The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) by Patrick Astre Page A
Book: The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) by Patrick Astre Read Free Book Online
Authors: Patrick Astre
calm and deep like far-off summer lightning.
"Was your evening all you hoped it would be Miguel?"
There were no more options. Anyone talking to him this way would be one of the Durand brothers. They would have no fear of him. They would recognize in an instant he was not Aquilino. All this ran through Rhineman's head in an instant as he whirled, leveled the Glock and fired five rounds in the direction of the voice. Simultaneously he dove through the archway into the kitchen. The shots reverberated throughout the mansion like a clapper in a church bell.
* * *
Hector Durand had been restless. He felt some edge of disquiet, a primitive sense that all was not right. He'd wandered to the kitchen and found there were no guards on duty. Upstairs, he discovered Miguel's apartment empty with the door opened and furniture drawers scattered, as if someone had gone through it looking for something. Hector Durand had gone back to the foyer and picked up the electronic alarm trigger, a device that looked like a television remote control. If he pushed the single red button in the center it would alarm the house next to the mansion and bring thirty armed men at a run. The gate guards would also be alerted and nothing would get in or out of the compound. Ten more men from the house would fan out as perimeter guards.
He clipped the alarm trigger to a steel loop in his belt and removed his favorite weapon from the wall case. He picked up a full clip and inserted it into the World War II vintage Thompson .45 submachine gun and stuck another clip in his pocket. Hector Durand liked the weapon. There was a heavy strong feel to this gun that he had not found in any of the newer more modern weapons that abounded in the compound.
* * *
When Rhineman fired the Glock it took Hector by surprise. He knew it was not Miguel, he had expected the imposter to at least pause or even turn around. The speed of the stranger's reaction had been amazing. But Hector was no slouch. He had not risen to the top of the vicious, deadly world of Mexican drug gangs by being slow. He dropped to the floor and the nine-millimeter rounds whistled above his head, pinging and ricocheting, kicking up clouds of plaster dust from the walls. Hector returned the fire with a long burst from the Thompson, the hail of .45 caliber "dum-dum" bullets blowing out chunks of bricks from the hallway where Rhineman had stood less than a single second ago. Hector Durand fired another short burst and pressed the red center button on the remote alarm.
* * *
An unbearably high pitched shrieking seemed to come out of the very air, rising and falling in rapid tones, red flashing strobe lights pulsed in several locations inside and outside the mansion. Simultaneously the alarm went off in the adjacent house and men rushed off their cots, card games and dinners forgotten, grabbed an assortment of weapons and rushed outside.
* * *
Carlos drove the Durango past the second guard post with Daniels still slumping, his head down. They drove the rest of the way until they reached the graveled front yard. There were two men sitting on the front steps, AK-47's casually slung around their shoulders.
"That's the perimeter guard about to go on their round," said Daniels. "Park by the other side, not too close. Stay in range."
Carlos and Daniels got out of the truck and stood leaning against the white fenders like a couple of employees taking time out to shoot the breeze.
"They should have been out of there by now Richard. We're late, they should have been out already."
"Maybe they're making themselves some tacos. The way things are going we'll probably miss breakfast."
Carlos glanced at Daniels. The North Americano is certainly un poco locos , or maybe a lot nuts, thought Carlos. But then again, the way he had dispatched El Toro made you wonder about the aces he held in his sleeves.
Carlos jumped as a high wailing siren pierced the still night air. A strobe mounted atop the gable on the front of the
"Was your evening all you hoped it would be Miguel?"
There were no more options. Anyone talking to him this way would be one of the Durand brothers. They would have no fear of him. They would recognize in an instant he was not Aquilino. All this ran through Rhineman's head in an instant as he whirled, leveled the Glock and fired five rounds in the direction of the voice. Simultaneously he dove through the archway into the kitchen. The shots reverberated throughout the mansion like a clapper in a church bell.
* * *
Hector Durand had been restless. He felt some edge of disquiet, a primitive sense that all was not right. He'd wandered to the kitchen and found there were no guards on duty. Upstairs, he discovered Miguel's apartment empty with the door opened and furniture drawers scattered, as if someone had gone through it looking for something. Hector Durand had gone back to the foyer and picked up the electronic alarm trigger, a device that looked like a television remote control. If he pushed the single red button in the center it would alarm the house next to the mansion and bring thirty armed men at a run. The gate guards would also be alerted and nothing would get in or out of the compound. Ten more men from the house would fan out as perimeter guards.
He clipped the alarm trigger to a steel loop in his belt and removed his favorite weapon from the wall case. He picked up a full clip and inserted it into the World War II vintage Thompson .45 submachine gun and stuck another clip in his pocket. Hector Durand liked the weapon. There was a heavy strong feel to this gun that he had not found in any of the newer more modern weapons that abounded in the compound.
* * *
When Rhineman fired the Glock it took Hector by surprise. He knew it was not Miguel, he had expected the imposter to at least pause or even turn around. The speed of the stranger's reaction had been amazing. But Hector was no slouch. He had not risen to the top of the vicious, deadly world of Mexican drug gangs by being slow. He dropped to the floor and the nine-millimeter rounds whistled above his head, pinging and ricocheting, kicking up clouds of plaster dust from the walls. Hector returned the fire with a long burst from the Thompson, the hail of .45 caliber "dum-dum" bullets blowing out chunks of bricks from the hallway where Rhineman had stood less than a single second ago. Hector Durand fired another short burst and pressed the red center button on the remote alarm.
* * *
An unbearably high pitched shrieking seemed to come out of the very air, rising and falling in rapid tones, red flashing strobe lights pulsed in several locations inside and outside the mansion. Simultaneously the alarm went off in the adjacent house and men rushed off their cots, card games and dinners forgotten, grabbed an assortment of weapons and rushed outside.
* * *
Carlos drove the Durango past the second guard post with Daniels still slumping, his head down. They drove the rest of the way until they reached the graveled front yard. There were two men sitting on the front steps, AK-47's casually slung around their shoulders.
"That's the perimeter guard about to go on their round," said Daniels. "Park by the other side, not too close. Stay in range."
Carlos and Daniels got out of the truck and stood leaning against the white fenders like a couple of employees taking time out to shoot the breeze.
"They should have been out of there by now Richard. We're late, they should have been out already."
"Maybe they're making themselves some tacos. The way things are going we'll probably miss breakfast."
Carlos glanced at Daniels. The North Americano is certainly un poco locos , or maybe a lot nuts, thought Carlos. But then again, the way he had dispatched El Toro made you wonder about the aces he held in his sleeves.
Carlos jumped as a high wailing siren pierced the still night air. A strobe mounted atop the gable on the front of the