Deadly Intent

by Brent Towns

  “Are you going to shoot him too?”

  Kane shook his head. “Nope. I won’t. She will.”

  Pablo looked into the back and Cara waved her own sidearm at him. She asked him, “Does your friend have a mother? I’ll send her a letter about how he died.”

  “Fucking puta,” Pablo hissed. He stepped back from the window and shouted out, “Déjalos ir!”

  “Cara, neutralize the threat,” Kane said in a low voice and squeezed the trigger on his M17. He fired two shots which punched into the Mexican’s face. In the back, he heard Cara’s sidearm crash twice and felt the draft rush through the Suburban as the window blew out.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Kane snapped, and the doors on the Chevys were flung open.

  The professional shooters of team Reaper were out in an instant. Kane and Cara took the Mexicans to their front, while Axe and Spencer took the rear-most vehicle. Taken completely by surprise, the two in front of the small convoy jerked violently with each bullet strike.

  They collapsed to the ground, and Kane shifted his aim. Just as he did, the truck roared to life. Then Reaper blew through the rest of his magazine, dropped it out and reloaded another. Cara did the same, and loud clangs sounded as their bullets peppered the vehicle.

  It lurched forward then came to a sudden stop.

  Behind Kane and Cara, Axe and Spencer did the same with the rear-most truck. By the time they emptied two magazines each into it, it looked more like a sieve than an automobile. Except what ran through it were fluids and blood.

  Kane strode purposefully forward; the M17 still raised and ready to fire. On his way, he checked the corpses. Cara skirted the front of the Ford, her M17 never wavering from the shattered windshield.

  She opened the driver’s door, and the man behind the wheel slumped sideways, half in and half out. She checked him. “He’s dead, Reaper.”

  “Reaper One and Two are clear,” he said over the net.

  “We’re clear back here, Reaper,” Axe said. “We’ve got two down.”

  “Let’s get them off the street before we get an audience.”

  Wells came out of the driver’s seat in a rage. He walked up to Kane and growled, “What the fuck was that? He was letting us past. Christ!”

  “He would have followed us to look for another chance,” Kane said. “We don’t need that.”

  Wells whirled about and stalked across to Thurston who had climbed from the back seat of the suburban. “Are you going to do something about him?”

  “He’s right,” she said to Wells. “They would have followed us and tried again. Losing face is something that he wouldn’t have let go.”

  Knowing when he was beaten, the DEA man walked away to cool down. Thurston, on the other hand, walked over to Kane and said in a low voice. “The next time you do something like that, let me fucking know. I hate surprises.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, but there was no time.”

  “Damn it, Reaper,” Ferrero said. “What was that shit?”

  “That was me doing my job. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll help clean this mess up.”

  Thurston nodded. “Fine, do it. See if you can find out who they are, while you’re at it.”

  “That’s easy enough,” Kane said. “They’ll be West Coast Cartel.”

  “Just see if you can confirm it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter 8

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  “Hey, Reaper,” Axe said, waving a plate of food at Kane. “You’ve gotta taste this shit, man. It’s better than freaking MREs.”

  Kane glanced at it and winced. It was a crude breakfast of pancakes, syrup, beans, bacon, and eggs. “Christ, Axe. Are you really eating that shit?”

  Axe looked hurt. “This is good food you’re insulting, man. I’m offended you would even say such a thing.”

  Brooke Reynolds said, “It looks like something bikini-clad women would wrestle in.”

  Cara hid a smile behind the book she was reading.

  Winking at Reynolds, Axe said, “Are you offering?”

  “Not in this lifetime, baby.”

  “I can take the bacon off if you don’t like it.”

  Reynolds walked up to him and ran a finger through his food and slipped it seductively into her mouth. She withdrew it slowly, and his eyes lit up. Smiling at him, she and walked away. He said, “Is that a maybe?”

  His eyes fixed on her ass as she walked away, her hair halfway down her back in a ponytail. He glanced at Kane. “That’s a definite maybe.”

  Kane nodded. “Yeah, buddy. You keep at it.”

  All the while, Cara was smiling broadly behind her book.

  The team was outside in the pool area of a hacienda-style house used by the DEA as a base. At any one time, there were four agents housed there. It was quite a magnificent area with a clear pool and lots of leafy foliage in the garden. The pavers all around were sandstone, and the path to the house led to a large set of bifold doors.

  Teller was seated on a banana lounge with his shirt off, catching some rays in the Mexican sun. Spencer was off on his own doing the same. Swift had his feet dangling in the pool, whilst doing something on his smartphone.

  Cara lowered her book and said, “Reaper, have you heard anything?”

  He stared at her. “No.”

  She looked about for Reynolds. “Brooke?”

  “Yes?”

  “Has Luis heard anything from Maine?”

  Reynolds gave her a sorrowful look. “Not that I know of. He hasn’t said. Sorry.”

  “Gather around, team,” Ferrero said as he and Thurston emerged from inside. A DEA agent named Tobin joined them. It his hand was a folder. He tossed it onto an outdoor table and pointed at it. “These are aerial photos of the warehouse that we believe the drugs have been taken to. Whether they’re still there or not, we can’t be certain.”

