On the opposite wall were stacks of bagged marijuana in even larger plastic bags, and a jumbled pile of weapons, from AK-47s to .38 Specials. Next to the guns were stacks of canned goods and dozens of bags of tortilla chips, cookies, a store’s worth of junk food. She saw a half-dozen coolers, portable heaters, Coleman stoves, and two Porta Potties. All the comforts of home.

She smelled chicken noodle soup cooking over one of the Coleman stoves. There were air mattresses and blankets stacked against a wall and strewn about on the floor.

She saw Salazar, sitting in a director’s chair, his head bent low as his long fingers moved over the guitar strings. He was dressed in jeans and a thick crew sweater, boots on his feet, looking quite comfortable. She realized he was playing softly, but the incredible acoustics in the cave amplified the music, exploded it outward. His music would cover the sounds of their movement.

On either side of Salazar sat three collapsible tables, and there were men sitting at two of them, playing cards. Two of the men were eating the chicken soup she’d smelled. She counted ten of them, plus Salazar. They all looked rather bored. Only a few of them appeared to be listening to the music Salazar was playing. She supposed they’d had to live with it since he’d moved in. During the previous night?

Bored or not, they looked like hard-asses, and they each had a SIG556 SWAT semiautomatic rifle close by, with a thirty-round magazine, reliable as sunrise, and meant to kill hard.

She looked down at her watch. Brannon and his crew should be ready at the back entrance.

Anna whispered to all of them, “Ease up and take a good look. Locate all ten of the gang members. Look for available cover. Then we’ll hold here until Brannon’s team sets up a crossfire.”

Winkel’s Cave

Team Two

There was a yell from inside the cave, and it gave Dix time to flatten against the hill, then automatic rifle fire spewed bullets out of the rear entrance. One rifle, one guard. Dix waited until he finished off his magazine, stepped forward and fired into the cave.

They heard a scream that echoed back to them and faded as the man fell over the edge and crashed down on the rocks and the river below.

There was silence again. Dix said over his shoulder, “They had to have heard that, so they might come at us. Remember, press against the right-hand wall. Let’s get this done.”

Winkel’s Cave

Team One

Anna’s team heard the burst of automatic fire coming from the rear of the cave. She hadn’t realized they were so close.

“Go!”

They fanned out through the front opening of the big chamber, went down on their stomachs and took cover.

Anna yelled out, “Federal agents! Drop your weapons or we will shoot!”

Some of the gang had already grabbed their weapons, realized they were cornered, and froze for an instant in shock and surprise before one of the men yelled, “Take them out!”

Salazar simply sank down to the floor when the gang opened fire, his guitar cradled against his chest, and crawled behind a big slab of limestone. Good, Anna thought. She didn’t want that beautiful guitar to get destroyed. All of her agents opened fire at once, and she saw one gang member who was shooting wildly toward them was hit, three bullets to his chest. Griffin had come up behind her, and when he fired his MP-5, another man went down to his knees and fell onto his face.

They saw Dix and his crew run in through the back entrance of the chamber, firing steadily, saw another gang member’s forehead bloom in red. The men scrambled behind tables, behind the Porta Potties, but they were flanked and found no cover.

The noise was deafening.

It was over in under two minutes. Ten gang members lay on the cave floor, dead or wounded. One DEA agent had a shard of flying limestone embedded in his arm.

The agents held their fire and looked around the vast chamber, making sure all ten men were accounted for. The silence was broken only by moans and curses. It had been a bloodbath.

“Don’t shoot me!” They all heard Salazar’s voice, saw him rise slowly from behind the slab of limestone, cradling his guitar against his chest. “Don’t shoot me!” he shouted again. “I am Professor Salazar, and I have been their prisoner, do you hear me? They came and took me, trussed me up and blindfolded me and brought me to this place. You have saved me from these men.” He spared a glance at the dead and moaning men scattered all around him. He looked scared out of his mind, his face dead-white except for a splatter of blood from one of the gang members near him. “Please. I will tell you everything I know.”

There was a sudden yell. “Die, then, you lying pig!” A gang member lying on his side six feet from Salazar pointed a .38 and shot him. The bullet exploded through Salazar’s guitar and punched into his chest. Dix was closest and fired twice. The man grabbed his neck, his blood fountaining out between his fingers before he slumped down, his head falling against his weapon.