The Greatest of These by Greg Wendleton (have you read this book .txt) 📗

shoulder, partially exposing her breast. “Hmm, that’s a great idea! I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

I was back in three minutes and found Fonda still in bed, this time. I am one lucky son of a gun.

CHAPTER SIXTY

We had taken Chief for a walk during each of the two showings JoAnn had on Saturday. She called after each showing and expressed excitement and optimism. She had another showing scheduled for one o’clock Sunday afternoon and then thought she would start receiving offers. The market was hot and inventory was very low. Houses were not lasting long, especially those as nice as ours.

The odd couple, Conrad and Jackie, prepared to leave the surprising home in Helotes at nine o’clock that morning. Conrad had packed two suitcases with clothes and keepsakes of his life prior to becoming a mercenary and criminal. He packed his laptop bag and stashed some financial documents inside the bag. Finally, he had cleaned out the floor safe in his closet of passports and cash he had stashed in the past few years. With the cash he withdrew from his bank account in town Monday, he probably had a hundred-thousand in cash and four good passports he could use for traveling.

Jackie had helped him burn any incriminating items and tear apart his desktop computer. He felt he was leaving a clean house behind. He chose to abandon his 1973 Blazer that he had purchased new, not long after his return from Viet Nam and his discharge from the Army. Instead, he led Jackie into the garage and opened the overhead door. A 2018 Black Cadillac Escalade was parked in the middle of the two-car garage. They stored the cash and passports in the spare tire well. Their weapons were stored in the center console and glove box respectively. The rest of their luggage was placed in the cargo area and the tailgate was closed. Conrad backed out of the garage and then Jackie pulled the Blazer into the garage and parked it. They settled into the Escalade and drove away from Helotes, heading for Mexico City.

The San Antonio HRT/SWAT command had been set up in four teams surrounding The Farm since well before dawn. Special Agents Peiffer, Hinners, Smith and Landreth had situated their respective teams on all four sides of the small house. They were all well concealed, wearing desert camo gear and fully focused on their mission. Now all they could do was wait for the invited guests to arrive and for the party to start.

Fonda and I were beginning to prepare a quiet dinner when JoAnn called us. She already had an offer in hand from the first family that toured the house this morning. It was a full-price offer, which made us giddy with excitement. JoAnn recommended we hold off on responding to the offer, which was good for twenty-four hours. She had a strong feeling about the second family as well as the showing scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. We had plenty of time to wait for any additional offers. So, that’s what we agreed to do.

The odd couple had taken I35 South to the border. They had merged onto the Juarez-Lincoln International Bridge and entered Mexico unmolested. Just a pair of old pals going down to Mexico City to meet up with friends for a holiday. Going from the United States into Mexico was pretty easy, the other direction was the more challenging for non-US citizens. They would trade off driving and sleeping and completed the sixteen-hour drive by early Sunday morning.

Smith and Johnson, traveling separately, arrived almost simultaneously, the result of military training they had never let go of. They parked side by side and exited their vehicles. “Hey, Johnson, how’s it hangin?”

“Pretty damn good Smith. I wonder where Conrad’s old Blazer is parked. Can’t believe he’d be late.”

“Maybe he parked it in the barn. Jones isn’t here yet. That loser probably forgot or he’s sleeping off a cheap tequila hangover.”

“Well, fuck him, let’s go inside and find Conrad.”

The FBI team was alert and communicating between themselves, and the command post, set up further down the road on another piece of property. “We have two males exiting separate vehicles in front of the house.”

“Still no sign of Conrad Bishop” reported one of the other teams.

“Be patient,” instructed the commander, “we want to capture all three men.”

“Roger that”, came the response from multiple team leaders.

“The two men have entered the house through the east side front door.”

“Okay, remain in position.”

Smith and Johnson entered the house through the unlocked front door and closed the door behind them. It wasn’t a big house, maybe a thousand square feet, so it didn’t take them long to search the house and find it empty. They ended the search in the kitchen where they saw three unopened bottles of Jose Cuervo tequila, their staple while on The Farm. They sat down at the table and lifted the bottles to find an envelope with their code names on the outside. Not wanting to proceed without Conrad they waited. It was 6:08. Conrad was eight minutes late.

Johnson spoke, emphatically saying, “Fuck this waiting. I’m opening this envelope. It’s got my name on it, it’s mine.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Both men ripped open the envelope and saw instructions on how to access the bank account holding two-million dollars designated for the addressee.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about.” They stood and grabbed the bottles of tequila and twisted off the cap, toasted each other and took a swig. That’s when the earth shook and the house and everything within one hundred feet exploded with a massive quake and an overpowering suck of the air surrounding the area.

“What the hell just happened there?” yelled the commander.

It was Special Agent Landreth who spoke, “Um, the house just exploded. It’s been vaporized. My team is good.”

The other three teams reported in likewise and then slowly approached the former site of the small bungalow where two men had just been celebrating. Conrad