Betrayal Ch. 06

Betrayal -- Final Chapter

No one under the age of eighteen is engaged in sex in this story.

If violent retribution upsets you, best you stop here.

The jangling phone awoke everyone at 6:30; Tim was closest, so he answered. Jeanie came in and sat on her dad's bed watching the expression on Tim's face change from sleepy but inquisitive, to concerned, to irate. He cussed a blue streak for a good twenty seconds, then sat on his bed and took five slow, deep breaths. Jeanie hurried over and sat by him, but he shook his head at her and returned to the call.

"Sorry for the outburst, Jim. What DO you have?" He listened for a couple of minutes without speaking, turned red from head to toe, and then stated vehemently, "Don't feed me that shit! I trusted you! I trusted the Fucking Texas Rangers! You fucked up a simple job! What happens next is on you; the whole damn lot of you! I'll find out where they are, and then I'm coming, and Hell is coming with me! Y'all had your chance and shit your pants; now keep your asses in Austin and wait for the TV crews to tell you what happened!! And DO NOT tell your chain of command SHIT! They are in it, and so are some of our scumbag politicians! You know it, and we have it on tape, so DO NOT SAY A FUCKING WORD TO ANYONE ELSE, GOD DAMN IT!"

He slammed the phone into the cradle and strode to the coffee pot. He poured a black cup and stared out the window in silence, then went back to the phone and called Nate, "War council in an hour; tell Jesse and Jose they need to be here with the three prisoners. I want only you three, Daniel, Chuy, and Chivo. This is not a drill!"

He turned to Jeanie and Joe: "Karen and my boys were kidnapped at shift change last night. It looks like an inside job, but the incompetent fucking Rinches don't know shit! That means I'll be heading north sometime today after the war council and interrogation. This could get really nasty, so maybe it would be better if you went back to San Antonio. They could come after Jeanie, Joe, so you should take what you need and hire whomever you need to fortress up."

Jeanie had been frozen with an incredulous look on her face; she came out of it, grabbed Tim in a bear hug, and said, "Oh my God! Not your sons! How could that happen?"

"They have shit for an explanation. A fucking ranger was overseeing the operation, and two local deputies were guarding them. All they know is, shift change happened at two am, and when the Sheriff's office started calling at six am no one answered. They sent a car; her parents were bound and gagged in the 'safe house'; Karen, Patrick, Mark and the deputies were gone. The ranger isn't answering either.

Want my take? The ranger, the deputies, and maybe more were in on it, and my family is being held somewhere as collateral against exposing the crooked muther-fuckers in Austin who have been sanctioning this shit all along, as well as participating and getting paid!

They think they are above the law, and they probably are, but they aren't above a fucking bullet through the brain!"

With that tirade spilled, Tim called his friend Will in New Braunfels. He gave him a brief summary, and told him he would need help. Will said he would let Los Ratones who lived around the area know, and they would be ready.

Jeanie was wringing her hands; Joe was packing, and he ordered Jeanie to do the same. She hugged Tim again, and ran to the bedroom.

Tim phoned Deputy Jackson; it took a few minutes for him to get to a private phone and call back. Tim told his tale, and asked for help. Jackson said he would take a couple of days of comp leave to begin after his shift ended this afternoon, and would spend the day trying to get information.

Nate was early, but there were three cars right behind him. Everyone he asked for was there, but so was Sheriff Rodriguez. Tim stared at Nate, and then cut his eyes to the Sheriff. "You probably don't want to be here, Sheriff." Miguel looked behind himself, frowned, and said, "I don't see no stinking sheriff!" Gesturing broadly to the others, he asked, "Anyone see a stinking sheriff? I'm here with my friends for the fishing tournament."

Tim waved him forward and they embraced. "Fuckin Rinches -- can't do shit right!" Tim said with conviction. They walked into the cabin, took the coffee cups Jeanie had prepared, and took seats around the table. "Where are Los Angeles?" Tim asked with a frown.

"Secured off site, just in case. Let's get this talked out just a bit, and then we can ask them for their assistance," Nate replied calmly.

"Let me start" Miguel requested. "I've been on the phone all morning, and I've learned a few things that may help." He laid out what he had learned from various sources, including Jim Boyd. Turning to Tim when he mentioned the ranger, he said, "A thoroughly chastened and embarrassed Jim Boyd, I might add. He's taking leave and coming down for the fishing tournament himself!"

