David Golemon - Ripper

Henri did as suggested and was assailed by a horrid stench. While his eyes adjusted to the weak lighting inside this larger room, he heard the crying of a child. Then he saw the cells, or more to the point, the cages just to his front. He scanned the nightmare before him. Women of all ages were strewn about six cold and dank cells. Many more guards were inside this room, as if they had been waiting. Henri’s dire suspicions were proven right.

“These are some of my lesser works, Señor Jones. There are two I am most proud of that I really have not had a chance to examine on a more base level yet, but I am sure you would appreciate their value.” He gestured for a guard to shove two of the dirty, hurt women out of the way.

Guzman watched as Farbeaux’s jaws clenched. Sitting on the flagstone floor were two women — one blonde, the other with short dark hair. The smaller of the two was tending to a wound the blonde had sustained on the top of her head. With a rag held firmly to the older woman’s head, Sarah McIntire looked up and saw who was standing to her front, just outside of her cage. Her eyes widened, but she caught herself when Henri closed his eyes tightly shut and gave her an imperceptible shake of his head. He then noticed his pilot and the San Antonio private investigator lying headless on the floor inside the first of the cells.

“Are they not what I described, Señor Jones,” Guzman said as he gestured behind Henri’s back for his men to move forward. He also stepped back behind a small wall of those men. “Are these not the articles you came to examine, to take, to steal from me … Mr. Farbeaux?”

Henri never hesitated nor did he give any advance indication of what he was going to do. He lashed out before ever turning and caught the man he was hoping was Guzman himself with a palm to the throat, dropping him like a heavy sack of potatoes. Then he elbowed the next closest man to him, smashing his nose deep into his brainpan. The next man in line stepped forward with the steel stock of the AK-47 raised to strike the Frenchman, but Henri was too fast for the smaller man. He quickly lashed out with his foot and slammed it into the man’s left knee. Just as the guard collapsed Henri caught the mini AK-47 and tried to swing it around. He heard Guzman somewhere far off as he laughed and started to clap his hands in admiration. That was when a gun barrel slammed into the back of Farbeaux’s head, sending him to one knee and the purloined weapon skittering out of his reach.

“Your reputation and your prowess has been greatly undervalued, Señor Farbeaux,” Guzman said as he advanced farther into the room, still clapping his hands. “I thought maybe you would get one, possibly two of my men, but three? Outstanding!”

Sarah lowered Professor Stansfield’s head to the filthy floor and stood and ran to the bars. She didn’t understand what was happening or how Henri Farbeaux had found his way into the fix he was in. She saw Henri on one knee, dazed from the blow to his head as the animal Guzman clapped behind him. She watched as the drug lord grabbed Farbeaux by his blonde hair.

“To think you thought me the fool, señor. I will show you the price many have paid for underestimating me.” Guzman let go of the Frenchman’s hair and then nodded to his men.

Sarah cried out when ten men went to work on the archenemy of the Event Group. Henri tried to defend himself as best he could, even managing to take down three of them before he succumbed to the brutal kicks and blows to his head and body.

Sarah looked up at the Anaconda as he smiled and leaned against the whitewashed wall of her prison. She was lost on how to feel as Henri had obviously done something very stupid — he had stepped right into hell’s living room just to save her. How and why this came about she was now afraid she would never know.

“Stop it!” she called out.

Guzman looked over at the cell and directly at the small woman as she held on to the bars with her eyes wide and staring at Henri Farbeaux. His smile never wavered, but still he did not say anything. He did however get a curious look on his face as the grunts from the Frenchman diminished to almost nothing.

“Alto,” he said as he stepped away from the wall. “This man means a lot to you?” he asked Sarah.

Sarah let go of the cell bars and stepped back away from the Anaconda.

“Well little woman, he will soon die with you.” Guzman gave Farbeaux a final kick to his head and then gestured for his remaining men. “Place him in with those he came to see. Later we will have sport.” He looked at his watch. “I have no more time for this,” he said in Spanish, “Mama will be furious if I am late for dinner.”

Sarah watched as the small well-dressed man smiled again and, with a last look back at Sarah, stepped from the room.

Sarah saw Henri pulled roughly to his feet. He was bleeding almost everywhere and he was out cold as he was pushed toward her cell.

“You stupid son of a bitch, Henri, what in the hell were you thinking?” she said as Farbeaux moaned his reply and his eyes fluttered open just as the cell was unlocked.

“I … think … now would be … a … good time … for your boy scout … to make an appearance.” Colonel Henri Farbeaux passed out before he was unceremoniously thrown onto the cold floor at Sarah’s feet.

Sarah went to her knees and pulled a lock of Henri’s hair from his face. She shook her head as she saw how badly beaten he truly was.

“You and Jack piss me off more than any dozen men, you stupid Frenchman.” She looked up just as the cage door was locked behind the retreating guards. “And yes, I have no doubt Jack will be as dumb as you and try something just as foolish.”

She placed Henri’s head in her lap and smiled at him nonetheless. Farbeaux was still as she wiped some of the blood from his face and head. She was amazed at what he had done, not understanding the how or the why. Henri never gave a damn about anyone other than his dead wife, and now here he was giving up himself for her.

“What am I to make of you, Colonel?” Sarah touched Farbeaux’s cheek as he fell deeper into his bloody stupor. “You are the strangest bogeyman I have ever seen.”

Niles Compton stepped from the cockpit and nodded his head at Jack, Will, and Carl. “The pilot just received clearance from the tower to taxi. He filed a flight plan for San Antonio. We’ll circle for a bit and then declare a small-enough emergency to turn back. That means we should be on the ground here in Laredo in,” Niles looked at his watch, “exactly one hour. By that time either you’re across the border or in FBI custody.”

Jack nodded his head and then looked toward the rear of the aircraft where two of his men were quickly coming up the aisle with two large bags. Jack accepted the first and then looked at the army sergeant who had gathered their equipment.

“This everything?” he asked.

“Yes sir. The only item on your list we didn’t have is the satellite hookup. Dr. Golding said as long as you have a cell phone they should have no trouble with communications through our KH-11 Blackbird and Europa.”

Jack patted the sergeant on his shoulder. “That will have to do,” he said as he made one last check on the contents of the large black bag. The Blackbird he spoke of was the famous, but very old, KH-11 satellite that had come in handy on more than one occasion. All this meant that Niles was pulling in some assets that were meant for somewhere else. He looked at Everett who was checking the second bag. “Sergeant, you and the rest of the security team stay with the director. After the plane lands back here in Laredo, no one, and I do mean no one , gets near the aircraft until I return. Is that clear?”