Forged in Steele

CHAPTER 18

STEELE simmered with impatience as everyone reported in two miles from Mendoza’s compound. Rio had been the first to arrive, his right-hand man, Terrence, with him. Diego had come in just a few hours behind Rio. Steele could only assume the rest of Rio’s team hadn’t been able to make it on such short notice.

Nathan and Joe had flown in with their team and were accompanied by Sam. Only Garrett and Ethan remained behind at the KGI headquarters. Sam had pulled out all the stops for this mission. Maren was one of them, and they weren’t going to rest until she was safe.

And finally, Resnick had arrived, accompanied by Kyle Phillips and his black ops team that worked for Resnick. Steele had no idea if Kyle’s team was government sanctioned or if they were completely off the books. Steele’s money was on the latter. He was positive that his tax dollars paid the black ops team’s salary, but that money, like so much else, disappeared into a black hole and was recorded as some bullshit expenditure courtesy of the U.S. government.

Resnick and Kyle Phillips hurried up to where Steele, Rio, Donovan and Sam stood. The teams gathered loosely around so they could listen in on what Resnick had to say. As usual, Resnick had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and as soon as he finished one, he was quick to light up another. A more nervous, agitated bastard, Steele had never met. He still wasn’t too keen on the fact that KGI had kissed and made up with Resnick after he’d fucked them over in the past. But it was Sam’s call whether to use him. Only now Steele had more of a personal stake, whether he liked that or not. Maren wasn’t just under his skin. She was inside him permanently. She belonged to him. He’d staked his claim whether she realized it or not.

He’d listen to what Resnick had to say, but this was still his fucking mission and it would be done his way. Whatever Resnick had for them, it must be pretty damn important because Resnick had refused to say shit over the phone. Instead, he’d hopped a damn plane with his black ops group and hustled down to give his report in person. They didn’t have time for this shit. Steele was itching to move in. The sooner they quit fucking around with reports and intel, the sooner Maren would be back in his arms, where she was safe. And he wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving her unprotected ever again.

“We’re wasting time,” Steele said impatiently. “Say what you have to say so we can move out. Every minute we waste is another minute Maren is in that bastard’s hands.”

Resnick nodded and stabbed another cigarette into his mouth. “Look, Mendoza is up to his ears in arms and drug trafficking. Thought KGI would find it interesting that he cropped up after you took Alex Mouton down and we dismantled his entire operation and seized his assets.”

Sam’s gaze sharpened. Alex Mouton had been his wife Sophie’s father—or rather her uncle since it was later discovered that Alex’s brother had actually fathered Sophie. The world was definitely a better place without the Mouton brothers. They’d caused Sophie—and KGI—no small amount of grief. But especially Sophie.

“He took up where Mouton left off. Took over his operations. Expanded rapidly.”

“It’s like fucking Whac-A-Mole,” Cole muttered.

Resnick nodded. “For every one we take down, two or more pop up to take their places. It’s a dog-eat-dog business. If we don’t take them down, they take out each other. The weak get culled and the strong, ruthless ones rise to the top.”

“What intel do you have on Mendoza?” Steele cut in, determined to get to the point. They were wasting too much fucking time with the idle chitchat.

“Cagey bastard,” Resnick muttered. “Slippery as a goddamn eel. He changes names and appearances like most people do underwear. I have profiles on him under a dozen different aliases, and those are just the ones I know about. There are probably just as many if not more that I don’t know of. Every government agency in the West has a major hard on for him. He’s number four on my agency’s most-wanted list, but if he isn’t taken down soon, he’ll be number one in short order. I want him. That’s why I’m here and my team is here. We’ll do whatever we can to assist. And if we nail Mendoza, I’m going to need to take DNA samples to verify his identity because he’s had plastic surgery multiple times and he even has his fingerprints surgically altered.”

“Then let’s quit fucking around and get on it,” Steele said in irritation.

“I’m with Steele,” Donovan said.

There were murmurs of agreement all the way around.

Resnick nodded. “Your call. Sam said this was your mission.”

“Let’s roll,” Steele said. “P.J., Cole, you two take Joe and Skylar with you. Get into position and pick off what you can when we helo in.” Then he glanced at Kyle Phillips. He knew the young Marine wouldn’t like taking orders from him, but that was too damn bad. “You and your team go in from the ground. The rest of us are going to helo in. When you see the helicopter, blast your way in but make damn sure Maren doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.”

“Yes sir,” Kyle said.

Kyle turned and motioned for his team and they headed out, melting into the woods that would take them to the perimeter of Mendoza’s holding.

Steele surveyed the remaining team members. With Baker, Renshaw and Dolphin left from his team and Nathan, Edge and Swanny from the other team plus Sam, Donovan, Rio, Terrence, Diego and Resnick that made a total of thirteen. They had sufficient numbers to ace this operation no matter how heavily armed Mendoza’s men were.

