Deadly Intent

by Brent Towns

  Kane switched his comms to VOX and said, “I’m in. All clear.”

  “Good luck.”

  The interior of the warehouse was lit by large bell-shaped lights suspended by chains from the metal-framed roof. They threw a warm white rather than cool white light. To his right, there was another big stack of crates. Starting to work his way over to them, the sound of a sneeze caused him to freeze.

  Kane looked up and saw an armed guard on a long catwalk which ran the width of the warehouse. He ducked behind a pallet of barrels, out of sight. How the fuck did I miss him?

  He waited for a moment to make sure that the man wasn’t looking in his direction and then went across to the crates. Checking to see whether he could get a look inside any of them, he noted that they were battened down tight.

  Above him on the catwalk, the guard was on the move to the far side. It gave Kane a chance to slip along the wall behind him and over towards another stack of pallets. He checked them over. Tied down on them were forty-four-gallon drums. Their lids were sealed by a spring-release fastener.

  Using his knife to cut through some of the plastic wrap around them, Kane tried to access one of them. With the wrap cut away he quietly unclipped the lid fastener and pulled it free. Next, he lifted the lid away just far enough to get a look inside. It was loaded with pills. Little pink ones with love hearts pressed into them.

  Ecstasy. And judging by the number of barrels, there was one hell of a lot of money tied up in them. He whispered, “I just found a shitload of ecstasy, Zero.”

  “Copy.”

  Behind them were more drums, different to the one he’d checked out. He crept over to them and read the labels. They were a mix of chemicals that your everyday garden variety drug lord would use in the manufacture of product.

  He peered around the corner of the stack and saw a guard outside a door. His guess was that the girls were being kept in there. There was, however, no way of getting inside without being seen.

  Kane momentarily pondered his next move. Decision made he said into his mic, “Reaper Two, kill the guards.”

  “Say again, Reaper.”

  “Kill the guards, Cara.”

  “Copy.”

  “Damn it, Reaper,” Ferrero hissed in his ear. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going hot.”

  Chapter 9

  Appalachian Mountains

  “Popeye in position.”

  “Copy,” Hunt said. “Tell me what we’ve got, Pop.”

  The night vision scope on the MK11 Sniper Weapons System (SWS) picked up two guards. “There’s a guard to your ten o’clock and another to your two, Chief. If you want to get in there unseen they’ll need to go.”

  Hunt eased through the foliage and swept the perimeter with his CQBR, also known as the Close Quarters Battle Receiver, a variant of the M4A1 assault rifle which the SOCOM operators used. He picked out the two militia guards and said in a low voice. “Eyes on.”

  Popeye was right. There was no way of getting past them and through the fence without being seen. “Popeye? Scimitar. You take the one at my ten. On my mark, copy?”

  “Copy, Chief.”

  Hunt raised his CQBR and laid his laser sights on the second of the two guards. Behind him, the other three team members waited in silence.

  “Three, two, one, mark.”

  The count was slow and deliberate, and when he finished, his finger squeezed the CQBR’s trigger at the same time Popeye did.

  When fired, silencers don’t make weapons silent. Unlike their portrayal in the movies. They suppress. There is still some noise. And to those standing behind Hunt when he fired, it sounded almost deafening.

  The two guards dropped as one, no shouts or screams. They just fell where they’d stood. Popeye’s voice came over the comms, “Tango down.”

  Hunt said, “Copy. Two tangos down. Moving in.”

  Emerging from the brush like wraiths out of a mist they approached the wire, and three of them, including Arenas and Traynor, took up a defensive pose while Hunt clipped the wire so they could gain access to the compound. When he was finished, he depressed his comms button and said, “White Shark, this is Scimitar, over.”

  “Copy, Scimitar.”

  “We’re breaching now, over.”

  “Copy. Your bird is overhead and ready when required. White Shark out.”

  Hunt turned to Arenas and Rucker and nodded. “Bring that kid out in one piece. Go.”

