Chapter 13 - The Toluca AmbushThe railway depot outside Toluca was a desolate expanse of rusted corrugated iron and rotting wooden sleepers, surrounded by an endless expanse of gray industrial wasteland. The fog here was thicker than in the hills, smelling of sulfur and wet coal.
Inside the main warehouse, Javier Mendoza stood beside a running helicopter, its rotors cutting the thick air into rhythmic, deafening slices. He was holding Mateo, who was crying weakly, his sensitive skin beginning to flare up again from the rough nylon of Javier's tactical gear.
"Load the bags," Javier shouted to his men. "The pilot says we have ten minutes before the airspace control changes shifts."
Suddenly, the massive corrugated iron doors of the warehouse exploded inward with a deafening, thunderous roar. A heavy armored transport vehicle crashed through the entrance, its steel plow tearing through the concrete support beams.
Before the dust could settle, a dozen men in black uniforms poured into the depot, their weapons firing in disciplined, lethal bursts. The Mendoza guards, caught entirely off guard, fell like dry wheat before a scythe.
Through the smoke and the flashing muzzle fire strode Nicolás Velasco. He didn't take cover. He moved with a terrifying, calculated forward momentum, his silver pistol barked twice with every step, dropping two Mendoza snipers from the overhead catwalks.
"Velasco!" Javier screamed, ducking behind the landing gear of the helicopter, holding Mateo before him like a human shield. "Step back! One more step and I drop the boy into the rotor blades!"
Nicolás stopped thirty feet away. His face was completely devoid of emotion, a blank slate of pure, unadulterated lethal intent. The gunfire around them died down as his men systematically neutralized the remaining guards, surrounding the helicopter in a ring of black steel.
"You don't have the stomach for it, Javier," Nicolás said, his voice cutting through the whine of the helicopter engine. "You're a businessman who plays with soldiers. I am a soldier who built a business. Drop my son, and I will let you live long enough to watch me skin your family's empire to the bone."
"I have the codes to your Veracruz lines, Nicolás! I have your mother's ledger!" Javier shouted, his eyes darting wildly as he realized his men were all dead. "We can make a deal! A split! Fifty-fifty on the Gulf routes!"
"My mother's ledger died when she touched my son," Nicolás said.
From the shadows behind the helicopter, a figure moved. It was Don Esteban, the elderly butler, who had accompanied the tactical team, carrying a heavy, old-fashioned Remington rifle he had used during his days as Nicolás’s father's personal bodyguard.
The old man didn't hesitate. He fired a single, low-caliber round through the rear window of the helicopter cabin. The bullet shattered the fiberglass, the shards spraying directly into Javier’s eyes.
Javier screamed, blinding blood rushing down his face as he stumbled backward, his grip on Mateo loosening.
Nicolás lunged forward with the speed of a striking viper. He caught Mateo in mid-air with his left arm, pulling the baby against his chest, while his right hand brought the silver Beretta up to Javier’s forehead.
Crick.
"This is for the marble paperweight," Nicolás said.
He pulled the trigger twice. Javier Mendoza crumpled onto the rusted iron floor of the depot, his eyes staring blankly at the corrugated ceiling.
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Nicolás tucked the gun away, his arm tightening around his son. Mateo, recognizing the familiar, unscented soap and the deep, steady vibration of his father’s chest, stopped crying. He buried his face into Nicolás’s neck, his small chest heaving with a final, relieved sob.
Nicolás closed his eyes, pressing his face into the baby’s hair, his broad shoulders shaking with a silent, heavy sob of his own. The king had reclaimed his prince. Now, he had to save his sanctuary.
