Retribution Road, Jon Coon [top business books of all time .txt] 📗

well. Yeah, it was bad.” He led her to the deck, and they settled into the double rocker. The dogs dropped beside her and muzzled her for attention.

Two days had passed since Gabe pulled the truck from the quarry, but maybe he needed more time. She leaned forward and stroked the dogs’ heads for a few silent moments, then sat back. “Are you ready to talk or do you need to split another cord or two?” She stood, moved to the edge of the deck, and sat, looking into the night.

“I guess I’m ready, but this involves you, and I needed to work it off before we talked. This is a tough one.” He rose and sat beside her, then took her hand. “There’s not an easy way to tell you this, so just brace yourself.”

She turned to him and saw a seriousness she’d not seen before. “It’s not Paul?” She tensed and squeezed hard.

“No, no sign of him, but it was his truck, and there was a dead girl in the seat.”

“Oh dear God!” She leaned against him with a gasp.

“Dear God, is right,” he said and held her. What had that boy gotten himself into this time?

They sat together, hearts aching, fearing the unspeakable. They watched the moon rise higher through the trees until moonlight blanketed the slow-moving river, and they listened to the bird calls welcoming the night. Or scurrying to hide from it. Both realized that whatever tomorrow had in store was going to be life changing. And it wouldn’t be for the better.

Chapter 4

Galveston, Texas

Earlier that night, in Galveston, Texas, DEA agents and Texas Rangers had waited in darkness on the edge of the Christmas Bay channel, at the west end of Galveston Island. They talked quietly back and forth on secure radio channels. “Radar’s got traffic approaching the bridge,” Agent Martin reported. “Two targets coming in hot.”

“Got visual,” Captain Tom Bright reported from the Blue Water Highway bridge. He scanned with night-vision optics and could clearly see two go-fast boats approaching. He kept low on the bridge. Rangers had both ends of the bridge blocked and were also keeping low profiles. Captain Bright checked his watch: oh-four-twelve. Clear night, sun up in a couple hours. As the two boats drew closer, he turned on the camera and kept it on them as they passed under the bridge. When they were out of sight, he walked back to his car and drove west toward the compound where the drugs would be unloaded. The trap was well planned and, if successful, would be another of the largest busts in task force history. One of several over the past few months as part of a war on the cartel whose cocaine had created an epidemic of fatalities along the Gulf Coast.

If successful …

The last two raids had ended in bloodshed on both sides, and now, if the rumors were true, the cartel was targeting task force family members to get information about future operations. Fun and games were over. The cartel was out for blood.

Captain Bright passed the San Luis Island development and turned down a shell road running beside a narrow canal. Lights off, he found a spot wide enough to park and began walking. Soon, in the moonlight he could see the dilapidated tin boat sheds and icehouse from what had once been a shrimp fishery. Two shrimpers, freshly painted with new rigging and new nets, floated in their slips. The paint and the rig were all for show. The boats had not boated a shrimp in years. The crews had moved on to more profitable cargo. And thus far had been lucky.

Bright approached the nearest boat shed and was waived into its shadow by a young DEA lieutenant. “Any time now,” Walker said. He held his MP5 firmly. No signs of nervous anxiety, just total conviction.

Bright found a spot to plant the camera, checked the focus, and put the remote in his pocket. He carried a pair of Kimber Target .45s with Crimson Trace Lasergrips and was a legend among the Rangers for his deadly accuracy. He unsnapped both holsters, sat calmly, and waited.

“Targets running dark about five minutes out,” a forward observer reported.

“Roger that. Five minutes,” Walker answered. “Snipers ready?”

“Ready.”

“EOD?”

“Ready.”

“Hard and fast and good luck, everyone,” Captain Bright said quietly.

“Roger that, sir.”

They heard the boats before they saw them. As the two sleek black shadows approached the shore, powerful spotlights from the boats swept the compound, startling and blinding the agents and Rangers. Automatic weapons fire from one of the boats raked the boat shed to Bright’s left. The snipers returned fire, and then Bright heard the big engines roar to life as the boats turned to run.

“Now!” Bright commanded, and before the boats could complete the one-eighty turn back to open water, the first of several large, mid-water explosions created geysers fifty feet high. The boats were lifted by the water and then slammed hard back into it. The crews were thrown overboard and both boats swamped. As the crewmen tried to swim away, they were met by two DEA boats and several gun barrels pointed down at them by serious-looking agents.

“Hard and fast. No casualties on the task force team. Millions of dollars in drugs recovered and all of it on camera for the early morning news,” Walker said with a dry smile. “Nice working with you, Captain Bright. Planting those charges in the water was brilliant. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“You’ve got my number, Hoss. Call me anytime.”

The next morning was Saturday. Emily was on the couch eating cold cereal and drinking a Coke. Carol had left on the TV, tuned to the morning news. Emily looked up from her phone and shrieked, “Mom, Grandpa Tom is on TV!”

“Hang on, Dad,” Carol said to her phone, “Emily says you’re on TV. I’ll call you right back.” She had been telling her father about Paul’s disappearance and the dead girl.

Carol came quickly from the kitchen. The