Deadly Intent

by Brent Towns

  “Copy.” Then, “Striker One-One, this is Reaper One, how copy?”

  “Good copy, Reaper One.”

  “Striker, I have a fire mission for you, over.”

  “Copy, Reaper One. Send, over.”

  “We’re pinned down by a sniper approximately six-hundred meters to our east. We’d be obliged if you could dig him out of there.”

  “Copy, Reaper One. We’ll light him up on the next pass. Keep your heads down. Striker One-One, out.”

  “Get ready, team,” Cara said over her comms. “Once Striker opens fire on that sniper nest, we’re moving again.”

  A few moments later the WHUMP! WHUMP! of the Howitzer reached their ears. Then the hide to their east exploded with the detonations of the shells.

  Cara came to her feet. “All right, let’s move.”

  The 416 came to her shoulder, and she started forward. Two men to her front appeared suddenly. One was armed with an AK, the other a home-made spear. She dropped her sights on the immediate threat first. The AK bearer jerked abruptly as two 5.56 rounds slammed into his chest. She shifted aim to the second threat and squeezed the trigger again.

  Nothing happened. “Shit!” she cursed out loud and dropped the carbine to dangle by its strap. The M17 came clear of Cara’s thigh holster in a sweeping movement. As soon as it leveled on her target, she squeezed the trigger three times. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  The spear-wielder spasmed wildly with the impact of each bullet punching into his chest. The tip of the weapon flicked up and across Cara’s cheek, slicing a shallow groove in the flesh. Blood ran instantly and mixed with perspiration, the salt in the wound stinging. She wiped it away and holstered her M17.

  Cara then reached for the 416 and said, “Changing mag.”

  She slammed a fresh magazine home and kept moving.

  The team pushed forward, meeting all resistance head-on. Then all of a sudden it stopped. There was no one else to fight. They’d pushed through the perimeter. Cara said, “Watch the perimeter. I’ll see if I can find our packages.”

  A voice came from some thick brush beside her, “You won’t have to look too far, but it is just one package. Spencer didn’t make it.”

  The bushes seemed to part, and there was Kane, dirty, smiling, the Dragunov slung over his shoulder, and an AK-74 in his hands.

  Cara smiled and said into her mic, “Zero, we have the package. I say again, we have the package.”

  “Copy, Reaper One. Now get the hell out of there. The Peruvian navy has just despatched their QRF.”

  “Copy. Out.”

  With Striker One-One flying cover, the team was able to make it back to the pickup point without further incident. Along the way, Kane filled them in on what had happened since his arrival on the island. He’d raised the prospect of searching for Spencer’s body, but Thurston had quashed it.

  They were shadowed all the way. Ortega stood and watched them climb onto the RHIB and pull away from the shore.

  “What do we do now?” one of the prisoners asked Ortega.

  The cartel man shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Richmond

  Virginia

  Frank Styles, behind the wheel of his red Ferrari, pulled into his driveway, and the streetlight flickered across his vanity plate which read, STYLIN’. He switched off the 6.5 L F140 GA V12 engine and climbed out of the car.

  The lights inside the house were on which indicated that his wife, Marge, was home. He wondered if she’d been out all afternoon spending his money again. The bitch was a shop-a-holic. Just as well lawyering paid so well. Especially his last case representing Montoya. Even though the cartel boss had escaped, Styles still received some hefty payments. The last of which was to make sure he kept quiet. Styles assured Montoya that he was bound by confidentiality and could say nothing. Montoya, on the other hand, didn’t believe that it would be enough, so he paid him an extra million to keep his mouth shut.

  In the shadows across the street, lurked a thin man dressed in black. He wore a long coat which reached his knees. As soon as Styles climbed from his car, the man stepped out into the light and began to cross the pavement.

