Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (diy ebook reader TXT) 📕

if I don’t hear from you tomorrow, and if, because of you my larger plan goes wrong, I will be very, very disappointed. And Murat, you know it’s not worth all that, because my disappointment will have global consequences.”

Guy Niava,

The middle of the Chiapas jungle,

November 14, 2015, 4:45 a.m.

“Something has to be done.” Laura sounded frightened. “We could die from the fumes.”

We heard voices arguing below us. By the light of the van we saw that Joaquin was protesting where the men wanted to build the kitchen. He asked, “Why not in our regular place?”

The Nose declared, “First of all, because the Civil Guard already has their eyes on our usual place. Secondly, the trail of the trespassers leads to this area, and thirdly… the new formula. The vapor is very poisonous, and it is more ventilated here. Do you want to waste an hour and a half driving to our usual spot? What for? So that we can walk straight into the hands of the Civil Guard?”

Without regard to Joaquin’s protests, the Nose began to build the fire and another man joined him, and, with the easy authority of someone who has done something many times before, bordered the fire with square bricks he took from the van.

The fire was soon ablaze and lit up the gloomy forest. Though I feared the light would make us more visible, it also helped us to survey the area.

The third man, who had taken the white bricks from the van, joined together two heavy boards and rolled a blue barrel atop them. With a nod of his head, he pointed towards Joaquin and threw the question in the air: “Maybe he is collaborating with them?”

Another passenger emerged from the van, a big-bodied man who moved with a wobbly kind of walk towards the light of the fire. I assumed he was the “Cripple” the men had spoken of before. “Joaquin,” he thundered towards the protester. “Is it true what your friends are saying about you?”

“Cripple, you have known me for more than twenty years now… Does this seem like it could be true to you?

“So, what is all this talk about?” asked the Cripple.

“It just doesn’t seem right to me, that’s all… We don’t know this area well enough.”

“We have been looking around this place non-stop, for over twenty-four hours … Have you seen any of the Jalisco?”

“No, Cripple, I haven’t,” Joaquin said. Something from his recent outburst aroused suspicion once again, this time even stronger. “But this place isn’t suitable. The river is too shallow.”

“The river is flowing and that’s good enough.” The Cripple approached him threateningly, and asked, “What have you prepared for us there, Joaquin? A squad from the Jalisco or the Policía Federal?”

I could hear Zorro giving an interpretation of her own, into the earpiece, “It’s not going to end well down there.”

“There are five besides Joaquin and Manuel,” I whispered back. “We can take them down.”

“What’s our angle?” Laura asked in a whisper. “El Desconocido will mark it as our debt and will kill us. They’re his people.”

“They are going to kill Joaquin,” I explained. “And then they will cook drugs under us.”

“I’m taking the one near the barrel,” Laura announced in a murmur.

“I will take the Cripple and the driver,” I said and asked, “Zorro, do you have an angle for the other two?”

“I will take them down as soon as you command, but maybe we should keep one of them alive?”

Underneath us things were progressing fast. Manuel spread some white powder on the hood of the car and sniffed it up his nose. The Cripple gave his driver an order, with his head and the driver removed his automatic rifle from the vehicle. Joaquin took three steps back, took off his hat and begged and pleaded as if he was in church, kneeling before the statue of Jesus Christ.

“Cripple, por favor, no. Por favor. I have a wife and kids. Serina just had a baby three months ago…”

“Who are you working with, Joaquin?” The lighting of the fire below made the Cripple’ looked exceptionally dangerous and frightening.

All those present were frozen in their places, except for the driver, who took quiet steps on the other side of Joaquin.

“When the Cripple gives him a sign to shoot, that’ll be our sign,” I whispered calmly, even though the figure of the Cripple was already in my sights. I moved the finder to the driver with the drawn gun.

“They’re not moving from here,” said Laura.

“We’ll wait…” The momentary blur of the telescopic lens disappeared and then the figure of the driver became steady.

Underneath us, Joaquin had evidently found a moment of self-respect and authority amidst the madness of the mortal danger he was in. He clapped his hat back on his head, pulled out some sort of ID and yelled, “You’re all under arrest!”

We didn’t wait for the Cripple’s cue. We all understood that Joaquin’s hopeless action was our sign. I saw the driver fall and the Cripple quickly gathered himself and, despite his disability, leapt and grabbed the gun from the driver’s hand. My next bullet shattered his skull.

The rest of them froze in their places. They were surrounded by directionless gunfire and they didn’t know which direction to shoot. They fell like marionettes whose strings had been cut loose. We were left with Manuel, Joaquin, and the Cripple’s loaded gun, which was buried under his heavy body. I thought maybe Joaquin could be relied on to cooperate, but then I remembered Zorro’s words: No way to know which of the police is corrupt, or to which of the cartels he belongs.

“Tell them they are surrounded and to get down on their knees with their hands behind their backs, facing the path,” I said. It was important to get them far away from the rifles.

Zorro repeated my words in her impeccable Spanish, and if they believed what she said or not, they clearly preferred to cooperate.

“We’re coming down from the tree, keep them in your