this mission since so many of the girls they would be dealing with were Spanish speaking. They needed to have insight into that community and all the languages and dialects they might run across.
Enemario’s huge vehicle sounded like a semi-truck coming down the driveway. Brady, Riley, and John looked in awe as their new team member arrived.
The large green monster painted in silver fleck came to a screeching halt, dust and rocks flying in every direction as if it was a landed helicopter. When the dust settled and the engine roar ended, the door opened and out jumped five-foot-four Enemario Rodriguez, in full body armor.
The only thing not military issue were his cowboy boots, pure snakeskin and intricately tooled with colorful patterns around the toe, the heel, and extending up the front of his shin.
“Buenos dias, amigos!” Enemario was a character in a Marvel comic book series, or so it seemed to Brady.
“Welcome to the Wild Pig Ranch. You here to learn how to ride horses or meet pretty women?” Brady shouted to him. He was still swishing the dust out of his eyes with his hand.
“Ah, yes. I like those fillies. Both kinds. I don’t know if I could ride one today, since I have my woman back home. Plus, I have put on a little bit of weight.” He held his tummy, which was completely flat and didn’t show an ounce of flab anywhere.
“You fucking liar,” said Riley.
The two friends hugged each other quickly and then released arms.
John stepped forward and extended his hand. He had never met Enemario before. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Enemario graciously shook his hand, squinting and showing a gold tooth, his upper-right canine. If he wore golden earrings, a patch, and a red bandana, he could have easily passed for a pirate.