  With Rucker in the lead, they slipped through the hole.

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  Cara squeezed the trigger on the M110, and the first guard dropped to the ground. He spasmed and went still.

  Shifting aim to the second guard, Cara repeated her actions, and he died like the first, the recoil of each shot punching into her shoulder. Now she waited for the third and final guard to appear from around the back. It was only seconds later, and he too died when a 7.62mm round blew through his head.

  “Three tangos down, Reaper. All clear.”

  “Copy. I’m going hot.”

  Kane took a deep breath and came clear of the cover of the drums. His suppressed M17 lined up on the guard near the doorway. Before realizing that deadly peril was on approach, the man was slammed in the chest by two 9mm slugs. He jerked under their impact and slumped to the warehouse floor.

  Without hesitation, Kane turned and searched the catwalk for his next target. He’d disappeared. Reaper cursed under his breath. Where the fuck was he?

  And then Kane caught sight of him. Stepping into the light, the man had an AK-47 raised to his shoulder.

  The suppressed M17 in Kane's hand fired, and the shooter lurched. Reaper shot again, and the man toppled silently over the rail of the catwalk. He hit the hard floor with a sickening thud and the clatter of his AK.

  By Kane’s calculations, that left one more man, but with no idea where he was, he was the most dangerous one of all.

  Reaper moved, sweeping the warehouse as he went. He began working his way across to a room in the left far corner, which could be the only place left for the last man to be.

  He was right.

  There was a window in the room’s front wall, and glass exploded outward when the shooter within opened fire with his own AK-47. The air all around Kane was full of lead, and in an evasive move, he dived to his right. He brought the M17 up and snapped off three fast shots at the opening. More 7.62mm bullets peppered the floor at Kane’s feet. Others slapped close to his head.

  Kane fired the rest of his magazine at the invisible target and scrambled to his feet. He ran for the shelter of a pallet stack on his left. Reaching it, he dropped out the empty magazine and replaced it with another one loaded with 17 rounds.

  “Reaper One? Reaper Two, come in, over.”

  “I’m still here, Cara,” Kane answered as another burst of automatic fire chewed splinters from the wooden pallets.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Meeting a little resistance. This tango doesn’t want to give up without a fight.”

  “I’m coming to you, Reaper. Hang in there.”

  “Copy. I’m hanging.”

  “Reaper? Zero. Do you want backup?”

  “We’ll need transport to get these women out of here,” Kane got out before an additional burst from the shooter’s AK smashed into the boards, sounding like a manic person with hammer and nails.

  “On its way.”

  “Roger,” Kane acknowledged and leaned out to fire a couple of shots.

  The shooter fired more of his own and Kane cursed. He was pinned down. “Stupid fucking idea,” he hissed.

  “Cara, can you hear me?”

  “Copy, Reaper.” Her voice sounded funny as she ran towards the warehouse.

  “I’m pinned down behind a stack of pallets inside. The shooter is in a room at your ten o’clock as you come through the door.”

  “Copy. Be there in two mikes.”

  In a dry tone Kane said, “N
o rush, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  DEA Safehouse

  When the request for transport for the women came through from Kane, and after Ferrero told him it was on its way, the team Reaper second in command turned to Axe and Spencer and snapped, “Go!” then “Wait!”

  “Make up your fucking mind, boss,” Axe said. “This ain’t the time to dick around.”

  “I know,” he said and turned to his other people. “Reynolds, Teller, gear up. You’re going with them.”

  The two Bravo members nodded and hurried away to get their tactical vests. Axe pointed out that they only had their M17s.

  “That’ll have to do. Now get going,” Ferrero ordered. He turned away to Swift and barked, “Find me a fucking satellite. I want to know what’s happening.”

  “Is there a reason you sent them?” Thurston asked from behind Ferrero.

  He turned to look at her. “Yes. I don’t like it.”

  She nodded. “Fair enough.”