“You flying the chopper Rio brought?” Steele asked Donovan.

Donovan jerked his thumb toward Nathan. “He knows more about choppers than I do. I can fly pretty much anything, but he can fly them better.”

“Let’s go then.”

They did a quick weapons check, tested their radios and receivers and then lifted off. Steele ran down the checklist in terse tones until everyone was clear on their assignments.

The helicopter buzzed low, clipping the tops of the canopy of trees and then burst into the clearing where the compound was sprawled. The atmosphere inside the chopper was tense. Expressions were focused and grim. Rifles rose, gripped tightly as they prepared to do the helo drop inside the walls.

“On my signal,” Steele barked.

The chopper swooped in and hovered several feet off the ground. Below them, men scattered in all directions, taking cover.

“Go! Go! Go!” Steele shouted.

They dropped from both sides of the chopper, rifles up. From the corner of Steele’s eye he saw the men in the guard towers start dropping like flies. The snipers were doing their jobs.

They fanned out, chaos surrounding them. A heavy explosion rocked the ground, and smoke and pieces of stone blew into the courtyard. The staccato of gunfire filled the air. Hoarse shouts, a few screams. Fuck, there were women.

“Watch for the women,” he barked into his mic. “Take as few casualties as possible. I want a sweep of the entire house. Find Maren and make sure she’s covered.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Steele moved through the courtyard, his eyes peeled for any sign of Maren. Many of Mendoza’s men were on the ground, facedown, hands cupped behind their heads as KGI and Resnick’s team yelled for them to get down and stay down.

“Guard towers clear,” P.J. radioed. “We’re moving in to be your secondary.”

Steele hurried toward the glass doors that had already been shattered by gunfire. Once inside he stayed to the walls, moving stealthily through each room. When he got to the large living room in the center of the house, one of Mendoza’s armed guards appeared carrying a machine gun. As soon as he signaled his intent to shoot, Steele dropped him. He stepped over the body and hit the stairs.

No one was upstairs. It was quiet and the rooms were empty. He made quick work of the bedrooms and the two bathrooms and came upon what appeared to be Mendoza’s study last. Finding it empty, he swore. Where the hell was Maren?

“Report,” he said into the mic. “Upstairs is clear. No sign of Maren.”

There was a lengthy silence, and then one by one the others checked in. No sign of Maren or Mendoza.

“I’m coming down,” Steele said.

“Downstairs is clear,” Donovan reported.

Steele took the steps two at a time and burst back into the living room where Donovan, Sam and Dolphin were standing.

“Where the fuck is she?” Steele demanded. “We have to be missing something. Bastard must have a hidey-hole he stashed himself and her in when we hit the ground.”

“The outside is secure. Kyle Phillips and his team along with the rest of ours are rounding up the riffraff now,” Donovan said.

“This was too damn easy,” Sam growled. “I would say they were expecting us, but judging by the panic and chaos when we started shooting, Mendoza’s guards were caught with their pants down. Doesn’t sound at all like the man Resnick described.”

Steele had a very bad feeling about this, and his gut never steered him wrong.

Resnick burst in, and for once he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked pissed and frustrated.

“We got nothing out there,” he said. “Grounds are secure. Apart from the guards in the tower, we have minimal casualties. They couldn’t give up fast enough when the shooting started.”

“Pull in everyone who isn’t standing guard over Mendoza’s people,” Steele ordered. “I want a thorough sweep of the entire area.”

An hour later, the members of KGI gathered in the living room all wearing grim expressions. Dolphin bounded down the stairs with Baker and Renshaw on his heels just as Rio and Terrence appeared from the kitchen area.

“I found this,” Dolphin said, holding out a folded piece of stationery. “You better read it, Steele. You’re not going to like it.”

Steele snatched the paper from his teammate’s hand and quickly opened it, scanning the contents.

Mendoza knew about KGI from one of his men. They knew everything about me, including my connection to KGI. Mendoza told me we were leaving and that his current personnel were expendable. He was counting on you to get rid of them for him. All I know is that he’s going to Paris for plastic surgery and then he’s relocating to start over again. He’s promised not to hurt me if I cooperate with his plans. I’m scared out of my mind, but I don’t have a choice but to do as he’s ordered me to. He wants me to oversee his recovery after his surgery. If you find this, please know I would have done anything I could to prevent this from happening. I hope to see you again and I’m putting all of my faith in you not to give up and to find me again.

Maren

The paper shook in Steele’s hand. The others crowded around to read and Sam took it from Steele, his expression growing more furious as he read.

“Son of a bitch!” Steele swore.

He wanted to put his fist through a goddamn wall. This was bullshit. He knew he shouldn’t have waited for the other teams to be pulled in. Now, because he’d waited, Maren had slipped through their fingers and was enduring God knows what at Mendoza’s hands.