"Anyone with the balls can come fishing, but I every fucking one needs to understand the rules, and if they can't play by those rules, they need to STAY THE FUCK AWAY!"

"Exactly what are the rules, Hermano?" Nate asked.

"My family lives, everyone involved dies! NO FUCKING MERCY!" Looks were exchanged around the table, and everyone shrugged.

"Sounds like a start to a good plan. I'd like to suggest an addendum - Your family lives, the scum die, and we all live happily ever after, back home. How does that sound?"

Tim actually smiled, "Thanks! I forgot to add that. It's been a part of every other plan, and it need to be in this one too. Now, can we go 'ask the prisoners for their assistance'?"

Joe came over, shook Tim's hand briskly, hugged him tightly, and said he would make sure Jeanie is safe, but he would be available if needed. Jeanie was stoic, but her lip quivered while she held him; she kissed him as if it was their last kiss, and then turned and walked to her dad's truck with her suitcase and clothes bag.

***

'Off-site' turned out to be at the pit where the others were buried. Three triangular hoists had been erected, and each had a bandito hanging over a small fire. A pile of mesquite limbs lay close by. Chivo walked over to the three, grinned at them, and flashed his Bowie knife at them. "Which one do I get? You can't cook all three -- I need some fun tambien!"

Thirty minutes later, they had everything they needed. "The drug cartels keep information compartmentalized, but these pendejos are too stupid and arrogant," Miguel opined. "Or they are so confident we won't come after them on Lake Travis they aren't worried. Of course, that would be fatal arrogance, but maybe they really are that stupid!"

"They are counting on the big shots protecting them, as they have been," Nate interjected. "These cabrones are that stupid, for sure, but are their protectors REALLY this dumb, or are we walking into a trap?"

"I don't give a fuck either way!" Tim stated coldly. "I'm coming after their asses, and anyone in the way is going to die!"

They buried the bloody remains in the same pit using the backhoe, replanted trees and brush over their grave, and laid sandstone rocks around carelessly. There was no sign of a dig, or of what was buried, yet Daniel said he would make it better when he had time. By tomorrow it would look like the rest of the pasture.

Back at the house, Miguel called Boyd on his private line. The talked for a few minutes, both informing the other of news and information gained, and then Miguel handed the phone to Tim. Boyd tried to apologize again, but Kelly cut him off and told him nothing would be forgiven until his family was safe.

"If you really are planning to help, get with Randy Jackson. My friend Will is coming up with a few other friends from around New Braunfels, and you guys can come to the fishing tournament together. I'll give you his number in a second, but, Jim, let me warn you -- if ANYONE gets in my way, or if ANYONE is a mole, I fucking promise you they will regret it direly!"

He handed the phone back to Miguel, and the LEOs talked some more. Tim and the others began final preparations; by 3:30 they had everything loaded and ready. They made a few changes to the working plan based on new information, and headed north at 3:55 pm. About 30 miles later they passed a military convoy headed to maneuvers and Nate wondered aloud which was better armed.

***

They rendezvoused on a ranch near Henley, west of Dripping Springs. The landowner lived in Houston; the ranch hand who lived there was Daniel Mendez, Jr. Boyd informed them that Gomez, the leader of the Devil's Angels, was handling security at the lake house near Spicewood. He and ten men were there, Karen and her sons were there, and there were at least five other women there, two of whom came with the assistant attorney general and the Railroad Commissioner.

He didn't know the identities of the other three, but missing persons reports had been issued two days ago for two high school seniors who were considered runaways. Randy Jackson was reconnoitering, and would fill them in when they met up near the RR commissioner's lake house.

Everyone donned camouflage and boots, and faces were painted with black smudge. Their firepower included two sniper rifles with noise suppressors made by a gunsmith in Marble Falls, ARs with suppressors, two automatic shotguns, the bazooka, and a grenade launcher. The last three would not be used unless the plan went bad, but they would be readily available if needed.

They met Jackson on a ranch road in a valley about a mile from the sprawling lake house. He had been a member of a marine sniper scout team and Miguel was his army counterpart, so this was their operation to lead.