  On their way out, Axe stopped and grabbed his M110 and ammunition. At the vehicles, he took Reynolds to one side and thrust his 416 in her hands. “Here, take this. I’ll use the SASS.”

  “You are better off with this than me,” she argued.

  Axe ignored her and started to load the tactical vest with suitable mags for the weapon.

  Behind him, Wells appeared. “Come on, I’ll drive, and you guys follow in the second Suburban.”

  Axe smiled at Reynolds and said, “Load up, sweet cheeks. Let’s go to war.”

  “You did not just call me that, did you?” Reynolds asked and turned away to climb into the Suburban.

  Axe slapped her on her rump, and she jolted. “You wait until we get back, asshole. I’ll belt you one.”

  With a chuckle, Axe said, “How about we try out that wrestling thing with the food?”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I know,” Axe replied and slammed the door.

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  The Warehouse

  When Cara opened the door to the warehouse, a spray of bullets from the shooter’s AK slammed into the frame around it. She quickly retreated and hugged the wall. “Reaper, give me some cover so I can get in there.”

  “Give me a moment,” he said.

  A few heartbeats later a flurry of gunfire erupted from within. This time, Cara made it inside and took up position behind the same stack of crates where Kane had left his first body. “I’m in, Reaper.”

  His voice came over her comms. “Good, now maybe one of us can shoot this fucker.”

  Cara peered around the edge of her stacked refuge. She saw movement through the busted window as the shooter fired at Kane again. She thought for a moment and said into her mic, “Reaper, you feel like playing Bugs Bunny?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing,” Ferrero said. “Backup is on its way.”

  “Talk to me, Cara,” Kane said.

  “Reaper, you hear me?” Ferrero tried again.

  “I need you to break cover to your right, Reaper,” Cara told him. “So our shooter will have to lean around to get a shot at you.”

  “OK. Let’s do it.”

  “On my mark,” Cara told him and eased up her M110. “Three, two, one, mark.”

  Kane broke cover and ran as fast as he could towards the door which he assumed concealed the girls they’d seen brought in. The Mexican with the AK leaned around to follow his progress and was about to squeeze the trigger on the weapon when Cara fired.

  The man disappeared from view, and Cara said, “Tango down.”

  “Check him,” Kane said over the comms. I’ll check this room.”

  “Roger.”

  With his M17 raised up just in case, Kane opened the door to the room. It was dark and the outside light flooded in as the door swung wider. Half-squeals of fear emanated from the girls. Lowering his gun, Kane said, “It’s OK. I’m a friend.”

  He ran his gaze over the occupants, and a quick head count came to ten. Which meant that some had already been there when the others arrived. Kane spoke into his mic, “Zero? Reaper One. Building secure. I have ten hostages, repeat, ten hostages.”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  There was movement beside him, and Cara appeared. She took one look at the girls and said in a soft voice, “Holy shit.”

  Puerto de Topolobampo

  Sinaloa Mexico

  DEA Safehouse

  Ferrero watched the feed from the satellite as the SUVs halted and disgorged their passengers. He counted them in his head. Sixteen. Sixteen figures climbed out, and fourteen moved with fluid ease.

  “Shit,” Swift swore. “Did you see that?”

  “They’re military,” Thurston said.

  “Collins’ mercs, ma’am?” Swift inquired, knowing the answer.

  “Yes, damn it. Put them on loudspeaker. I want to listen in.”

  “That means it was another trap, or they knew we were coming,” Ferrero said. “Which could also mean they know where we are too.”

  Just at that moment one of the DEA agents burst in. There was a look of grim determination on his face. “We’re compromised. We’ve got at least eight shooters outside closing on the house.”

  Thurston drew her M17. “Luis, tell Reaper he’s on his own. We’ll take what we can. It’s time to get out.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Reaper One, copy?”

  “Copy, Zero.”

  “We’re compromised at the safehouse. You’re on your own. Will contact you if possible.”