  Styles dropped his keys and cursed. Normally he would have put the Ferrari in the garage with his wife’s Dodge, but he had to go back out for a client meeting. Styles leaned down and picked the keys up. He locked the car and then stuffed them in his pocket.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Someone was coming across the street and Styles rolled his eyes. Maybe it was Bert Cross coming to complain about his dog shitting on the lawn again. The fucking animal was more trouble than it was worth.

  Styles turned around to head off any abuse that would be forthcoming from his irate neighbor. Instead, he stopped cold, and his jaw dropped.

  The killer swept back the right side of his coat to reveal a MAC-11. Styles’ blood ran cold, and his bladder let go. The stench of his own urine filled his nostrils. He was about to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  With his mind reeling in those final few moments, Styles opened his mouth and said, “No, don’t!”

  The killer depressed the trigger, and the 32-round box magazine emptied at a rate of twelve hundred rounds per minute. At that rate of fire, the magazine ran dry in just over a second. Styles’ chest was a bloody pulp of flesh and shredded material.

  The lawyer dropped to the concrete beside the Ferrari and blood began to run down into the gutter. Lowering the MAC-11, the killer turned away from the scene. His shoes sounded loud on the pavement as he began to walk away.

  He reached into his pocket and pressed speed dial. A few seconds later a voice answered. “Yes?”

  “It is done.”

  “Good.”

  Chapter 21

  Team Reaper HQ

  El Paso, Texas

  “What are you doing back here, Reaper?” Thurston growled when Kane walked through her office door. “You were given a week off. It’s been four days.”

  Reaper shrugged. “That’s what Cara said.”

  “Well, you should listen to her. The team is in good hands with her.”

  Kane nodded. “I know that. I just hate sitting around. Any news on Montoya?”

  Thurston shook her head. “Slick has been trying to run down all the information he can, but so far, nothing. If Montoya’s up to something, we haven’t been able to nail it down yet. Every damned agency with letters of the alphabet in its name is concentrating everything they have across the border.”

  “Maybe that’s what he wants,” Kane proposed.

  Thurston was curious at his comment. “What do you mean?”

  “Everybody is looking at Mexico. A major rule when you want to surprise someone, make sure they’re looking the other way. Everybody is doing that as we speak. You said so yourself. Couple that with the fact he has trained American mercenaries working for him, and what does that tell you? If you ask me, I’d say diversion.”

  “Going by your theory, I’d say he has something planned on American soil. Who better to blend in than US citizens?”

  There was a knock at the door, and Ferrero entered. He saw Kane and opened his mouth to speak when Reaper cut him short. “Don’t you start.”

  “Start what?”

  “You know.”

  Thurston stared at Ferrero and said, “Kane has an interesting theory about our Mexican friend, Luis. I actually think it holds more water than what we’re following now.”

  Ferrero eyed him and asked, “What is it, Reaper?”

  “Everything that’s happened so far is a diversion,” Kane offered.

  “Uh huh. I agree. But for what? Slick can’t find anything that stands out. That’s what I came to see Mary about. I think we need to change our search.”

  Thurston climbed from her chair and walked over to her window to stare out through the grime-smeared glass. “I take it by change you mean to concentrate on home soil?”

  “Makes sense,” Ferrero said.

  “Where would be
a better place to hide than right under the nose of your enemy?” Kane surmised.

  The general turned around and faced both men. “All right. Put Slick onto it, Luis. Kane, you help him with anything he needs.”

  Kane raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know shit about what he does.”

  “Then it’s about time you learned,” Thurston told him. “Either that or go and get some rest. Cara still has command of your team until I have Brick clear you to become operational again.”

  “And when might that be, ma’am?”

  “In three days.”

  Outside Charlottesville

  Virginia

  The Agusta Westland AW169 helicopter lifted from the field and disappeared into the pitch black of the Virginia night. Two black SUVs remained in the lush green pasture, headlights ablaze from where they had lit the landing zone for the midnight touchdown.

  Juan Montoya, dressed in his usual resplendent white suit, stopped before Ward Collins and asked, “Is it all ready?”

