Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  An hour after he put the phone down, Cuevas called.

  "Where've you been? I tried to call and your number was engaged.

  "Personal business."

  Cuevas sounded cagey. "Not the cops?"

  "No cops."

  "There'd better not be. If people found out about our arrangement, my reputation would be ruined."

  He stopped himself from laughing aloud. "Your reputation is safe with me, Cuevas."

  "Keep it that way. I got a call a couple of hours back. The guy said he'd found the gringo you asked me about, Paul Vann. He completed his business here in Ciudad and flew down to Cancun to meet with another big supplier, Raul Torres, before he leaves Mexico."

  Cancun. Of all places, why did it have to be Cancun?

  He memorized the address of the villa where Vann would be staying. It belonged to a local drug lord. Without question, he'd have a small army to guard the place.

  "This better be good, Cuevas. If anything goes wrong, you know what'll happen. If we're walking into an ambush, I'll come back."

  "I am an honest man," he protested, "We have a deal, and I will not break it. You will find your man at that address, at least until tomorrow. What you do about it is up to you, but I warn you, it will not be easy to get inside. Raul Torres is a man who takes many precautions against outside interference. One thing more, do not call me again. Our business is over."

  The phone went dead. He repeated the conversation to the others.

  "We'll need to do it tonight. He'll be leaving tomorrow, and it could be early."

  "My aircraft is ready and waiting," Dragan said eagerly. They were in a villa he'd rented outside of Ciudad, inside a gated community protected by a small army of security guards. The weapons had arrived, and the billionaire killed time by playing with his new toy, a Barratt .50 caliber sniper rifle.

  "I always wanted to use one of these," he enthused, dismantling it for the fifth time, "It's just a pity we don't have a range here. I can't wait to use in on Paul."

  Raider was worried, thinking about his girlfriend who was already in Cancun. The last thing he wanted was for a man with a Barratt firing off wild shots inside the town.

  "Put it away," Waite said in irritation, "Those things make me nervous."

  They all smiled. The only thing that made Waite nervous was not being able to spend so much time fishing with Al.

  Dragan shrugged and finished disassembling the long, heavy weapon. He put it inside its aluminum case and closed the locks. Raider took out a map of Cancun he'd bought in town. Only a tourist map, but it would be enough. He spread it on the dining table and they gathered around.

  "This is where Raul Torres has his villa, a couple of klicks outside the town. We'll go over the fence at 02.00, deal with the guards, and enter the main building. We don't have night vision gear, so we'll need to stay together. I don't want us shooting at each other. Other than that, target selection won't be difficult. We kill them all. Vann, his bodyguards, as well as Raul Torres and his men, all of them."

  "Why kill Torres?" Al looked puzzled, "It's only Vann we want."

  "This is Mexico, Al, the revenge capital of the Western World. If we leave anyone alive, they'll come after us, no question."

  He nodded. "Got it. There's no way I want to live with that kind of threat hanging over me."

  "What about me?" Dragan asked, "What do you want me to do?"

  Raider pointed to a spot on the map, a hotel complex more than half a klick from the villa.

  "You'll station yourself on the roof of the hotel. You have a night vision scope on the Barratt, and if you see the enemy, you take them down. But only after we've carried out the hit. Don't shoot anyone until you see us go inside the villa. We don't want to send them a warning message. After that, it's open season. Except you need to keep a sharp lookout for friendlies. If one of us winds up dead from a .50 caliber bullet, your sniping days are over. In fact, all of your days are over, clear?"

  "Clear."

  "This time, make sure you're there when we need you, Dragan," Waite snarled, "Otherwise I'll stuff that fucking Barratt down your throat and pull the trigger."

  He laughed. "Sure."

  "I wouldn't put him to the test," Al said, "You'll lose. Just be there."

  He didn't reply, but he had the message, loud and clear.