After Jackson briefed them, they made a few adjustments to the plan, and then parked the two vans in the brush away from the road. They crowded into two seats and the bed of the pickup, and proceeded toward the house with the lights off. The night was dark, but the road was paved with limestone and there were white rocks along the edge, so it wasn't that hard to see.

Two groups of three were dropped off at locations selected by Jackson. They would circle to end up on the right and left sides of the lake house. The remaining two teams proceeded without headlights a quarter mile further up the hillside where they turned off the main road onto a pasture road and parked the truck. Miguel went right with a sniper rifle; Randy Jackson went left with the other. They would establish diagonal fields of fire to maximize the area covered by each marksman. The distance was not at all challenging, but they needed to take out as many as possible early on, so patience and timing were as critical as accuracy.

Tim, Nate, and the elder and younger Mendez crept up the hillside to the crown, spread out, and used binoculars and spotting scopes to find the location of the people inside.

The eight guards outside were not hard to spot. They were well armed, carrying AK 47s, but they were sloppy and undisciplined, wandering along the perimeter of the limestone patio that surrounded the house, and stopping to talk when they got close to one another. Jackson had one of the sniper rifles and Miguel had the other; they had a diagonal field of fire that overlapped in front. Their fire would be the signal that sent the others from the brush across the narrow open area near the stone patio, and into the house.

The assault would come from the west, which was the front, as well as from the right and the left. The snipers would remain in place for a few minutes to provide cover fire. The other ten men would breach the house, which was situated on the edge of the cliffs above the lake; there was neither ingress nor egress to the east.

Two guards were grouped, talking, on the southwest corner and two more were on northwest corner when the snipers each fired twice. They heard a double 'poof' from each side; the bullet being fired made one, the bullet striking the target made a second. The four guards simply collapsed on the limestone.

The remaining guards were nonchalantly walking around when more poofs took them out. The three teams ran across the open ground from three sides. They checked the guards, and proceeded across the patio to the walls of the house. They peered in the windows, and signaled one another with fingers raised to signify the number found.

There were only six downstairs, grouped in the living room that spanned the back of the house. Two were girls Tim had never seen before; they were totally naked, as were the four men. They were all standing near the bar. Tim entered through the front door; Jesse's team entered from the south, and Jim Boyd's team came around the north side to enter through the open patio doors on the east, or lake side.

Tim signaled for Jim's team to watch the stairwell; his team crossed from the entry hall to the bar in on a few steps, closing in behind the four men. Jesse's team was behind the two women. Six suppressors were placed against the heads of the naked; the men could see Jesse's team, the girls could see Tim's. He quietly announced, "If you scream or make any noise at all, you die. Is that understood?"

They nodded, and he continued, "I'm here to get my wife and two sons; where are they?"

No one answered; Tim reached behind his neck and pulled the short sword out of the scabbard between his shoulders. He placed the blade under the neck of the man who standing stock still with Tim's rifle, held in his right hand, still against his head. "You have 10 seconds to speak up or you will never speak again. 9 -- 8 -- 7..."

The man rasped, "Upstairs! They are upstairs!"

"Upstairs where, exactly?" Tim asked. The man to Tim's left turned his head just enough to see Tim, and proclaimed, "Kelly! I should have known. You're in way over your head, Boy. Let us go and we'll give you the kids; we keep your slut wife, but I doubt you give a shit."

"Hello, ex-sheriff. Fancy seeing you here" Tim replied. "Why exactly am I in over my head? It would seem that we are in control here."

"Boy, you don't have any idea who you're fucking with. IF, and that's a big IF, you survive the night, we will hunt you down like a dog and kill you. Then we will kill everyone you know and care about. We have more power in this state than LBJ did, and we are fucking totally ruthless!"

Tim slit the throat on the man in front of him, and then swung his sword backhanded. It hit the disgraced sheriff in the mouth, breaking teeth and chopping through his jaw so badly it was left hanging. He fell to his knees, blood spurting from his mouth and terror in his eyes. Tim stood over him, thrust the sword into his neck and twisted, and the sheriff toppled over, dead. "WE ain't doin' shit, sheriff, 'cause you're on your way to hell!"

He turned his eyes back to the others, and held his bloody sword pointed at one of the young women. "Tell me what I want to know, or you join them. 9 -- 8..."