  Collins nodded. “I’ve been here for two days overseeing a few things. It should be good to go when we need it.”

  “I want to see it before I leave for Charlottesville.”

  Collins opened the door on the SUV and said, “Jump in, and I’ll take you there right now.”

  The cartel boss climbed into the vehicle and closed the door. Behind him, another door opened, and Hall got in. The SUV rocked with the big man’s size as he settled into the rear bucket seat.

  The driver’s door opened, illuminating the interior light. Collins climbed in and was about to close the door when Montoya said firmly, “Tell your man behind me to change sides. I don’t want him sitting there.”

  The former ranger stared at Hall through the rear-view mirror. Hall mouthed, “What the fuck?” and shrugged his heavy shoulders. Collins kept staring at him until the big man shook his head and opened the door. He got out and swapped sides. Once in, he couldn’t help himself and the sarcastic tone as he said, “Is that better, Señor?”

  “Hall!” Collins cautioned.

  Montoya ignored the jibe and said, “Shall we go?”

  The SUVs bounced across the field until they passed through a gate and out onto a gravel road. Turning left, they headed west until they reached another road which led off into a large and dense pocket of forest. They followed that for five or so minutes before turning right into a drive. This took them another mile or so before they reached a farmhouse with a large barn off to the right side. The yard held a semi-trailer rig.

  The SUVs pulled up on the drive, and the support team climbed from the vehicle. Apart from Hall, Collins had four other men in the second SUV. Inside the farmhouse were an additional four, and on the perimeter were four more.

  From habit, the four, who had climbed out, set up a small perimeter around the vehicles. Montoya, Hall, and Collins followed them out, and the former ranger captain directed his employer towards the barn.

  “It’s in there,” he said to Montoya. “Follow me.”

  Collins opened one of the large double-doors and moved around to the left and flicked on a light. It wasn’t the brightest globe, but it did what it was designed to do. Montoya stopped and stared at the sight before him. He nodded. “It is magnifico. The pilot?”

  “He’s secure in the house.”

  The cartel boss’ eyes never left the MQ-1 Predator UAV. A smile split his lips when he saw the Hellfire missile beside it. “He will fly it for us – the pilot?”

  “While we have his wife and kid prisoner, he’ll do anything we want. Normally it would take two or three to fly it, but for what we want, one will manage. And there is a cleared area behind the house long enough for it to take off.”

  “Good,” Montoya said, his voice distant as he took a step forward. He paused and then walked over to the UAV and ran a hand over its glossy exterior.

  “When we jacked it, it was all disassembled. My guys on the ground here were able to reassemble it satisfactorily. We also have a satellite dish big enough to accommodate our needs. So, when the target arrives at the specified location the day after tomorrow, we’ll be ready.”

  “And the team I requested?” Montoya asked.

  Collins hesitated. This was the part of the plan he figured went too far. Holding the family hostage, the UAV strike, that was fine. But the raid on the DEA evidence facility made him nervous. Not for himself, but if it all went to shit, it would cost him four men. That was the number he was sending with Montoya to do the job. They would be led by Hall, and only because the loss of Hall wouldn’t be a big deal.

  “Are you sure you want to do it this way?” Collins asked.

  “Of course. It is one of the main reasons. They took my money. I want it back. Twenty-million dollars they have, and it all belongs to me.”

  “Hall will lead the team. It has been planned to coincide with the UAV strike. The team will follow your orders. I have chosen a place for you all to stay until it is time.”

  “Excellent. We will leave tonight.”

  El Paso, Texas

  “We have to stop doing this,” Cara said to Kane as she lay there listening to the clunk and hum of the ceiling fan above their bed.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Am I doing it wrong?”

  A chuckle escaped Cara’s lips, and she elbowed him in the ribs. Kane grunted and stiffened as pain shot through him. “Christ!”

  “Be serious,” Cara growled.

