Free The Geronimo Breach by Russell Blake Page B

deal hasn’t changed any. I can handle this.”
    “Are you sure, Carmen? It looks pretty messed up...” Al grabbed his bag and hastily retrieved the papers from the desk.
    More shots exploded from below. Don Tomas had joined the fray with his associates.
    “Just go, Al. I’ll be fine.” Carmen threw open her office door, peeked around the door jamb in both directions to verify no intruders were on their floor, and ran towards the stairs.
    Al watched her head disappear down the main stairway before calling to Ernesto, “ Vamanos . Now.” He hurried to the window at the rear of the corridor and turned, looking for the cook. Ernesto popped out of the doorway a few seconds later and quickly joined Al, who was struggling to get the window open. Years of accumulated paint had sealed it shut. Together, they heaved on the window, forcing from it a creaking protestation until it opened with a sharp snap. Al climbed out onto the rickety metal platform and lumbered down the ladder to the second floor, where he kicked the ladder leading to the ground free. It slid downwards with a raucous screech. He jumped onto the pavement below and looked up. Ernesto was right behind him. The building was unusually quiet by now, the shooting apparently over.
    They circled around to the main street near Esperanza’s front entrance, stopping close to the parked Suburban. Ernesto spotted the driver staring at them and nudged Al, who was squinting through the black of night at the intersection sign in the distance in order to get his bearings.
    Al couldn’t make out the sign but recognized the blue-green building that stood at the mouth of the alley where he’d parked his car. He whispered to Ernesto while he furtively scanned the street to ensure no homicidal drug dealers were about start shooting it out again. When he was sure it was safe, he beckoned Ernesto to follow him to his waiting vehicle.
    The driver of the Suburban watched as they rounded the corner, and was preparing to go after them when the passenger window exploded in a spray of glass. The door flew open and the team leader threw himself in headfirst, holding his bleeding abdomen to stem the flow of blood.
    “Go, go, go! Get out of here. Now,” he screamed.
    Panicked, the driver slammed the truck into gear and floored it, fishtailing as the rear window shattered from a burst of gunfire. More slugs thumped against the rear of the vehicle as they sped down the street.
    “What the...” the driver yelled.
    “Just keep moving. Get us back to base,” the leader moaned. He slumped into the seat, which was already soaked through with blood.
    The driver veered around the same corner the pair of men had run down and saw nothing other than deserted buildings and a pair of street dogs nosing through a pile of trash.
    He saw tail lights turn onto another street several blocks up, and then disappear.
    The driver flipped open his cell phone and hit a speed dial number.
     

Chapter 11
     
     
     
    “Jesus God. What the fuck? I mean, what the fuck!” Al babbled as he swerved down the small streets, racing away from the disaster back at Carmen’s. Ernesto sat silently staring straight ahead, gripping the dashboard with one trembling hand and clutching his backpack with the other, his face ashen with shock.
    Al was the polar opposite, animated and hyper from the excitement of the conflict. He hadn’t stopped talking since he’d started the engine. “I mean, did you see that? It was a full scale war in there,” he declared for perhaps the tenth time. “Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable!”
    He reached across Ernesto, popped his glove compartment open and withdrew a miniature single-serving size bottle of vodka. He spun the top with his teeth, bottle clenched with his right hand, and then blew the metal cap through his open window. He swallowed the contents in a single gulp. Al winced at the burn, and then burped loudly. The bottle followed the cap into the street.
    Ernesto turned,