Reckoning for the Dead by Jordan Dane Page B

and his body was doused with water. When an electrical generator was powered up, Guerrero knew what would come next.
    Garrett Wheeler would be taken to the edge of death by electrocution. The American flinched when he saw one of Rosas’s men touch two metal paddles together. A loud pop erupted, and a spark of electricity cast an eerie light into the murky cell.
    The American narrowed his eyes and glared at his tormentor, Rosas. When Wheeler tensed his jaw, he didn’t say a word, mustering what little defiance he had left. All that changed after the order was given. When the paddles sparked, volts of electricity shot through the American’s body, making him jerk like a macabre puppet. Smoke drifted in the stale air, and the smell of burning skin and hair hit Guerrero’s nostrils.
    With a dismissive wave of his hand, Rosas eventually ordered his men to stop. Wheeler’s body collapsed, still rippling with spasms. After he grunted in pain and fell unconscious, Rosas walked toward Guerrero and stood at his shoulder, speaking in a low voice.
    â€œYou do not approve of my methods. I can see it in your eyes.”
    Guerrero kept his dislike for Rosas in check. Looking into the man’s eyes reminded him of the time he had confronted a rabid dog, an animal he would never turn his back on. With a man like Rosas, he had to tread carefully. One wrong word could ruin everything he had hoped to gain, or worse, put him in the crosshairs of a man he would rather not cross paths with again.
    â€œIt is not my place to approve or disapprove.” Guerrero avoided looking at the man standing next to him.
    â€œIt is good that you know your place,” Rosas said.
    If the man had not looked so smug, Guerrero might have kept his mouth shut. But when Rosas ordered one of his men to awaken the American with a bucketful of water, Guerrero said what was on his mind. He could not help himself.
    â€œIt’s just that this American, Garrett Wheeler, has many secrets worthy of your efforts. My sources tell me he is the leader of a very influential U.S. agency sent to spy on us. And who knows what someone would pay for a man like this.”
    â€œYes, I know what you reported, but Pérez believes this American might be a diversion for a bigger assault on the cartels. The United States would do anything to stop the violence in our country.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?”
    â€œWhat if the CIA or this agency Wheeler works for is planning to assassinate the leaders of the cartels, pick them off one by one, making it look like a drug war? Pérez doesn’t care about what happens to the other cartels, but having advance information is very important.”
    â€œAnd I suppose if the competition is eliminated, that would not be a bad thing.”
    â€œYes, of course.” Rosas smiled. “So as you can see, our job here is very important.”
    Before Guerrero replied, the man looked over his shoulder at the waking prisoner hanging in chains. He ordered his men to hit him with the paddles again. Wheeler’s body jerked with another jolt of electricity. He cried out, unable to hold back.
    In reflex, Guerrero grimaced and noticed that Miguel Rosas was watching him. With the American dangling and jerking like a caught fish, Rosas only smiled at Guerrero, displaying a strange cruelty that caused the hair on the back of Guerrero’s neck to stand.
    At that moment, he knew that Miguel Rosas was a man who truly enjoyed his work.
    Outside Guadalajara, Mexico
    â€œWe lost his signal, sir,” his man reported as he knelt by him in the dark.
    Following a burst transmitter signal, Hank Lewis and his team had crossed the border into Mexico and were positioned on a nearby ridge overlooking a large hacienda near Guadalajara. The estate was located on the northern shore of Laguna de Chapala, where his team was conducting a covert surveillance operation for the Sentinels, tracking an operative under deep cover