She fell to her knees and frantically answered, "Please don't kill me! The boys are locked in the small bedroom upstairs! You have to go to the end of the hall and turn left; it's all the way down the hallway! The blonde woman and the two girls are with the other men in the bedroom across the hall - the big bedroom with a glass wall overlooking the lake!"

Tim turned his eyes and his sword to the other young woman. "How many men?" She immediately answered "I think there are six, but there could be as many as nine! We were entertaining the commissioner and the sheriff on the couches, so I didn't see. I haven't been up there all night, but I saw the Gomez brothers and general Speath go up with four men I didn't know!"

She pointed to the man to Tim's right. "Commissioner Landon knows -- ask him!"

"Commissioner?" Tim asked pointedly, with his sword touching the bald man's nose. In a tone of voice bordering on defiance, the commissioner, said, "We need to negotiate something here..." Tim drove the point into his nose and sliced the septum cartilage, leaving his nose hanging. "No negotiation. Tell me or die." Commissioner Landon grabbed his nose and took a breath as if to scream; Daniel the younger jabbed him in his pineal eye with his rifle, knocking him out. He collapsed on the floor, and Tim turned his attention to the remaining man, who had remained still and seemingly unaffected.

"Your turn" Tim said mildly. The unknown man looked straight ahead and replied in a calm voice, "There are two guards with AKs, and eight others. Just so you know, one is the assistant attorney general of Texas, one is a Texas Ranger, one a deputy sheriff, and another is the leader of a Mexican cartel, so you may want to rethink your plan to retrieve your family if you want to live."

"Oh, shit!" Tim hissed with mock fear. "You don't mean the Mexican cartel Los Angeles del Diablo, do you? The Devil's Angels!"

"Yes. Manuel Gomez and his brother are both up there." The man shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know who the women are, but they've stopped screaming, so they may or may not be alive. The Gomez boys are mean bastards, but Speath is something much worse."

"And who the fuck are you?" Tim asked him.

"Someone you don't want to fuck with" he replied. Tim nodded and Daniel the elder pulled the trigger.

"Okay, I won't" Tim said to the falling corpse.

"Now, girls, you see your fate," Tim said as he stared at the naked young women. "Landon would be dead too, except I think he knows more about the monsters behind this drugs/rape/porn/slavery trade than he's had the opportunity to disclose. You do too, so we're going to tuss you up and run upstairs to have a discussion with the men up there. You are going to lie still, be quiet, and wait for us to return. If we hear even a squeak from you...well, you know."

Miguel and Randy came through the front doors on high alert, carrying the two automatic shotguns. They nodded at each other; Jesse brought them up to date, and the entire crew followed them up the stairs. No guards were visible as they made the hallway, but you could hear voices in the bedroom on the right. Tim nodded at Chivo, who stepped to the fore carrying throwing knives in each hand. The others fanned out into doorways and bedrooms on each side.

"Vatos! Que paso?" Chivo called when he was within 10 feet of the two men peering into the open door.

They stepped back, pulling the door partially closed, and asked "Quien eres, carbon?" as they raised their AKs. Chivo threw both knives underhanded; each knife buried itself in the throat of a guard, and they dropped onto the carpet. The sound of their rifles falling was muffled by the thick carpet, but Tim and his crew hurried to the doorway just in case. Those sounds from within the room continued without interruption or change, so they drug the guards away from the door and assumed positions around it.

Tim held up his hand; he, Nate, and Daniel Jr. went left, down the hall and into his sons' room, rifles ready. The boys were alone, sleeping together on a king size bed. He quietly expelled a sigh of relief, backed out the doorway, and asked Nate and Daniel to take care of his boys. They replied that they would care for them as if they were their own. Tim heard the door lock behind him.

Miguel and Randy were standing at the master bedroom door, shotguns at the ready, waiting with the team for his direction. He inched the door open and looked through the crack at the back. Katy was in the middle of a huge bed, and sobbing young women were on either side of her. The sobbing women were being double-teamed, and a knife was pressed against the face of each by the man they were fellating. Katy was lying over a big pillow, and a small, thin man was pummeling her from behind while pulling her head up with something. She was unnaturally silent, still, and pale.