  “Copy, Zero. Good luck.”

  “You too, John.”

  Chapter 10

  Appalachian Mountains

  The knife in Arenas’ hand slid up under the militiaman’s ribs, piercing the heart while his opposite hand clamped over the dying man’s mouth to stifle any noise which might escape.

  He took the weight of the corpse and eased it to the ground. Then he withdrew the knife and wiped it on the dead man’s shirt before replacing it in its sheath.

  Rucker moved up beside him and took a knee. “Drag him into the shadows next to the building. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  While Arenas hid the body, Rucker spoke into his mic, “White Shark, this is Scimitar Three, copy? Over.”

  “Copy, Scimitar Three.”

  “About to move on the target building, over.”

  “Copy, Three. Looks all clear from here.”

  “Roger, Three out.”

  Arenas re-joined him, and they began to move stealthily on the building, wherein all probability, the boy was being held. The guard they’d just taken care of was the second since breaching the compound. They didn’t know how Hunt and Traynor were doing, but all was still quiet which was a good sign.

  They reached the target building which appeared to be no more than a small one-room hut. With hand signals, Rucker indicated the door, and they took up position on either side. Rucker reached out and tried the door handle. It turned. He nodded at Arenas who came away from the wall and raised the suppressed 416. Rucker’s head dipped, and he swung the door wide.

  Arenas entered and swept the room, his laser sight looking like a thin straight rod through his NVGs.

  The boy was asleep on the floor. Crossing the room, he knelt beside Jimmy and placed a hand over his mouth and felt the kid stiffen. “It is OK, Jimmy. It is me, Carlos. We’re taking you out.”

  Jimmy relaxed, and the hand came away. “Carlos? Is my ma with you?”

  “No. We’ve got something just as good. SEALs. You must do everything we say, OK, amigo?”

  He nodded. “OK.”

  “Arenas, we’ve gotta go.”

  “Copy. Come on, Jimmy, follow me.”

  Rucker said, “This is Three. We’re coming out with the package.”

  White Shark came over the comms. “Copy, Three.”

  No sooner had they emerged from the hut when a burst of
gunfire erupted from the other side of the compound. Then Hunt’s voice came over the net. In the background, more gunfire could be heard. “Scimitar has been compromised. I say again we’ve been compromised. You might want to bring that UAV online about now.”

  “Copy, Scimitar. The Pred overhead is armed with two Hellfire missiles. Just let us know where you want them.”

  The Hellfire missile was a laser-guided weapon which was used widely by the U.S. military. It got its name from the earlier Heliborne, Laser, Fire and Forget Missile. The two on the Predator UAV were AGM-114N Hellfire IIs. They had a range of eight thousand meters with a top speed of approximately fifteen hundred, ninety-one kilometers per hour.

  “Can you see my laser, White Shark?”

  “Copy.”

  “That’s where I want it.”

  “But that’s your position, Scimitar.”

  “That’s where the fucking tangos are. Light them up.”

  “Copy, Scimitar. Keep your head down.”

  Rucker said into his mic, “We’ll come to you, Chief.”

  “No. Get the kid out.”

  “Popeye, can you see what’s going on?” Rucker asked.

  “I got them, Ruck.”

  “Can you help?”

  “Already on it.”

  Arenas and Jimmy knelt next to Rucker. A figure appeared from around the corner of one of the buildings and the SEAL let go a short burst with his CQBR and whoever it was collapsed onto their face.

  Another militiaman appeared to take his place, and Rucker repeated the dose. He turned to Arenas who was shielding Jimmy with his body. “Let’s go, Carlos.”

  They stood up to move, and there was a loud whump! The earth trembled and then a huge fireball erupted as the first Hellfire hit.

  Traynor rose from behind the truck and fired a burst from his HK416 at a militiaman who was trying to flank their position. The man stumbled and fell as his left leg kicked out from beneath him. He then started to drag himself out of the firing zone, but another burst stopped him cold.