The Devil's Shadow: A Gun-for-Hire Thriller

by J E Higgins

Special Agent Rainn Darson marched down the central hallway of the El Paso Intelligence Center (EPIC) with a focused purpose. She was in no mood to be bothered by trivial issues or the small talk many seemed inclined to ambush her with. The stone-cold look on her face told anyone who passed her that much. Her eyes inexplicably darted from side to side as she passed each office door as if expecting someone to attack her at any moment. It was an awareness she had acquired from years working the streets as a field agent against the most powerful, violent narco syndicates in the world. It was one of several old habits that did not die easily.

  She strode through a door that led into a large room where a meeting was just in the process of ending. The room was a typical government office with the usual standard-issue furniture ─ some office chairs and a long particle board meeting table. Without saying a word, she stepped to the front of the room allowing the meeting attendees to filter out. Once they did, she found herself standing before three people who had gathered at the end of the table. One of those people was a large man with a neatly cut crop of silver hair wearing a dark suit. Dan Leveran looked more like a professional mob heavy than a senior liaison agent for the Drug Enforcement Administration. Beside him were his two assistants.

  Waving his hand, Leveran invited his subordinate to sit. Darson moved up and sank into a chair next to Robert Weston, one of Leveran’s subordinates.

  “The floor is yours Agent Darson.” Leveran opened with his distinct southern accent.

  Placing a large manila folder on the table, Darson quickly surveyed her audience to assess their attitudes. It was no small thing having the senior leaders at EPIC come to a meeting for her on such short notice. It was only that she had proved she possessed a keen mind and had been brilliant in her deductions when reviewing intelligence and criminal activity that she was given such leeway. So, when she requested that her boss set up an emergency meeting, Leveran agreed.

  After her quick view, she began. “For the last two years, there has been a significant influx of weapons coming into Africa from outside the traditional suppliers ─ the former Soviet Union and China. These weapons of American and Western European manufacture are now finding their way into the hands of violent warring militias. Eager to curtail this situation British intelligence had traced the source to Mexico.

  “The British have traced the origins of the suppliers back to several major seaports out of Veracruz. Martin Rankin, one of their people, had been on loan to the Special Intelligence Service, better known as MI-6, for a mission they were running in Mexico. He was a highly trained and experienced soldier whose service record covered nearly every hot spot in the world.

  “He was with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment which is an elite military unit that specializes in high-level covert surveillance and undercover missions. Back when they were the 14th Intelligence battalion they got their start conducting black ops missions in Northern Ireland, doing everything from undercover work in the hostile neighborhoods of Belfast to surveillance missions in Republican-dominated areas in the countryside. Since then they’ve done similar work in all the hell holes the British military is involved in.

  “Rankin had been brought in to develop the surveillance mission. His experience dealing with the Irish Republican Army and their weapons smuggling made him amply qualified in the eyes of the British intelligence service. For the last few months, he had been lurking around the Port of Veracruz observing the dealings and collecting intelligence on the network operating the arms transportation. A week ago, he vanished.”

  She opened the folder and produced a series of pictures that she passed around the table along with a report. The report discussed the death of Martin Rankin, a British national and former soldier with Britain’s elite 14 Intelligence Battalion. According to the report, which had been prepared by DEA agents operating in Mexico, Rankin’s body had washed up on the shores of Veracruz. The body had several disfiguring injuries that the medical examiner determined had been done post-mortem.

  “Jesus!” Leveran sighed as he reviewed the photographs of the body. “They’re never kind about this.” He said in an exhausted tone. A man who had seen many such deaths and, though he was not entirely callous, had accepted that there was nothing he or any of them would be able to do about it.

  Being a senior agent posted at the El Paso Intelligence Center (EPIC), the joint US agency intelligence hub for all criminal activity being tracked in the world, Darson like the rest at the table had been fully apprised of the operation from its inception.

  She continued “I’ve had a particular interest in this operation when the British determined the chief suspect for most of the trafficking to be the Black Crow cartel.” Mentioning the cartel had all heads at the table turn and look directly at her.

  The Black Crow cartel was a group that had been of interest to her for a long time. She had seen it emerge out of obscurity in 2009 to become one of the most powerful criminal organizations in Mexico. Much like the Las Zetas, Black Crow was comprised of former members of some of South America’s most elite military units. Its shadowy leader, Alvaro Gutiérrez, a former member of the Fuerzas Especiales, Mexico’s naval commandos, had directed a ruthless and brilliant campaign of strategic operations that had quickly been decimated to most of the competition on the eastern seaport.

  It was a mystery how the Black Crow gained the degree of information they accumulated on their adversaries. They had been able to locate and target the most sensitive nerves of their enemy’s operation, causing devastation each time, until the rivals could no longer continue. Seeing the rise of this group and the new level of violence they brought to the streets was more than alarming.

  Darson had been avid in her own lobbying efforts to raise awareness of the growing danger of the Black Crow. She had written reports over the years outlining the danger the cartel posed and the need to make the arrest and prosecution of Gutiérrez a priority for the US Justice Department. Strangely, despite all of her evidence and analysis, she had continually been brushed off at higher levels. It was a frustrating bureaucratic clot that seemed to curtail her efforts.

