“I’m not turning into the driveway,” Carter told her. “I’ll try to get an address and see what we can find out.”
As he drove by, Carter marked the address on his GPS. The house was a big bungalow—at least eight or nine thousand square feet by Carter’s estimate—and the owner had set it back far enough from the road to not be disturbed by passing cars but close enough to flaunt his wealth. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Carter texted the address to Hunt.
His phone vibrated in his hand. It was Abigail.
“I’ll pull over at the next intersection and run the address against our database,” she said. “I’ll let you know what I learn, if anything.”
“I’ll find a spot from where I can keep my eyes on target.”
He made a left at the next intersection and twisted in his seat to see if he still had a visual on the house. He didn’t. If he couldn’t see the house, they couldn’t see him either. He stopped on the narrow gravel shoulder and turned off the engine. He climbed out of his compact SUV and opened the trunk, from which he removed a DJI Matrice 100 quadcopter drone. Since the drone was made of waterproof aluminum and plastic, its weight—without the camera—was only slightly over six pounds, which made it incredibly light and easy to carry around. But what really sold this unit to Carter was that it could be controlled from a distance of one and a half miles without a problem. It was the same model he had used on many occasions with the RRT.
Within thirty seconds, the drone was in the air. Carter reacquainted himself with the controls by circling the drone a couple of times overhead. Two minutes later, the drone was hovering a quarter mile away from the Range Rovers at an altitude of one hundred feet. Carter zoomed in on the house just in time to see Leila being carried inside by Hector Mieles.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
Hector popped a couple of Dexedrine capsules in his mouth and washed them down with four huge gulps of water. As his adrenaline rush from all the events of the past thirty-six hours finally crashed, Hector realized he was seriously tired. He was running on empty. His age, even though he had just touched forty, and the years of abuse he had subjected his body to since his days in the army were taking their toll. He still had a few good years in front of him, but at some point he would have to stop.
But to do what? He had always been a soldier. He would die a soldier. He had known that all his adult life. At first he had thought it would be for his country, but when Valentina had called for him, he hadn’t had the heart to turn her down. Not after what had happened to her father.
Sometimes he wondered if she’d be the Black Tosca if it weren’t for his help. Not that he was jealous or wanted to take her place; on the contrary, he had absolutely no desire to become the face of the cartel.
“We’re almost there, Hector,” his driver told him.
“I know. It’s not my first time here,” Hector snapped back.
óliver Sáez, the man they were about to meet, was one of the richest men in San Miguel de Allende. Through grit and shrewdness, the real estate agent turned real estate developer had become a man of wealth and influence. He was also an importer—and sometimes provider—of everything that was forbidden by Mexican law. One of these forbidden things was the trafficking of clean, white, underage virgin girls. During an international online auction, a pretty American like Leila could easily fetch a quarter of a million dollars.
Hector grunted at the thought. Sáez appalled him; the man embodied everything Hector hated. Sáez was a disloyal, dishonest, lying son of a bitch. Hector had even considered killing the man not so long ago. But today, he was glad Sáez was alive. In fact, without him, Hector was convinced that Valentina would burn Leila too.
Upon his arrival in San Miguel, his cousin had given him a thorough tongue-lashing. She was furious that he had taken the initiative to bring the girls to Mexico without consulting with her first.
“It was either that or killing them both in Florida. A single bullet to the head, not that crazy shit you have in mind,” he had told her.
“You mean the crazy shit her grandfather did to me?”
“And I killed the son of a bitch for you, Valentina. I lost good men doing so, not counting Chief Inspector Zorita,” he had reminded her.
“I’ve made my decision, Hector. You won’t change my mind.”
“It could bring us all down,” Hector had pleaded with her. “Leila’s father is a DEA special agent named Pierce Hunt. Do you really think the Americans won’t hit us back if we live stream the death of his teenage daughter? And you want to burn her alive? Hunt’s also a veteran, and the Americans worship their veterans. I’m telling you, Cousin, the pressure the public will put on their elected officials to do something will be such that they’ll have no choice but to come after us.”