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Book: The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) by Patrick Astre
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Authors: Patrick Astre
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feared enforcer in the Latino world."
"You want me to let you out here? You can tell them we had a disagreement."
Carlos rolled his eyes and unzipped a pocket in the side of his cotton pants. He pulled out a nickel-plated Berretta and slid back the barrel, chambered a round and placed the weapon back in his pocket. He continued to mutter, Esta Loco .
Barbota was an abandoned gristmill named after its long departed owner. The sun had passed its two PM position when Daniels turned the Landrover into the canyon road leading to the property. Heat devils rose in undulating waves from the baked earth as they stopped at the end of the road facing the half collapsed mill.
Thousands of years ago, a river had carved this canyon into the rock. The road that ran through it was bounded on both sides by six-foot rock walls. The trail ended at a muddy riverbed that hadn't seen water in months. There it formed a V. The ruins of the old mill were located at the point of the V.
Once the river had been several feet deep and flowed with clear water. Now, it was reduced to about an inch of stagnant mud. Without water, the mill had been abandoned and the riverbed blocked by large boulders. The canyon walled road was the only way in and out. The Mercedes SUV nosed into the edge of the road and stopped, effectively blocking the exit.
"This is not good Compadre ," Carlos said. "This is very bad."
"You should learn to relax, take a couple of deep breaths."
"Deep breaths? We're trapped and you want to talk about breathing? Madre de Dios, enjoy the breathing. It may stop real fast."
"Have you heard of the Caribbean Stone Fish?" asked Daniels.
Carlos looked at Daniel as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.
"We may be about to become as muerte as road kill and you want to talk about National Geographic shit?"
"The Caribbean Stone fish backs into the mud until he's just about covered and his wide jaw open, looking like a cave. The fish then sends out this long tongue under the mud and wiggles it. Another fish sees it and thinks it's a worm caught in the open. The fish goes after it and the worm dashes into what appears to be a cave. The fish thinks it's got its worm trapped. When it goes into the cave, the mouth of the Caribbean Stone Fish, it gets its head bitten off. The trapped becomes the killer. The hunter becomes food."
Carlos blinked and shook his head.
Daniels grinned at him and got out of the Landrover.
* * *
Carlos moved away from the vehicle as El Toro and Rat approached. Richard Daniels stood on the balls of his feet, hands at his sides, relaxed and calm. He looked for all the world like a man spending a day at a zoo, watching animals pace in their cages.
El Toro came within a yard of Daniels and moved closer, in his space. The Mexican brute's baldhead was covered with a blue bandana and his right hand held low, just behind his back. At six foot two, Daniels was tall, but dwarfed by the bulk and height of the big man.
"So you do not like Mexican peasants, eh Gringo ?"
" No comprende senor ," said Daniels, a small innocent smile playing across his face.
"Perhaps you will understand un poco mano-a-mano , eh?" A little hand to hand.
The big man moved with incredible speed. The right hand whipped out from behind his back as he stepped forward. It was a well-practiced move, a street knife fighter's move, a powerful upward swing that started almost at ground level and would drive the wicked eight-inch blade of the hunting knife through flesh, sinew and bone, a killing blow.
Richard Daniels became a blur of speed and motion. He stepped aside and caught the wrist in a cross-forearm hold. The entire energy of the powerful strike redirected inward, and upward, focused on the big man's wrist. Both wrist bones broke with a loud snap and tore through the flesh in a spray of blood. A shriek began in the man's throat.
What happened next was stunning in its speed and ferocity. Daniel's hand closed over the man's hand just above
"You want me to let you out here? You can tell them we had a disagreement."
Carlos rolled his eyes and unzipped a pocket in the side of his cotton pants. He pulled out a nickel-plated Berretta and slid back the barrel, chambered a round and placed the weapon back in his pocket. He continued to mutter, Esta Loco .
Barbota was an abandoned gristmill named after its long departed owner. The sun had passed its two PM position when Daniels turned the Landrover into the canyon road leading to the property. Heat devils rose in undulating waves from the baked earth as they stopped at the end of the road facing the half collapsed mill.
Thousands of years ago, a river had carved this canyon into the rock. The road that ran through it was bounded on both sides by six-foot rock walls. The trail ended at a muddy riverbed that hadn't seen water in months. There it formed a V. The ruins of the old mill were located at the point of the V.
Once the river had been several feet deep and flowed with clear water. Now, it was reduced to about an inch of stagnant mud. Without water, the mill had been abandoned and the riverbed blocked by large boulders. The canyon walled road was the only way in and out. The Mercedes SUV nosed into the edge of the road and stopped, effectively blocking the exit.
"This is not good Compadre ," Carlos said. "This is very bad."
"You should learn to relax, take a couple of deep breaths."
"Deep breaths? We're trapped and you want to talk about breathing? Madre de Dios, enjoy the breathing. It may stop real fast."
"Have you heard of the Caribbean Stone Fish?" asked Daniels.
Carlos looked at Daniel as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.
"We may be about to become as muerte as road kill and you want to talk about National Geographic shit?"
"The Caribbean Stone fish backs into the mud until he's just about covered and his wide jaw open, looking like a cave. The fish then sends out this long tongue under the mud and wiggles it. Another fish sees it and thinks it's a worm caught in the open. The fish goes after it and the worm dashes into what appears to be a cave. The fish thinks it's got its worm trapped. When it goes into the cave, the mouth of the Caribbean Stone Fish, it gets its head bitten off. The trapped becomes the killer. The hunter becomes food."
Carlos blinked and shook his head.
Daniels grinned at him and got out of the Landrover.
* * *
Carlos moved away from the vehicle as El Toro and Rat approached. Richard Daniels stood on the balls of his feet, hands at his sides, relaxed and calm. He looked for all the world like a man spending a day at a zoo, watching animals pace in their cages.
El Toro came within a yard of Daniels and moved closer, in his space. The Mexican brute's baldhead was covered with a blue bandana and his right hand held low, just behind his back. At six foot two, Daniels was tall, but dwarfed by the bulk and height of the big man.
"So you do not like Mexican peasants, eh Gringo ?"
" No comprende senor ," said Daniels, a small innocent smile playing across his face.
"Perhaps you will understand un poco mano-a-mano , eh?" A little hand to hand.
The big man moved with incredible speed. The right hand whipped out from behind his back as he stepped forward. It was a well-practiced move, a street knife fighter's move, a powerful upward swing that started almost at ground level and would drive the wicked eight-inch blade of the hunting knife through flesh, sinew and bone, a killing blow.
Richard Daniels became a blur of speed and motion. He stepped aside and caught the wrist in a cross-forearm hold. The entire energy of the powerful strike redirected inward, and upward, focused on the big man's wrist. Both wrist bones broke with a loud snap and tore through the flesh in a spray of blood. A shriek began in the man's throat.
What happened next was stunning in its speed and ferocity. Daniel's hand closed over the man's hand just above
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