  Raider went on with the plan for the assault. "We'll be carrying M4-A1s and Sig P226s with the suppressors, so we have the tools to do the job. Try to use a combat knife if you run into any hostiles before the shooting starts. You know the targets. Find them and kill them. Remember to keep this a simple operation. We go in, we kill them all, and we get out."

  They all nodded, apart from Joe, who was looking thoughtful.

  "What is it, Joe?"

  "I just thought, well, you know I do some stuff for CIA."

  "We know."

  "If there're documents, hard drives, laptops, anything like that, the Agency could use them. It's valuable intel."

  "Fuck the CIA," Raider snapped, "I have enough hassle with the US government. I don't need any more."

  "That's my point. You could do with some friends," he pointed out, "For example, they could arrange for that warrant to be lifted."

  "Fuck the warrant."

  "Think about it, Raider. This is serious. Putin lifted the Russian warrant, but this is the big one. If CIA could make it go away, it'd make life more pleasant for you. You'd even be able to visit Abigail without using a false identity..."

  He hated life on the run, but he also hated the idea helping the people who'd screwed him. But there was Abigail to consider. Joe was right. He nodded agreement.

  "I guess we can carry away this stuff for them if it's that important.

  "Sure, I'll call them on the satphone, and put the arrangements in place."

  He walked outside to make the call. It took a long time, but Joe walked back inside after more than a half hour.

  "It's a deal. The warrant disappears, provided you keep your side of the bargain and bring out the intel."

  "Agreed."

  Apart from a slight change to the plan, nothing for them to lose any sleep over.

  Joe was all smiles. "All we have to do is kill Paul Vann, Raul Torres, and a bunch of their soldiers. Then steal their secrets, and get out."

  "Easy," Waite grinned.

  He knew it would be anything but easy. There were too many people involved, especially CIA.

  Whatever they told Joe, their agenda is sure to be something different, but what?

  * * *

  The villa lay a kilometer away. He checked his watch. It was 01.45. They were on time. Dragan would already be in position on the roof of the hotel. The night was not entirely dark, a few stars and a waning quarter moon; enough light to see but not enough to be seen. It was warm, with just a faint breeze blowing inshore from the nearby coastline. The trees and vegetation emanated a strong odor, a combination of decay and rotting vegetation, and a less unpleasant tang of flowers overlaying the noxious stench. Their vehicle, a black Jeep Wrangler supplied by Dragan, was hidden in a clump of trees at the side of the road on a low hill overlooking Torres' compound.

  "It all looks quiet. We'll move in."

  Joe started the engine and eased out onto the road. Once he'd picked up enough speed, he cut the engine, and they coasted downhill to their destination. The plan was to hide the Wrangler and use it to exfil once they'd done the job. The alternative was to appropriate one of Torres' vehicles, which could be known to the local cops. Cops sure to be on the payroll of the drug lord.

  They neared the villa in almost total silence. He took out his satphone and dialed a number. He answered at once.

  "Dragan."

  "You in position."

  "Yes. All quiet here. No problems."

  "What about the compound, any sign of movement?"

  "I see double gates at the front, with two guards outside. They take it in turns to patrol the perimeter fence by the look of it."


  "Okay. For once, it looks like we may go in clean. I'll call if I need anything."

  "Roger."

  * * *

  The MQ-1 Predator is an armed drone used extensively in Afghanistan by the US military and CIA, and elsewhere in the world. A Rotax 914F turbocharged four-cylinder engine powered the drone, and cruising at almost a hundred mph was almost invisible in daylight and totally invisible at night. The unmanned aircraft carried two MQ-1B Hellfire missiles and was controlled remotely by an operator who could be anywhere in the world. Even in Langley, where this particular operator was stationed.

  He stared at the compound, which showed a ghostly green on his screen. He made a slight adjustment to the altitude to allow for the distant range of hills. Then he keyed his mic and spoke to the officer in charge who was on an upper floor.