  Darson continued. “I know this isn’t the first time I’ve raised this argument, but this time I feel the circumstances are much different.”

  Leveran raised his hand as if trying to quell some imaginary argument. “Agent Darson, agents sometimes die in the field. It’s just a fact of life in our world.”

  “Normally I would agree,” Darson nodded. “However, in this instance, this is more than just a US law enforcement officer being targeted. In this case, a British agent was murdered as part of a major intelligence operation undertaken by the British. They’ll want to see action taken on our part.”

  “I’m sorry,” one of the assistants interrupted, “but losing agents in the field is an occupational hazard.”

  “True,” Leveran said. “The threat of immense US backlash and retaliation no longer safeguards agents operating in the cartel’s backyard. Hell, they freely place bounties on the heads of all US law enforcement agents working in the Southwest from which we see all sorts coming over the border trying to collect. Even soldiers from the Mexican army have come across the border a few times and shot at our border patrol agents trying to earn extra cash.”

  “Yes sir, and you would be right.” Darson calmly reassumed control of the conversation. “However, it’s not just about Rankin’s murder. It’s about the sale of large consignments of weaponry on the black market. The US and Western European military grade weapons that were supposed to go to South American armies are now finding their way to violent militias in Africa and the Middle-East. If US arms are being found in the hands of Boko Harem or their affiliates and we haven’t stopped the suppliers primarily responsible for it, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Still, don’t most cartels engage in some form of arms trafficking? What makes this so different?” The other assistant interjected.

  “Not on the extensive global level we’ve been seeing from Black
Crow.” Darson was ready for the question. “Most cartels still keep their business in the Western Hemisphere, making it our problem, but they also supply other criminal syndicates. Black Crow is selling large quantities of weapons not just abroad but to several radical groups and militias, militias that frequently practice mass slaughter and genocide.”

  “Even then,” the assistant questioned, “aren’t there plenty of Eastern European syndicates pouring weaponry into these same groups?”

  “Yes.” Darson looked at the man with a cold stare. “But the world expects black marketeering from states that are nearly defunct, especially when a lot of that weaponry is antiquated Soviet hardware. In this case, these weapons originated from our own military and wound up in the hands of the bad guys. When it’s state-of-the-art equipment that significantly heightens the threat.”

  “Now, you’ve made a compelling argument,” Leveran interjected as he tapped his fingers against the table. “The British are speaking to their embassies about what they’ve found and coupling that with the death of one of their own. If they review what they have on the Black Crow cartel and determine it is a serious threat that we’ve allowed to fester, there’ll be hell to pay. And worse yet, with what they’ve shared with us and we still didn’t act ─ my God, I don’t want to think what will happen if we don’t jump on this.”

  “Which is why we have to,” Darson said as she leaned over the table and looked at her boss intently. “We need to move against the Black Crow cartel. We need to push extradition charges against Alvaro Gutiérrez and show that we’re taking this seriously. We also need to allocate more resources toward combating the Black Crow cartel.”

  “I agree,” Leveran replied, changing his finger tap to an outright rap. “We need to press this issue and get on top of it or it will definitely get on top of us. I’ll relay this to the Administrator and recommend we push this with the Justice Department.” He stood up and raised his finger in Darson’s direction. “Rainn, you’ve been the one closest to this. Write up a new report complete with the recent death of Mr. Rankin and whatever findings the British made in the course of the operation. We’ll send it along to push the urgency of the matter.”

  “Yes, sir. And, what about the British? Do we forward any reports and try to discuss this issue with them as well?”

  Leveran took a thoughtful breath as he sank his hands into his pockets. “Ahh, this is a delicate situation, a report like that could make serious waves. Best not to make anything official by sending it to the embassy yet.” Contemplating, he moved his head from side to side. “But, since we’ve been given no directive regarding protocol for how to deal with this and we are working with the British intelligence boys as you’ve pointed out…” He looked at her slyly. “If it happens to find its way into the hands of those we’re working with in unofficial discussions… well then, we were just doing our job here sharing information with another agency like EPIC’s supposed to do. If the boys back in Washington get pissed, then we’ll just have to say sorry, shit happens.”

  Darson smiled. Her boss could be one wily man when he wanted to be. The meeting was finished in utter silence. Leveran slipped out the door followed closely by his assistants leaving Darson alone to gather her documents. She felt a slight sense of triumph as she looked at one of the grizzly pictures of Rankin’s mutilated corpse lying on a stainless-steel bed. They would have to act on the problem now.

  Still, there was a feeling of despair. She had written well-detailed reports before, outlining the dangers of Black Crow, and while her campaign had gained traction at EPIC, it had always died in the bureaucracy in Washington D.C. She didn’t want to get her hopes up and celebrate something that took the horrible death of a decent person to get.

  She collected her documents and exited the room. What she hadn’t told her boss was that the report he wanted had been written days ago. She didn’t want to appear too eager.

  Chapter 5

  2018.