  Axe fought to speak around a mouthful of food, but it came out jumbled. Thurston looked at him and the mush on his plate. She reached out and took both the plate and fork from him. He looked at her as though she’d stolen his last piece of candy. Ignoring him, she started to eat it. He smiled and puffed out his chest. “Now that’s what I call a connoisseur of good food.”

  She said, “It tastes like shit, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and at the moment I could eat the crotch out of a low-flying duck.”

  “OK, listen up,” Ferrero said. “Make yourselves familiar with the warehouse and its surrounds. You’re going in to have a look tonight.”

  “Who is?” Kane asked.

  “You and Cara. The rest of the team will be backup. I want this to be done quietly. We establish that the drugs are there first, then get out. If we can confirm that they are, then the DEA will take over.”

  “Why the fuck are we even here?” Axe asked. “Why can’t the DEA send one of their CIs in there to have a look?”

  “It’s how it’s going to be,” Ferrero told him firmly.

  “I’ll go on my own,” Kane said.

  “No,” Cara told him.

  “I agree,” said Ferrero.

  “The last thing we want is the team getting caught in another shit storm like Ecuador. I slip in, take a look and then exfil. Less chance of being seen that way.”

  “And if you are, what then? You’ll be out on a limb,” Cara pointed out.

  Ferrero turned to Thurston. “What do you think, Mary?”

  “I agree with you, but if Reaper wants to go on his own, well …” she let the rest of the sentence hang whilst pointing the fork.

  Ferrero studied Kane and then said, “All right. We’ll do it this way. We’ll put Cara on overwatch. She can find a place to lay up and then if you do get into trouble, she’ll be on hand. Good enough?”

  Kane was about to disagree when Ferrero cut him off. “I didn’t say it was negotiable, Reaper.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good, now let’s sort out the particulars.”

  “Hang on a mom
ent,” Axe interrupted. “How is it that Cara gets to go and not me?”

  “Because she’s reliable, sweetie,” Reynolds told him.

  “I’m reliable.”

  Ferrero’s gaze fixed on him. “We need this done quietly, Axe. When we need a one-man free-fire zone, I’ll send you. Now, let’s get back to it.”

  Dover Airforce Base

  Delaware

  Arenas finished stuffing the last of the 5.56 NATO rounds into the magazine and placed it in the remaining empty pouch on his tactical vest. Across from him, Traynor was doing the same.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, amigo?” Arenas asked him.

  “What? Jump out of a perfectly good plane from God knows how many feet in the air, attached to some crazy SEAL who isn’t going to open his chute until the trees are about to jam up my ass?”

  Arenas smiled at him. “That’s it.”

  Chief Borden Hunt smiled at him. “Pete, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were nervous.”

  Traynor looked up at him. “Tell me again just how the fuck we’re meant to stop when we’re packing all of this equipment.”

  “The ground is usually good for that,” Popeye said.

  “Fuck you very much,” Traynor growled. “It’s all right for you pricks that have done this shit before.”

  “Hey, Pete,” another SEAL named Rucker called across to him. “If you get to ten feet and the parachute hasn’t opened, don’t worry about it. You should be right to jump from there.”

  “Bite me, asshole,” Traynor cursed.

  “All right,” Hunt said. “Game faces on. We’ve got thirty minutes until wheels up. Doublecheck your equipment.”

  There would be five of them going into the Appalachian Mountains that night. Hunt as team leader and Popeye would act as team sniper and provide overwatch. Rucker was a trained combat medic, just in case.

  Hunt had gone over the plan with them earlier in the day. Their landing zone, LZ, was about two kilometers from the compound. Once on the ground they would hump in and should be in position soon after midnight.

  From there they would insert and extract the boy. And if possible, neutralize O’Brien. If they couldn’t, then they were to just get out. Drone surveillance had the Irish mob boss in a small building on the east side of the compound.

  Their exfil was approximately fifteen hundred meters to the north where there was a clearing large enough to put a Blackhawk down in.

  Admiral Joseph had also seen fit to supply them with a UAV should it be required.

  Ten minutes later, Hunt called them around a table to go over the blown-up photo of the compound one more time.

  “OK,” he said. “This is the high ground to the east. Popeye will set up there. Once we’re in position at the fence, Popeye will neutralize the guards. From there, Pete and I will go after O’Brien. Carlos and Rucker will get the kid. If all goes well, we rendezvous back here at the fence. If not, we get out as best we can and rendezvous on the high ground with Popeye who will provide cover for us. If it does go south, Pop, any target of opportunity. Those are the admiral’s orders.”

  “Copy that.”

  “All right, let’s go.”

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  Kane hid behind a stack of steel drums and waited for the guard to walk by. There were three guards in all, doing roving patrols. The trouble being that between Kane and the warehouse was a hundred feet of open, floodlit ground that trucks used as a turnaround.

  “Hold, Reaper,” Cara said softly. She had set up position on the rooftop of a building four-hundred meters away from the target. It was less than ideal but gave her a full field of fire with the M110. “Hold.”

  “Come on, Cara, get me in there.”

