Retribution Road Jon Coon (best android ereader TXT) 📖

work phone and called Senator Benson on a secure line. “Bob, it’s starting. I just got a coded message from Maria. She doesn’t know the target but says it’s narco-subs and Semtex. We’ve got three days.”

“I’ll get the planes up and put the Navy on alert. What else?”

“That’s all I’ve got for now. What do you know about those subs?”

“Mostly fiberglass, twenty to thirty meters, extended range, hard as hell to track. What else?”

“Payload?”

“Average, five to six tons. Crew of four or five. Cost a couple million to build and one trip can net 200 million. There was a rumor the Colombian military was building them and selling to the highest bidder, but shipyards have been found in the jungle. So who knows? Several we’ve caught have been scuttled in open sea, and until we got the law changed, we had to let the crews go. Now we can hold them. Navy guesses we get one out of ten.”

“One out of ten? Go Navy.”

“No, it’s not that. Budget cuts didn’t give our guys enough fuel to pursue. We just sat there and watched them run.”

“That’s outrageous.”

“Nope, that’s politics. Hopefully it’s better now.”

“Five or six tons of Semtex could do a lot of damage. Level a small town.”

“Let’s look for high-value targets within the travel range,” Benson said.

“Plenty on the Gulf Coast that wouldn’t take a fraction of that to destroy. He’s thinking big.”

“I’ll get our guys on it. Keep you posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tom. Tell Maria thanks. And get her the hell out of there.”

“Yes, sir. I’m trying. But you know how stubborn she can be.”

When Tom looked up from his desk and cell phone, Carol was standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” she asked. She invited herself in and sat in one of the two chairs across from Tom’s desk. He folded the note and put it and the codebook back on the hidden shelf. Then locked the gun safe drawer.

“Remember what we were talking about last night? About the cartels planning to attack us?”

“Yes, I still think that’s sort of far-fetched.”

“It’s started. I just had a call from Maria. She’s still undercover there. She says the cartel is launching a massive attack against a high-value target on our coast. Could be a nuke power plant, a refinery, oil platforms … but something really big.”

“Are you sure?”

“Maria has never given us bad intel. If she’s sure, then I believe her.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, is right. This could be the start of something really bad.”

“Are you going to let the Mexican government know?”

“That’s Bob’s job. I have no idea who we could trust.”

“What do we do now? Just wait?”

“That’s the hardest part. I’m going out to the command center and brief them. Want to come along?”

“Those guys freak me out. I think I’ll stay here and have breakfast with the kids. I keep asking myself, Dad, why us? Why does it have to be us? We lost Charlie. Wasn’t that enough?”

“You think about that. The answer may not be as hard to find as you think. Just ask yourself who has given them the most reason to be pissed.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel much better now.”

Gabe arrived at the New Orleans airport just after dawn, rented a car, and drove to Tulane Medical Center. The city held many memories for him; some good ones, but also the worst ones of his life. He tried to block the memories of his mother being beaten to death by his father, and his body recovery work following Katrina. The flooded school bus with dead kids yelling at him, grabbing for him, was one of the worst memories, and to force it out of his mind, he focused on Alethea sitting beside his New Orleans hospital bed praying for him and singing softly the Cajun songs his mother had sung in his early childhood.

It was Alethea’s gentle spirit and reassurance that had pulled him back from the edge. It was her hot-blooded daughter Cas’s love that had taken him to heights of passion he had never imagined possible.

He believed it was Alethea’s compassion, her willingness to sacrifice herself to save Carol’s eleven-year-old daughter, Emily, that had put Alethea at death’s door. Although Alethea denied it, Gabe believed she had in fact made a deal with Baron Samedi, the loa of the dead, when Emily lay dying. He guessed the Baron had come to collect.

The Garden District looked much the same, with stately antebellum mansions and manicured lawns, as he drove down St. Charles Avenue to Tulane Avenue and turned into the parking lot. He was too early for visiting hours, but Cas was waiting in the cafeteria. She got up from the table and held him in a long embrace. Not at all reminiscent of their last meeting in Florida, when she’d told him about her abortion and threatened both him and Carol.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, talking into his chest.

“Of course. I’d have come sooner, but you told me to wait.”

“Mom wasn’t ready. She didn’t want you to see her in the hospital.”

“So, what is it? What’s going on?”

“Sit and let’s get some coffee. Do you need to eat?”

“Coffee, yes; food later. Tell me what is it?”

A server came with two steaming cups. Gabe sat across from her and waited.

“It’s her heart. They say she’s too weak for surgery. She’d never make it. So there’s nothing more they can do.”

“When can we see her?” Gabe raised his cup and blew into it to cool it.

“In a little. I tried to call you, but it kept going to voicemail. Where were you?”

“In Mexico with Carol’s dad. He’s a captain in the Texas Rangers. Carol’s son and three other girls were kidnapped. We went to get them back.”

“And?”

“We got lucky. We got them out alive.”

“And Carol, how is she?”

“Cas, I really don’t feel comfortable talking about Carol and her family with you. Can we just focus on your mom, please?”

“Sure. Sorry. It’s just been a long time, and I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t mean to be short