  "Drone is orbiting the target. Guidance system is locked on. Request clearance to launch missiles."

  "Wait. Is there any sign of movement inside the house?"

  "That's a negative."

  "Hold your position and wait. Report any movement."

  "Hold position, Roger."

  * * *

  Raider again glanced up at the sky but failed to see anything untoward. Joe glided the jeep down the slope, and one hundred meters from the compound it left the road and stopped under a palm tree. He looked at Raider.

  "You want me to wait here?"

  "I want someone here who can get us out fast if the shit hits the fan. When we take the guards, bring the jeep as close as you can. And watch for any new arrivals."

  "No problem."

  "Right. Let's go."

  They dismounted and crept toward the fence twenty meters from the gate. Waite sped away into the darkness, silent, and blending with the dark shadows. The guard had just finished his patrol and was chatting to his amigo. They sounded relaxed, no suspicions that a ton of crap was about to descend on their heads. Raider slid forward and murmured to Al beside him.

  "About now would do it."

  "Roger that."

  They wore civilian clothes, dark pants and T-shirts. Except Al, who wore a brightly colored Mexican shirt loud enough to be heard in Mexico City. He walked out into the light and started to stagger.

  "Que pasa?" the challenge rang out as they spotted him, "Quién es?"

  Al started making an incomprehensible noise, kind of like drunken singing, as he swayed from side to side. He could have been one of Torres' many soldiers returning from a late drinking session in Cancun. They would assume he probably was. After all, they'd all had a skin full, one time or another.

  "Puta de mierda!" he slurred. Fucking whore. The accent was terrible, but he was supposed to be drunk. "Abrir la puerta!"

  The guards exchanged a smile, and one began to unlock the gates. The moment he turned his back, Waite was on him like a charging panther. Black, fast, and deadly, racing out of the night. The other guard stared for several seconds, not believing his eyes. He watched Waite knifing his comrade to death and started to react. Raider was behind him, ready to spring. As the Mexican went for his weapon, his combat knife was already curving around the man's throat, and his lifeblood splashed into the dust.

  Waite's victim was dead, and they pulled the bodies out of sight. Raider waved a signal to Joe. He let off the parking brake and the jeep rolled even closer to the compound. He glanced around. They were still clear.

  "We're going in."

  They crept through the opened gates and found the compound deserted. The main house was a gothic monstrosity, a collection of turrets, towers, and crenellations, intended to look like a thirteenth-century Spanish castle. Instead, it looked more like something designed for a Disney theme park. To one side there was a long, low building with large wooden doors. It had to be the garage. On top of the garage was another floor, probably the dormitory for the guards.

  He led the way to the house across neat, manicured lawns. The patio still had the remains of the previous night's meal displayed on ornate, wrought iron tables, with dishes and food left for the next morning. A gray squirrel was helping himself to the leftovers, but he sprinted away as the armed men approached.

  Sensible.

  Raider pointed at the double garden doors. "Waite, open them up."

  The big man used his knife to lever them open. He went inside, and seconds later came out and gave a hand signal. They were clear. They slipped inside the house and looked around the huge, barn-like room. It was lit by a fish tank; a monstrous affair that took up almost an entire wall. Behind the glass, ugly, wide-mouthed fish swam lazily through the water, their monstrous mouths betraying fine, needle sharp teeth. Piranhas.

  They jerked around on hearing a noise close by. A man was asleep on the couch, and he'd started to snore. Next to him, a girl was crouched in a ball on the floor, hugging her knees. She was awake. Waite stepped forward, and his Sig made a slight noise as he put a round in his forehead. Raider leaned down over the girl. Her eyes were wide, terrified. He pointed at the unmoving body of the man and murmured, "Who is he?"

  Her voice was barely audible. "Torres."

  Bull’s eye! Scratch one drug dealer.

  "Where is Senor Vann?" he whispered.

  She pointed up to the room directly above them. "Secunda puerta."