  “I was. I didn’t think I was that bad.”

  There was a flurry of blankets as Cara swiftly rolled on top of Kane and sat up. The sheet fell away from her naked torso, and light filtered through the gauzy curtains to highlight her lithe form. She leaned down and kissed him and then left her nose resting on his, the gesture hinting at their level of intimacy. “I thought I’d lost you, you know that. Which is why we can’t keep doing this. We work together in dangerous situations. We can’t be worried about each other in the middle of a shit storm. It’ll get people killed.”

  Kane knew she was right, as he reached out with his thumb and grazed it across the now healing wound from the spear tip. To start a serious relationship was wrong. This wasn’t the time. And if they kept sleeping together, it would inevitably become just that. “You’re right.”

  Cara sat back up. She twisted his right nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m always right.”

  “Ouch! Bitch.”

  Suddenly, their cells began to buzz on the nightstand. Cara reached across and picked her’s up. “Billings.”

  She listened for a moment while Kane’s cell kept jumping. She hung up, and Kane’s stopped. Cara stared at him and said, “Get your clothes on. Slick has something. The team’s been recalled.”

  The hot Texan sun had been up an hour by the time the team gathered in their briefing room. Everyone was huddled around to listen to the news of Slick’s discovery.

  Standing before them, he looked tired, as he’d been working hours on end to find something which the team could use. But his persistence had paid off. On the big screen, he had three pictures. The first was of an MQ-1 Predator. The two others were of an air force captain and a man dressed in a suit.

  “I’ve been looking and combing through more shit in the past few days than I care to think about. When we turned one-eighty to concentrate on home soil, this is what I came up with.”

  He paused and then spoke again. “A few nights after we got back from that nightmare in Juarez, outside of Embargo Tennessee, someone stopped a transport and stole an MQ-1 Predator UAV. Killed the transport drivers and stole the ‘coffin’ it was in. Not only that, they stole a Hellfire missile which was being transported with it.”

  “WTF,” Axe growled. “Didn’t it have an escort or something?”

  “Sometimes the air force sees fit to transport them in the middle of the night without one. I don’t know why. OK?”

  There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice brought on by lack of s
leep. Reaper said, “Easy, Slick, we’re all on the same team.”

  Swift swallowed and went on. “The air force captain is Sean Richards. He specializes in UAVs. Used to be a pilot, now is part of the chain of command at the 33rd Special Operations Squadron. He disappeared the other day. So did his wife and child.”

  “That brings us to our next guy. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Frank Styles. The defense lawyer of Juan Montoya. He was shot and killed outside of his home four nights ago. Actually, he was shot up close with a MAC-11. Pretty much turned him into dog food.”

  Kane said, “OK. I can see the connection of the captain to the UAV. But what is it with the lawyer?”

  “Nothing on its own. But I managed to track down some footage of who I believe to be the killer.”

  A picture of a man appeared on the screen. He had a thin face and a tough look about him. “This is Mark Alvarez. He’s an ex-marine. Discharged three years ago. He is the one who I think killed the lawyer. And if you can find him, he might be able to give you something about Montoya. Rumor is that he may be attached to Collins’ mercenaries.”

  Axe asked, “Do we know where he is?”

  Swift smiled. “Glad you asked that. We do. He’s in New York. Been there for a month living under an assumed name.”

  “But why?”

  “Maybe you can ask him when you pick him up,” Thurston said. “Wheels up in an hour. We’re going to New York.”

  Chapter 22

  New York

  “You do know this is bullshit, right?” Axe complained. “Crap like this only happens in the movies. Yet here I am dressed up like a fucking pizza delivery guy.”

  “I think you look cute,” Cara teased.

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  It was an hour after dark, and the bright New York street-, shop- and neon-lights dazzled in the night. The team had been watching and planning since they’d touched down. The consensus was that it should happen in the evening. That way there would be less pedestrian traffic on the streets.