Deadly Intent

by Brent Towns

  “So none of you will help me?”

  “I want to see what you are scared of,” Jasiel said. “We will help you, but we want half of what you find.”

  Half of what? Ortega thought. It could be something, or it could be nothing. “Sí. Half.”

  “Then we will go with you tomorrow, kill Petrov, and divide whatever it is we find.”

  Jasiel started to stand when Janjak snapped, “Wait! We will all go.”

  Ortega eyed them with suspicion but nodded anyway. “Sí. We will all go.”

  Chapter 16

  El Paso

  Texas

  The following morning, on her return to El Paso, Thurston called Swift into her office. He looked tired. His hair was unkempt, and there were dark circles around his eyes. She studied him for a moment and said, “You look like shit. Sit down before you fall down.”

  He gave a muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” and fell into the chair across from her.

  “Have you had any sleep at all?”

  He shook his head. “Not since we got back. Not a full night anyway.”

  Thurston gave a frustrated sigh and stabbed a finger at him. “Damn it, Sam. You’re no good to me if you go toes up in the middle of something. Get some rest. And that’s an order.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He started to rise and stopped, let himself slump back in the chair and asked, “Do you want to know what I’ve found?”

  Sitting forward in her seat, Thurston said, “What have you found?”

  An expulsion of air came from his lips, and Swift told her about his activities over the past few days, searching for their lost men. “I’ve been digging into anything I can connect to. Satellites, security feeds, anything with a damned camera on it, and all I got was nothing. They disappeared. So then I went back to the warehouse feed, and I managed to get a plate number from one of the vehicles. The one they left behind and burned because it was all shot up.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “The fire from the warehouse had a huge glow, and before the SUV completely disappeared in flames, I got the number.”

  “And?”

  “It was registered to a company called Incursion Global.”

  “Who are they?”

  “No one. A shell company. So, I tried to track the owner from there and came up with three more. Whoever owns them really didn’t want anyone to find them.”

  Thurston frowned. “Didn’t?”

  Swift raised his eyebrows in a tired daze. “Hmm?”

  “You said didn’t.”

  “Oh, yes. I found out who the registered owner is.”

  The general felt frustration start to build inside her but remembered her man was operating on virtually no sleep. “Come on, Slick, speak to me. Stay with it. Who owns the company?”

  “Captain Ward Collins.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Uh huh. He’s got himself quite a setup.”

  Thurston thought for a moment about the information just delivered by Swift. “He’s obviously working for someone. If we find out who, we might be able to figure out what happened to Kane and Spencer.”

  “Or if they’re alive,” the computer tech said. “Can I suggest something, ma’am?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Pete Traynor has contacts over the border, from when he worked undercover. Maybe you could send him and Carlos across the river. It may be quicker than me digging through computer files.”

  “OK. Call the team back in. If we’re sending people across the river, I want everyone on it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Isla del Volcán,

  Peru

  When Petrov entered the Antonov, there was a look of worry on his face. Kane looked up at him and asked what was wrong.

  “They are coming,” he said. “All of them.”

  “What do you mean, all of them?”

  “The FARC, the Haitians, Ortega, all of them. They will be here soon.”

  “Then we’d best not be,” Kane answered matter of factly. He nodded at the gun tucked inside Petrov’s pants. “If you have any more of those floating around, now’s the time to get them out.”

  The Russian grunted in agreement and walked part way along the fuselage of the plane and stopped. He ripped aside a crate which was sitting on the floor, to reveal a hole. He reached down inside and pulled out an AK-74M. Tossing it to Kane, he then fossicked about some more in his stash. By the time Petrov was finished, he’d extracted magazines and boxes of 5.45 caliber ammunition, F1 grenades, a Dragunov sniper rifle, ammunition for it, and another Grach.

  Kane asked in a dry tone, “You got any RPGs down there?”

  “Hidden somewhere else.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “You load magazines,” Petrov ordered.

  Kane did so with practiced ease. Before long he had eight magazines loaded. Petrov looked at him and said, “You have done this before?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “You were in American army?”

  “Yes.”

  The Russian snorted. “Great. I am here with fucking cowboy.”

  “And I’m here with the world’s most fucking wanted arms dealer,” Kane retorted. “Get used to it. If you want to stay alive, we’ll have to work together.”

  Reaper scooped up some magazines and stuffed them in his pockets. Then the Grach and placed it in his waistband. Meanwhile, Petrov found a cloth bag and stuffed more loaded magazines in it and slung it over his shoulder. He handed the Dragunov to Kane. “You can use this?”

  “Yeah,” Reaper answered as he slung it across his back.

  “Now we will make our stand,” the Russian stated, a look of determination on his face. “Kill many before they kill us.”

  Kane shook his head. “No. We’re going into the jungle.”

  Petrov was about to protest when Kane said, “Trust me, it’s what I do.”

  “OK. But wait.” The Russian pulled the crate back over the hole. “There are things in there we don’t want them to find.”

  “Are we good now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Petrov shook his head. “Fucking cowboy.”

  “They are gone,” Ortega growled angrily.

  Andreas stepped forward and glanced about. He said, “I will have my men look around.”

