Lethal Vengeance. Don Pendleton

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       Prologue

      El Paso, Texas

      The big man—stocky, fiftysomething, with gray hair that nearly matched the color of his suit—moved easily along a second-story hallway in the Gateway Rio Grande Hotel, a plastic bucket in one hand, the key to room 209 in the other.

      He was tired at half-past midnight and was running late for bed. Another round of meetings started bright and early in the morning, but the dinner he’d consumed—tamales, enchiladas, rice and beans, with one too many beers—had his stomach grumbling and he needed something carbonated for relief.

      When he’d achieved that, he still had to call his wife. It was an hour later in DC, damn it, but he knew she’d be waiting up and worrying until he had her on the line, telling her everything was fine and coming off as planned.

      The conference, on balance, hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected, but his time was better spent on other things. He’d be relieved to land in Washington again on Saturday, and his report to the US Attorney General could wait a day or two.

      It wasn’t like the meetings would have any real-world impact, after all—not on his job, at least. He would have skipped the whole thing but his orders from the new guy running Justice had been unequivocal: show up and make us proud.

      When the last USAG had bailed under fire, his new, improved replacement fell into the job without adequate briefings on all aspects of his post. When the big man returned to Washington, he would correct that oversight.

      The icemaker and vending machines were right where the floorplan in his room had promised they would be, tucked into a niche at the corridor’s west end. He filled the plastic bucket first then picked a can of soda minus the caffeine and dropped the can into the ice. Because the niche obscured his vision, he was turning with his hands full when he spotted the two burly strangers in cheap suits blocking his path.

      Unfriendly faces set off mental alarms, but the big man still forced a smile and said, “Excuse me, eh?”

      They both rushed him at once, the bruiser on his left cursing as ice and a cold can of soda hit him in the face.

      The big man fought in silence, wishing he’d brought his sidearm currently locked inside his room’s small safe. He got some licks in, but he didn’t see the needle coming until it was in his neck.

      The bright world did a rapid fade to black.

      Ciudad Juárez, Mexico

      When he came around, the big man found that he was seated in a straight-backed wooden chair, no cushion on its seat. His neck hurt from the hypodermic needle and his brain was fuzzy, but he reckoned that would pass. A burlap sack over his head smelled like potatoes and prevented him from seeing anything, but from the lighting and the sound of voices, he could tell he was in a room somewhere.

      His shoulders ached because his arms were pinned behind him, zip-tied based on the chafing on his wrists. His ankles were likewise secured to the chair’s front legs. Aside from shifting slightly on the chair, or maybe tipping it over, he couldn’t move.

      Three men were talking not too far away. They spoke Spanish, but that was fine. The big man knew enough of the language to get by.

      “It went all right?” one man asked.

      “Yes. We’re all here, eh?” another answered.

      “He fought a little,” a third stated, “but nothing to it.”

      “Good. Let’s get a look at him,” the first one ordered.

      One of them removed the burlap hood, revealing a cheap room with shabby furniture and three men ranged before him. Two of them had jumped him back at his hotel. The third guy, clearly, was in charge.

      “Shit!” the leader blurted. “Who in the hell is this?”

      “The guy you sent us for?” The way Number Two said it, sounding shaky now, told the bound man the boss had been expecting someone else.

      “Idiots! When I ask you who this is, I want a name, understand?”

      The one to the leader’s left began to say, “Captain, we—”

      Captain X lashed out and hit him with a stunning backhand. “Now you want to use my rank and name?”

      “Sorry, sir.”

      “I’ve never seen this gringo in my life,” the leader snapped at them. “Did you at least look in his wallet?”

      The bound man could feel it in his left hip pocket, pressed into his butt cheek.

      “Cap—I mean, sir,” the man to the leader’s right chimed in, “he matches the description you gave us.”

      “Description? You didn’t even check to see he was the right one?”

      “Once he started fighting—”

      “Shut СКАЧАТЬ