  The warm coastal breeze coming in off the waters of the Gulf of Guinea felt like a God-send for the mercenaries as they climbed up the side of the jagged hill. Their full tactical kits and heavy rucksacks weighted them down. But it was more than just a refreshing feeling, it was the sign they had reached the end of what had been an exceedingly arduous journey. Having spent the last hour traversing the tough mountainous terrain of Cameroon in the dead of night, they were all feeling the soreness and exhaustion that comes with such exertion.

  With fifteen feet to go before reaching the top, the group leader, Devon Crane held his men back to take a break as he pressed forward. With the aid of some shrubbery and a jagged rock formation, he was able to keep his outline camouflaged as he peeked over the side to look down at the camp below. The encampment was a primitive makeshift setup located along the coast. Wedged between thickets of trees and partially shrouded by the surrounding mountains it would have easily been passed over as nothing more than a remote fishing village or junker port for local boatmen if it had been noticed at all.

  Though primitive, the village maintained a reasonably sophisticated lighting system. Lights that were strung up with electrical wires lined the ‘roadways’ and walking paths throughout the village. In the absence of any door or window covers, he could make out the slight flickering of lights coming from inside some of the huts where televisions were being watched or computers were being used. He figured this was the main operational headquarters.

  One would hardly conceive that this backward village was the headquarters for one of the most active pirate operations on the West African coast. Only two years ago this group of French-speaking Cameroons was just a disorganized collection of amateur operators raiding European fishing trawlers. Under the leadership of Jean Marquis Rousseau, a man who was rumored to have been an officer in the Fusiliers Marins Commandos (Naval Commandos) of the army of Cote D’Ivoire, they had swiftly emerged as a well-organized and sophisticated criminal syndicate taken to seizing numerous cargo ships with high-value cargos.

  Far from their appearance as primitive fishermen, this group had adopted the use of cyber technology and recruited gifted hackers who were able to tap into the computer systems of major ports in Europe and the Middle-East to obtain shipping schedules and cargo manifests of ships that would be coming within range in the Gulf of Guinea. With better targeting and more professional tactics employed, they had seized cargos worth millions in just a few short months.

  When they hijacked a ship carrying a consignment of weapons from a Brazilian arms manufacturer that was supposed to go to the Angolan military, the Brazilians decided to take matters into their own hands. Through intermediaries, the company reached out to certain people who specialized in the business of brokering soldiers for hire outside the realm of private military companies. The Brazilians wanted to retaliate without having to worry about international political blowback. These brokers reached out to Crane to deal with the problem.

  Looking through his night vision binoculars, Crane scanned a green illuminated version of the camp. He was surprised by the order that existed in the deceptive chaos. Armed men moved about in a seemingly arbitrary manner one would expect in a pirate camp or rebel base ─ their weapons slung lazily over their shoulders either at their backs or bouncing across their thighs and groin area. Although this gave the appearance of disorganization, Crane couldn’t help notice that the locations where they congregated were of strategic significance.

  Several pirates were positioned at areas near the high cliffs and other places that would be choice spots for any naval commando force looking to breach the camp through the waterways. He also noticed that several meters out in the water were flotation devices placed in close proximity to each other manned with large floodlights that illuminated the surrounding water. The combination of guards on the high ground and a flood of lighting at all the beach areas ensured that a waterborne landing by commandos was out of the question.

  He took note of the boats floating in the harbor. The occupan
ts were busy dumping large buckets of chum over the side. It was feeding time for sharks that liked to hunt for food at night. The chum attracted them into the bay. The pirates had learned from years of raids by some of the world’s most elite commando groups how to protect themselves.

  Just like professional militaries, rebel and criminal groups conducted after-action reviews to determine how their adversaries had planned their assaults. And, like professional militaries, they learned from their experiences. Hence the lighted waterways to thwart movement with watercraft, placing people in locations that commandos might viably breach, and attracting a band of hungry sharks to deter commandos trying to penetrate underwater.

  Crane lamented with a low sigh as he watched. It would have been the ideal means of infiltrating the camp had it not been anticipated by the enemy. “Our boys are here.” He heard a voice with a London accent whisper into his communication earpiece. It was the voice of Dugan McNaulty, a tough scrapper from London’s East End who had served with Crane in the combat ranks of the French Foreign Legion.

  Slowly and quietly, he slid back down to the rest of his team. By now they had been joined by two other figures draped in baggy ghillie suits and cradling long sniper rifles. They were part of a pre-set reconnaissance team that had been placed sometime earlier. The last few months had been devoted to an aggressive intelligence gathering campaign. Maps and books about the region were scrupulously reviewed along with any reasonably recent photos of the area to help build a plan.

  In addition, teams of former scout snipers who had been part of the French Foreign Legion’s elite 2e Regiment Etranger de Parachutistes had been sent in to recce the location and provide fresh intelligence for Crane and his men to work from. Four teams of two operated in the area keeping watch on the camp from all angles around the perimeter. They spent days observing the pirates, recording their findings by drawing sketches of enemy positions and jotting down notes of significant movement. The information was then photographed with a cell phone and emailed to Crane at his headquarters in Ghana, another country situated on the Gulf of Guinea. It wasn’t the most sophisticated method, but it was effective.