  He disappeared outside while the other scanned the fuselage, looking for anything they could confiscate for themselves.

  Janjak found a watch, picked it up, shook it, then threw it away with a curse. They turned over things, lifted others up, then out of frustration, Jasiel kicked the crate which was concealing the hole, moving it far enough to reveal what was beneath it.

  With renewed vigor, he thrust it aside. A hiss of pleasure escaped his lips as he stared down into the excavation. His smile grew broad as he realized what he’d found. “Guns!”

  The other whirled to see Jasiel already on his knees, retrieving the weapons which Petrov had left behind. There were three AK-74Ms, two Graches, and a second Dragunov. Fortunately, the Russian had extracted all of the F1 grenades. But not all of the ammunition.

  The four leaders split the find between themselves, with the Dragunov going to the FARC faction. They exited the Antonov’s fuselage and gathered their men around them. Ortega pointed towards the dense green jungle to his left and said in a loud voice, “They are in there somewhere. Whoever kills them will get this.”

  The cartel leader held up a Grach. A murmur rippled through the crowd. To have a weapon on the island would elevate the status of the owner. Ortega continued, “With it will come the bullets it fires. Now, find them. Kill them!”

  The first anyone knew that a shot had been fired, was the wet sound made by the impact of a 7.62 round, having traveled from almost a thousand meters out. It was a lucky shot, for the sights hadn’t been zeroed, but allowing for that, Kane took aim at center-mass.

  The target, a br
oad-shouldered Haitian, shuddered under the violent impact and dropped to the damp jungle grass. Just over two seconds after the bullet’s impact, the shot sounded. By the time it reached the island’s inhabitants, another was already on its deadly journey.

  It almost took the arm off a FARC soldier, in a spray of bright red. He was spun around under the impact and stood there staring down at the shredded mass of flesh that barely kept his arm attached. Then came the pain. Burning, stomach-churning pain. Followed by a noise that you would hear at the real gates of Hell.

  Men scattered, looking for cover, hoping to minimize the chances of becoming the sniper’s next target. Unbeknown to them, they needn’t have worried. Kane’s objective was to issue a message. He was creating a certain level of nervous tension about what they could expect should they choose to follow.

  Kane climbed to his feet and raised the scoped rifle, observing the carnage of his handiwork below. Two from two. Not bad going for an unfamiliar setup. The prisoners had scattered or dropped to the ground. The leaders, brave in every sense of the word, had done the same.

  “They found the gun stash,” Kane told Petrov.

  “I thought they might.”

  Reaper turned to look at the Russian. “I don’t suppose you have any food hidden around the island anywhere?”

  Petrov shook his head. “No.”

  “What day are the food drops?”

  There was a pause while Petrov lapsed into deep thought, then he said, “Tomorrow.”

  “Where?”

  “Where ever they land.”

  “OK. That just means we’ll have to get there before the others. Come on, let’s keep moving.”

  After a quick look back towards the Antonov, they were swallowed by a thick wall of undergrowth.

  By the end of the day, the pair had covered a lot of ground, then circled back to a position that Petrov said was the best place to shelter against a coming storm. The humidity had built throughout the day and was now thick and cloying. Then, in the late afternoon, the steel-gray clouds overhead opened, loosing great sheets of rain. Both men were soon soaked through, but at least the rain was cool and refreshing.

  The cave was beside a small spring where they could get fresh water. Thick brush surrounded it and had to be pushed aside to enter. Once through, they ensured that there was no trace of their passing. Inside, Kane saw a small opening in the ceiling, great for letting in light, but it also admitted the water. Lots of water.

  “I guess we’ll be sleeping in the wet tonight,” Kane surmised.

  “You? Yes. Me? No,” Petrov informed him. He walked towards the back of the cave and pulled away a large tarpaulin which blended in with its surroundings. Beneath it was a pile of crates.

  Petrov dragged the tarp across the cave to an area as yet untouched by the rain. Curious, Kane walked over to the crates to examine them. Aware that he was under close scrutiny by the Russian arms dealer, he ignored it and looked over the stamps on the boxes. They said: Bazalt.

  Kane knew Bazalt. They were the manufacturer of Russian RPGs. Another crate was stamped: KB Mashinostroyeniya. Reaper turned and asked, “SA-18 or SA-25?”

  Petrov said, “Eighteen.”

  Other crates held semi-automatic weapons, handguns, and ammunition. Another crate made Kane frown. “You have a fucking MATADOR?”

  “Yes.”

  The MATADOR was a shoulder-launched anti-armor weapons system. It could destroy armored vehicles and was useful for blowing holes through walls in urban situations. The next few crates were unmarked. Kane reached out to look when Petrov said, “Please do not touch those.”

  Kane turned to face the Russian, who, to emphasize his point, had the Grach in his fist aimed at the American. “Please.”

  “All right,” Reaper said, not wanting to push it. “I won’t.”

  He stepped away from the crates. “Tomorrow when the food drop comes in, we’ll need to get there before anyone else does. How many prisoners are on the island altogether?”

  Petrov lowered the gun and shrugged. “One-hundred and fifty. Maybe more.”

