Jack walked over and pretended to look at the dead iguana. In reality he was considering grabbing the revolver from El Pero if Adams responded to the gunfire. As he kicked the iguana carcass with his foot, he glanced around. The lone SUV parked on the far hill remained where it was. There did not appear to be any reason for alarm. Good, considering El Pero only has one bullet left in his revolver …

Jack glanced at El Pero, who cursed some more and shook his fist in the direction of the sharpshooter. When El Pero turned to face him, Jack shook his head in apparent sympathy while looking at the hills around them. Good, no sign of any rescue attempt …

Jack turned back toward the house as the sound of footsteps clumped across the porch. It was Big Al, Sanchez, Berto, Eduardo, and the two mercenaries … who were both aiming their M-16A2 automatic rifles at him.

Jack stared silently at Big Al who walked up to face him. “I have some news that concerns you,” said Big Al, practically spitting the words out.

“Concerns me?” said Jack innocently. He knew he couldn’t successfully disarm these men and it was up to his wits and his tongue to get him out of the situation.

“Yes,” replied Big Al. “My men in Canada have spoken with Señor Damien.”

Oh, fuck … I’m dead …

“Señor Damien says you are a very dangerous man, Corporal Jack Taggart,” continued Big Al. “He says we should kill you immediately.”

Jack was only partially aware that one of the mercenaries had moved in behind him. He did see Big Al look past him toward the mercenary and give a slight nod of permission.

Jack started to turn around as the mercenary raised his weapon, but he was much too late.

Big Al stepped back as a spray of blood splattered his shirt as Jack’s bloody body collapsed to the ground.

chapter thirty-eight

Adams half-slid and half-climbed down the tower, cursing openly at Jack and the risks he took.

“What happened?” Rubalcava yelled up to him. “What did you see?”

“They got ’im,” replied Adams tears of rage filling his eyes while he continued to climb down. “A fucking sniper took him out!”

“Are you sure? Did you see —”

“That fucking asshole,” cried Adams. “I told him he was taking a big risk. Did the fucking hillbilly cop listen to me? Fuck no! Now I gotta go in there and probably get fucking killed, too.”

“Did you see Jack fall? Are you sure he’s dead?”

“I didn’t see Jack, but I saw the fucking snipers congratulating each other,” replied Adams, gesturing toward where the tan SUV was parked. He expected the SUV would be driving to the kill scene, but it was still parked. He stared at it, then used his binoculars again.

“What is it?” asked Rubalcava.

“They haven’t moved,” replied Adams. “The snipers in the SUV are still parked in the same spot.”

“If they had killed Jack, wouldn’t they be driving over to look?”

“You would think so … unless they are waiting to see who else shows up.”

“Or fired their weapons as a test to see if someone would respond.”

“Maybe.”

“Or perhaps were only target-practising at a tin can or something.”

“Christ,” muttered Adams. “I better climb back up and wait.”

Inside the laundry room at Casa Blanca, Big Al looked down at Jack’s naked body where he lay sprawled on his back with his head caked in blood and sand. Big Al then spit on him, before nudging him in the stomach with his foot.

“Wake up, you piece of shit!” yelled Big Al.

Jack emitted a low moan and pink bubbles of froth foamed from his mouth.

Jack heard Big Al’s words as though they were spoken down a long tube. He opened his eyes and saw blurred images of men standing over him. What happened? I was looking at the iguana … what happened?

Typical of concussions, Jack was suffering from retrograde amnesia and had momentarily lost his memory from the time he had walked over to look at the dead iguana.

“Good, you are still alive,” said Big Al, leering down at him. “Although you will discover that being alive will be most unfortunate for you,” he added, kicking Jack hard in the stomach.

Jack tried to roll away, but discovered his hands were handcuffed together with one cuff having been slipped behind the lead pipe below the sink in the laundry room. His vision was clouded and what he did see appeared in multiple images. Pain wracked his skull and nausea took over. What the hell happened?

The rifle butt he had received to his head had done more than split open his scalp. He had also bitten his tongue. He tried to spit the blood out of his mouth, but only succeeded in having it run down his chin.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, slurring his words like he was drunk. “Why do you have me like this?”

“Why are we doing this?” roared Big Al. “Why the fuck do you think we dragged you in here?”

I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s not to enjoy myself …

An image came closer to him and he tried to focus. It was El Pero holding an electric cattle prod. The reason Jack was naked was about to be made painfully clear. He automatically tried to move back, but any movement he had was limited to the short distance his hands could move along the straight piece of pipe between the base of the sink and a wide strip of metal holding the pipe in place halfway up from the floor.

Upon contact with the cattle prod, Jack lurched up and backwards on the heels of his feet, hitting his head on the bottom of the sink. His scrotum felt like it had been whacked with a club barbed with needles. He gagged a couple of times before vomiting and slipping back into unconsciousness.

Moments later, he was awakened to the taste of bleach being poured on his face. The closet sized room was like an oven in the heat and one of Big Al’s men used the bleach to dilute the gagging smell of the vomit.

Big Al leaned forward and said, “I think Señor Damien must be a pussy cat. You do not look very dangerous to me.” He gave a hearty laugh and looked at his men who respectfully laughed in response.

Damien … Jack’s memory of the event leading up to being clubbed with a rifle butt came back to him. Never did like that guy …

“Now … I have some good news for you,” continued Big Al. “Unfortunately, I also have some bad news. The good news is I am going to go bring a doctor back to look after you.” He paused and stared at Jack for a response.

Jack blinked his eyes, trying to bring the room into focus as he looked up at the ceiling. His thoughts were becoming less muddled, despite fighting waves of nausea.

“The bad news,” continued Big Al, “is that the doctor will only be used to keep you alive and awake while you are tortured.”

“Small minds do petty and inhumane things,” sputtered Jack as a fresh supply of blood trickled down his face from hitting his head on the sink.

“The torture is not without purpose,” replied Big Al. “Besides finding out what you know, it will also be a warning to others who try to interfere with our livelihood.”

“It will only make other police officers more angry and vengeful,” replied Jack. “They will come for you.”

“Yes … we have learned that men are often willing to take risks and even sacrifice themselves for a cause. Perhaps you are like one of these men. A man who will endure a lot of pain … before telling us what we wish to know. But you will tell us … that I can assure you. Everyone does.”

“I will save you the trouble. It is hardly a secret why I am here. I’m a cop from Canada looking for a missing Canadian girl. I fooled Slater into thinking I was a gangster. I received permission to go to El Paso to conduct inquiries because that was where she was last known to be. I did not have permission to enter Mexico, but thought I could sneak across the border for a couple of hours in the hope of figuring out where this place is. Then I was going to go back to the Americans and ask for their help to rescue the girl.”