  He nodded. "Gracias, Senorita. Ahora, vamos! Comprendas?" Get out of here.

  "Si."

  She took a last, fearful glance at the corpse, and then spat on the face. A second later, she was out of the open window and running like a gazelle. Waite gave him a reproving glance for letting her go, but he shook his head.

  We don't make war on innocent civilians. Not now, not ever.

  They stole out of the room and started up the staircase. The door they wanted was in front of them. Waite positioned himself at one side, Al at the other, and then Raider put a hand on the doorknob. He turned, and the door opened. He walked inside and stopped. A single table lamp that provided a dim glow faintly lighted the room, and enough to see Paul Vann flanked by his bodyguards. They were all armed with submachine guns, and all pointed at him.

  "You came."

  "Yeah. To kill you."

  He shrugged and looked at the guns of his men. "It looks like that could be a problem."

  "I'm not alone, Vann."

  "No. You and your men standing outside the door, I'm giving you a choice. Get out now, all of you, and you can live. Stay here, and you die."

  He heard the sound of men, at least ten of them, running toward them from the upper floors. Vann smiled. "Yes, there are plenty of men, more than enough to finish off you and your friends."

  "I'm not leaving without the Putin file, Vann. That's non-negotiable."

  "Really? Putin got you over a barrel, has he?"

  He didn't reply. Vann called to the guards in Spanish and told them to hold. Then he looked back at Raider.

  "What if I don't have the file?"

  "Then we start shooting."

  His face became serious. "I'll make a deal. You get out of here, and I'll toss it down to you from the window."

  "How do I know you'll do as you say?"

  He looked pained. "Do you think I don't know what would happen if I double-crossed you?"

  "And if it's another fake? What then?"

  "It isn't. Besides, the result would be the same. You'd come back for me. That's why I'll deal, John. You wouldn't renege and come back to kill me, no matter what. If you agree, I know you'll keep your word."

  Raider nodded. "It's a deal, Vann. You'll stay away from Abigail?"

  "She's not my granddaughter, as you know. Besides, I'll be a long way away."

  "Good enough. Be ready with that file. Waite, Al, hold your fire. We're leaving. Vann, tell your dogs to ease back."

  "I will. It's a pleasure doing business with you, John."

  He shouted another order, and the men in the passage returned to the third floor. Raider slipped out without a word and closed the door.

  "We collect the file outside. Then we're
out of here."

  They went fast down the staircase and into the garden. Vann had the window open, and the file dropped down and landed on the grass. He picked it up, and they retreated into the shadows of a pool house.

  "You reckon that's it?"

  "He'd be a fool to try anything. He knows we'd kill him, even if we took casualties. This is it. Finito."

  He called Joe. He answered immediately.

  "Joe."

  "Raider. We're done."

  "Do you have it?"

  "Only the file, but it'll have to do. Your friends can copy it before it's returned to Putin. Come and get us."

  "I'm on the way."

  They heard the jeep engine start up, and the engine noise became louder as he approached the compound. Bullets cracked out from the windows above the garage and began to chew up the grass around them.

  "The natives are getting restless," Waite murmured, "They'll hit the jeep when Joe drives inside, and they'll cut him to pieces."

  "Right. We have to slip out and meet him before he gets inside the gate. I'll give him a call."

  He pressed the speed dial, and it went to answerphone.

  "Shit, he can't hear over the noise of the engine. We have to go out to meet him."

  They crawled along the drive, keeping low and out of the hurricane of gunfire lashing the open compound. Raider looked up as a shooter appeared in the window, firing his assault rifle at shadows. If they shot back, they'd become a target. He gazed at the distant hotel where Dragan lurked on the roof. There was a direct line of sight. He keyed the phone.

  "This is Dragan. Are you in trouble down there?"

  "Some. Can you make out the long, low two-story building, looks like a garage?"

  "I see it."

  "The shooters are on the second floor. Take them out."