The handwriting had been shaky and unevenly scrawled as if she’d been in a hurry, and as her letter stated, scared out of her mind. She’d taken a big risk in even writing it. If Mendoza had discovered it, she could have gotten herself killed.

He didn’t want to imagine her in such circumstances. A pawn, powerless in Mendoza’s grasp. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. He didn’t believe for a moment that Mendoza’s interest in her was purely professional. It made him sick to think of her frightened, intimidated, threatened.

He had to get a grip before he lost his fucking mind. He was torturing himself with all the possibilities. He had to turn it off. Had to find the calm, rigid exterior that had carried him through so many missions before.

“Shit,” Resnick muttered. “This isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. Our chances of finding him again are slim at best. This was the closest anyone has been able to get to him. He’s always one step ahead of the game. Every time we get close, he disappears again. This has been going on for years.”

“He’s going to Paris. What can you dig up, Resnick?” Sam demanded.

Resnick ran his hand through his hair and then promptly dug out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one and inhaled deeply before blowing out a long plume of smoke.

“Hell if I know,” he admitted. “The last three surgeons he used—that we know of—were found dead the day after his surgery. If he’s going to Paris to have the surgery done, whoever the unfortunate bastard is who does it will likely be dead within twenty-four hours. Mendoza is careful and leaves nothing to chance. You saw what Maren wrote. The asshole left his men with their balls hanging in the wind. He expected you to do his dirty work and eliminate everyone who worked for him.”

“I want every last one questioned,” Steele said. “I want a full report of everything they say, any information they can provide, no matter how insignificant it may seem. And I want to know the last time Mendoza was seen here and when he disappeared. If he’s already on his way to Paris with Maren, then our time is running out. Resnick, you get me whatever you can find on the type of plastic surgeon in Paris that Mendoza might use. I don’t give a shit who you have to blow to get the information.”

Then he turned to Dolphin.

“Have my team meet me at the chopper. Tell them to get moving now.”

Dolphin nodded and turned away. Steele surveyed the group gathered in the living room and eyed Sam unflinchingly.

“My mission. My way. This is personal. He fucked with one of our own. I’m going to take this bastard down with or without your say-so. I’d rather do it with KGI, but if you give me any grief over this, I’m walking and taking my team with me.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, and he exchanged glances with Rio and Donovan, who seemed equally taken aback by Steele’s heated proclamation.

“It’s yours,” Sam said slowly. “But you keep me in the loop every step of the way. I want to know when, where and how at all times. Maren is important to all of us. I’m not going to hang her out to dry on this.”

“Fuck no,” Rio muttered. Then he looked up at Steele. “If you need backup, call me. My team will be available the minute you give us the word.”

Steele nodded. “I appreciate that and I will call if I need the help. This is too important to fuck up.”

“I’m going with you,” Donovan said quietly. “That’s not negotiable.”

“Fine, as long as you remember—”

Donovan cut him off before he could finish. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Your mission. Your way. Don’t worry. I’m not going to step on your toes.”

“As long as we understand each other. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with my team so we can pull the hell out of here and hop a plane.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said dryly. “We’ll handle the cleanup here.”

Steele didn’t respond. He was already on his way out the door.

His team was waiting by the chopper, and they looked expectantly at him when he walked up.

“What’s the deal?” Cole demanded. “Where the fuck is Maren?”

“I’ll get to that,” Steele said shortly.

He looked intently at P.J., who was standing with a worried frown on her face.

“Maren isn’t here. Best we know is Mendoza has her and is on his way to Paris for plastic surgery. Apparently he wants Maren’s skills to aid him in his recovery.”

“Fuck,” P.J. muttered.

“We’re going after her, but P.J., I need to know if you can handle this.”

Her brows furrowed and she shot him a what-the-fuck look.

“We don’t know what we’re going to find,” he said softly. “Mendoza has had her in his possession for a while now. He’s keeping her with him, and by her own admission, she’s scared out of her mind. Maren doesn’t scare easily, so in my mind she has a reason to be afraid of this asshole. I need to be sure you can handle this. You aren’t going to piss me off if you stand down from this mission.”

There was a fierce glitter in P.J.’s eyes. Cole’s arm automatically went around her in support, and he squeezed her shoulders.

“I’ll be fine,” P.J. said in a quiet voice. “Maren has seen most of us through our worst. No way I’m going to wimp out on her when she needs us the most. And if that asshole has hurt her in any way, I’ll remove his balls myself.”

Cole grinned and Dolphin muttered a hooyah.

Steele nodded. “Okay, now that we have that out of the way, we’re pulling out and hauling ass to Paris. Resnick’s going to dig up any intel he has on plastic surgeons who have the skill level required for extensive restructuring and get it to us as soon as possible. In the meantime, we’re going wheels up.”