  “Are they all like these that are chasing us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should make it interesting then.”

  Chapter 17

  El Paso

  Texas

  Team Reaper was gathered by the following day. The last person to arrive was Cara, after her turnaround flight on a C-130 had been delayed by bad weather. Now, however, they were all together in their briefing room, waiting for Thurston to appear.

  The new Reaper element commander felt tired. She had hardly slept the previous night, and now she was in a briefing for God only knew what. She knew that they’d been ordered back to duty for a reason and for a fleeting moment she thought of Reaper and had a flicker of hope. She looked across at Ferrero who was talking to Pete Traynor. Climbing wearily to her feet, she walked over to him. Looking up at her, he smiled. “You look like shit, Cara.”

  “Midnight flights will do that to you,” she said. “Any news?”

  He thought about waiting for Thurston to brief them, but it was different for Cara. She’d been with him from the start. He looked at Traynor and said, “I’ll be back in a moment, Pete.”

  Traynor nodded. “Sure, boss.”

  Ferrero ushered Cara away from the others, and she felt her blood run cold. Was he about to tell her that Kane was dead? She didn’t think she was equipped to hear that right now. Through her fog of exhaustion, she realized that there was a possibility that she might have feelings for him. Might! But if Reaper was dead, she’d never get the chance to find out.

  Looking Ferrero in the eyes, she said, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  He reached out and gently touched her arm.

  Oh God, it’s true.

  “We don’t know. Slick was able to trace the vehicles used back to Ward Collins. Mary wants to send Pete and Carlos over the river to see if there are any whispers we can follow up.”

  There was a questioning look on Cara’s face. “Whispers?”

  “Relax. It’s better than sitting waiting for Slick to dig something up. Besides, he was the one who suggested it. OK?”

  Cara remained silent but ran her hands over her face and hair.

  “OK?” Ferrero said again.

  “Fine, but I’m going with them.”

  The operations commander was taken aback for a moment and shook his head. “I don’t …”

  “My team, Luis. My choice. I’m going with them.”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll run it past Mary. You look like you need a week of sleep, so if she says no, then you stay. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “One other thing you should know. You’re getting a new team man today. He’s not here yet, but I figure he’s not far away.”

  “Who?”

  “Brick Peters.”

  “The guy from the ambassador’s detail?”

  “Yes. You’re a man short at the moment, so he’s it. He’s also a medic which could prove invaluable.”

  “What about when Kane comes back?”

  “If he comes back, Brick will stay on.”

  “Fine.”

  Ferrero disappeared from the room, and Cara went back to sit down. Axe made his way over to her and asked, “What was all that about? News of Reaper?”

  “It was about the briefing.” Then she deflected by saying, “Did you see Montoya on the television?”

  Axe gave her a smile and shook his head. “No. I was kinda busy. He’s a crazy motherfucker though. The sooner someone puts a slug in his head the better.”

  “What were you doing that had you so busy?” Cara asked.

  “Not what, who?”

  Cara thought and stared across the room at Reynolds who was smiling while talking to Teller about something. She laughed and glanced at Axe. Cara grinned knowingly and turned her gaze back on the ex-recon marine. “Son of a bitch, you were screwing Reynolds.”

  “What? No … nooo. Not me. O
K, I was, but keep it to yourself. All right?”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you could,” Cara pointed out. “You wait until I talk to her.”

  “No, Cara. Don’t!” Panic was etched on Axe’s face. “You can’t … no, don’t … please … fuck!”

  Cara got up and walked towards Reynolds, leaving an ashen-faced Axe behind her. There was too much fun in this not to drag it out. She’d never seen the big guy squirm before.

  “Hey, Brooke, how was your downtime?” she asked.

  Reynolds’ gaze was immediately directed over Cara’s shoulder, and she sensed Axe there trying to convince her not to say anything. Then came the realization. “Son of a bitch, you frigging told her. Christ!”

  “Told her what?” Teller asked.

  “Nothing,” Axe blurted out. “I told her nothing.”

  “Bullshit! How else would she know that you and I were screwing on our downtime?”

  Teller guffawed. “You and him?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Axe snapped. “I’ll have you know that beneath this rugged exterior lies a smooth loving machine.”

  “Oh, please,” Reynolds moaned.

  “Hey,” Arenas called across to join in the fun. “I heard he was the regular Casanova. The Chicas talk about him all the time.”

  “Shut up, Carlos. There’s enough going on here without you adding to it,” Axe snapped.

  Arenas chuckled but said no more.

  Suddenly, Thurston and Ferrero appeared in the room with a third man. The general walked to the front and turned to face them. “All right, listen up. Everyone, take a seat.” Her eyes shifted to Axe. “You too, Casanova.”

  Axe opened his mouth to protest but saw the look on Reynolds’ face and clamped it shut. He glared at Cara who smiled innocently back at him. Mumbling something under his breath, he sat down.

  “OK, first things first. The new guy is Brick Peters. He’ll be joining Reaper Team as a combat medic. Play nice with him.”

  Axe turned to look at Brick and said with an exaggerated wave, “Hi, Brick, leave now before it’s too late.”