Read Online Hard Man to Kill (Dark Horse Guardian Series Book 4) by Ava Armstrong - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ava Armstrong
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Once they reached their destination, Ben and Elvis went inside the inn and were greeted by Paco. The inn was a safe house and Paco led them to the back rooms that looked out onto an alley. A team of twelve human intel personnel had been living in the buildings facing the alley for six months. Malarial mosquitoes, fecal flies, fire ants and numerous other insects competed to set up shop on his body as he stepped outside. The HUMINT men and women worked and lived amongst the people, blending in. Their description of the place had been accurate, he could say that much.
Paco, a young energetic man with dark brown hair spoke in a soft voice, “I’m the innkeeper and you are new tenants, on a narco errand, passing through.” Ben swept Paco with his eyes, taking in every detail about him. He appeared alert, energetic, and kind as he handed Ben and Elvis a bottle of fresh water. “Here, drink this bottled water. Everything here is foul. We’ve got plenty of beer, too.” He smiled and his white teeth looked bright against his sweaty tanned skin. He seemed to read Ben’s mind as he mopped his forehead, and batted the flies away. Paco chuckled, “You’ll get used to the heat after a few days. The flies, not so much.”
Ben smiled back, “Hopefully, we will only be here a few days. So, tell me, what’s going on?”
Paco recounted the latest skirmish, “Twenty-nine farm workers were decapitated and their heads were strewn across a field a few nights ago, but when I asked questions of the residents, they gave me blank looks and shrugged as if it didn’t happen. Two well-known peasant leaders were killed in separate incidents as if by ghosts. It took place in broad daylight, but no witnesses. The people of the community are reluctant to admit it even happened.”
Paco continued, “Six Mexicans were shot in the house next door a week ago. A mystery man took away the bodies and the homeowner scrubbed the blood before police arrived. The police decided nothing happened. You need to watch your back here, man, and take plenty of extra ammo in your backpack. It’s bad – I mean really bad.”
Ben had expected as much. El Chulupa was a sun-blistered one-street town on Guatemala’s boundary with Honduras, once in the middle of nowhere, now in the middle of Latin America’s drug war. Mexico’s drug-fuelled battle left 58,000 dead in the past four years, and continued leaving a trail of bodies in Guatemala and across much of Central America.
Mexico’s crackdown pushed some narcos south. In particular, the Zetas, a brutal band of thugs who sought to eliminate rivals and anyone who stood in the way of their business dealings, especially those who attempted to investigate their brutal murders. The Zetas were particularly brutal in that their membership roster involved a heavy presence of former Mexican soldiers. The pay was better – they had started by being paid by the narcos, and then they decided that they would make much better money if they were the narcos.
Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador were already world renown for murder due to poverty, gangs and government corruption. Alarm bells rang in Ben’s mind. General Peter Frost, head of U.S. SOCOM, had briefed them on Central America’s gravest threat, and how the cartels were being welcomed to cross the border into the United States along with terrorists released from Gitmo.
Come one, come all. As if the United States needed any more problems than it already had. There were times he wondered just how corrupt his own government was, especially allowing the breach of the U.S. border so willingly. Ben was painfully aware the commander-in-chief’s first responsibility was to protect and defend the United States, but he was seeing first-hand the results of ignoring that all-important duty.
On the fly-in, Ben observed dozens of long, cut-outs in the jungle canopy: airstrips for cocaine-filled planes. The
Once they reached their destination, Ben and Elvis went inside the inn and were greeted by Paco. The inn was a safe house and Paco led them to the back rooms that looked out onto an alley. A team of twelve human intel personnel had been living in the buildings facing the alley for six months. Malarial mosquitoes, fecal flies, fire ants and numerous other insects competed to set up shop on his body as he stepped outside. The HUMINT men and women worked and lived amongst the people, blending in. Their description of the place had been accurate, he could say that much.
Paco, a young energetic man with dark brown hair spoke in a soft voice, “I’m the innkeeper and you are new tenants, on a narco errand, passing through.” Ben swept Paco with his eyes, taking in every detail about him. He appeared alert, energetic, and kind as he handed Ben and Elvis a bottle of fresh water. “Here, drink this bottled water. Everything here is foul. We’ve got plenty of beer, too.” He smiled and his white teeth looked bright against his sweaty tanned skin. He seemed to read Ben’s mind as he mopped his forehead, and batted the flies away. Paco chuckled, “You’ll get used to the heat after a few days. The flies, not so much.”
Ben smiled back, “Hopefully, we will only be here a few days. So, tell me, what’s going on?”
Paco recounted the latest skirmish, “Twenty-nine farm workers were decapitated and their heads were strewn across a field a few nights ago, but when I asked questions of the residents, they gave me blank looks and shrugged as if it didn’t happen. Two well-known peasant leaders were killed in separate incidents as if by ghosts. It took place in broad daylight, but no witnesses. The people of the community are reluctant to admit it even happened.”
Paco continued, “Six Mexicans were shot in the house next door a week ago. A mystery man took away the bodies and the homeowner scrubbed the blood before police arrived. The police decided nothing happened. You need to watch your back here, man, and take plenty of extra ammo in your backpack. It’s bad – I mean really bad.”
Ben had expected as much. El Chulupa was a sun-blistered one-street town on Guatemala’s boundary with Honduras, once in the middle of nowhere, now in the middle of Latin America’s drug war. Mexico’s drug-fuelled battle left 58,000 dead in the past four years, and continued leaving a trail of bodies in Guatemala and across much of Central America.
Mexico’s crackdown pushed some narcos south. In particular, the Zetas, a brutal band of thugs who sought to eliminate rivals and anyone who stood in the way of their business dealings, especially those who attempted to investigate their brutal murders. The Zetas were particularly brutal in that their membership roster involved a heavy presence of former Mexican soldiers. The pay was better – they had started by being paid by the narcos, and then they decided that they would make much better money if they were the narcos.
Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador were already world renown for murder due to poverty, gangs and government corruption. Alarm bells rang in Ben’s mind. General Peter Frost, head of U.S. SOCOM, had briefed them on Central America’s gravest threat, and how the cartels were being welcomed to cross the border into the United States along with terrorists released from Gitmo.
Come one, come all. As if the United States needed any more problems than it already had. There were times he wondered just how corrupt his own government was, especially allowing the breach of the U.S. border so willingly. Ben was painfully aware the commander-in-chief’s first responsibility was to protect and defend the United States, but he was seeing first-hand the results of ignoring that all-important duty.
On the fly-in, Ben observed dozens of long, cut-outs in the jungle canopy: airstrips for cocaine-filled planes. The
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