  “Patience, Reaper,” Ferrero said over the comms. Even though the rest of the team had no eyes on, they could still listen in. Behind him stood Axe and Spencer. He turned to see them both dressed in combat gear and fully armed. He frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s called being prepared,” Axe told him. “We’re the QRF.”

  Meanwhile, another guard walked past.

  “There’s something going on here, that’s for sure,” Cara said. There are lights on inside, and I saw a shadow move.”

  “If you want to call this off, Reaper, just say the word,” Ferrero said.

  “Negative.”

  “Your call.”

  “Ready, Reaper?” asked Cara.

  “Just say the word.”

  Cara was about to give the all clear when the roar of a large diesel motor sounded, and headlights flashed into view. A flatbed truck with a battered shipping container on back swung into the warehouse yard and stopped in close proximity to the building’s door.

  “What’s going on?” Ferrero asked.

  “A truck just pulled up,” Cara told him.

  Two men climbed out of it and walked towards the back. They stopped at the double doors and swung them open. There were some shouts and Cara watched on as the human cargo was unloaded forcefully from the back of it.

  “Shit,” she cursed. “Can you see this, Reaper?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Ferrero came back over the comms. “What can you see?”

  Cara said, “There are six women who have just been manhandled from the container on the back of the truck. And they’re not Latino.”

  “Say again, Reaper Two?” This time it was Thurston.

  “They’re Caucasian females, ma’am. If they’re not American, I’d say European. That would be my guess.”

  “Trafficking for their brothels?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “OK. Stand down for the moment. We’ll see how this unfolds.”

  Kane said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Appalachian Mountains

  Traynor was still shaking after the drop, and they’d been on the ground for the best part of an hour. At least he was still alive.

  Popeye was on point as they moved silently through the trees, aided by the green haze of their NVGs. Somewhere a night-bird made a sound that was accentuated by the stillness of the darkness.

  Traynor readjusted his grip on the suppressed HK416 and took another step forward. And froze as Popeye’s voice came over the net. “Scimitar hold! Danger close! Danger close!”

  “Copy,” said Hunt and then there was silence.

  The comms were quiet for around a minute before Popeye came back on. “Tango down.”

  “Copy, tango down.”

  They moved forward, and Popeye was waiting beside the dead militiaman. The SEAL had used his Strider SMF marine corps knife, won in a card game a few years before, to neutralize the immediate threat.

  “Roving patrol of one,” he said to Hunt.

  “I guess we’ll need to step this up a bit then. We can’t be far away. Lead out, Pop.”

  “Roger.”

  Hunt pressed his talk button. “White Shark, this is Scimitar, over.”

  Hunt’s comms crackled to life. “Copy, Scimitar.”

  “Is that UAV up? Over.”

  “Roger. The UAV should be overhead in the next five mikes.”

  “Copy. We’ve just neutralized a tango. We’re moving on to target at best possible speed before this blows up in our faces.”

  “Roger, Scimitar. White Shark out.”

  Hunt walked over to Arenas. “As soon as that dead guy doesn’t check in on time, they’re going to get suspicious.”

  Just then the dead militiaman’s radio came to life. “Lima Four, do you read?”

  “Fuck,” Hunt breathed.

  Arenas leaned down to pick up the radio.

  Hunt reached out to stop him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “If we don’t do something they will get suspicious.”

  “And you’re going to fucking talk to them?”

  “No. Just wait.”

  Arenas picked up the radio just as the voice came across it again. “Li
ma Four, do you read?”

  Arenas pressed the squelch button twice and waited.

  “Lima four, come in?”

  He did it again.

  “What’s going on, Morris?” the voice asked. “I can hear the squelch, but I can’t hear you.”

  Arenas repeated his last.

  “Christ, Morris. All right. Listen, when you finish your watch get the damned thing fixed. I’ll check back in an hour.”

  Hunt looked at Arenas and said, “That’ll work. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  The darkness swallowed the red of the truck’s tail lights, and once the sound of its powerful motor died away in the distance, all grew quiet once more. From arrival to departure, twenty minutes had elapsed.

  The women had been unloaded and taken inside the warehouse. The count on tangos had risen to seven without the two from the truck.

  “What is your intention, Reaper?” Cara asked him over the comms.

  “Call it when we’re clear, Reaper Two,” he told her. “I’m still going in to have a look.”

  “Copy. You should be clear in three, two, one, go.”

  Hunched over in a low crouch, Kane emerged from his hide and moved towards the door. A black-clad figure with a suppressed M17 raised and ready to use.

  He was still ten feet from the door when it swung open, and an armed man appeared. Kane dropped to a knee, and before he could fire, the SASS Cara was armed with fired and the Mexican dropped like a stone.

  “I suggest you get him stowed away, Reaper.”

  “Thanks.”

  He hurried to the door and paused for a moment, listening for any sign of alarm. There was none, and he leaned down, picked up the AK-47 the cartel man had dropped, slung it over his shoulder, and then grabbed him by the collar.

  Kane dragged him behind a pile of crates just inside the door. He leaned the AK there as well. Then he hurriedly closed the door just as another guard came around the corner.

  The first thing Reaper did was scan for security cameras but saw nothing. He relaxed slightly.