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

by J E Higgins

  Crane didn’t respond so she continued, “It should also help establish our sincerity.”

  “And, when I get to Mexico?” Crane inquired.

  “Once you move your operation overseas you will be furnished with the name of another banker who will provide any needed funds for you in cash.” Her answer was quick and precise, clearly, another point she had anticipated in her own planning of this operation. Yes, she obviously knew what she was doing. “The details will be made available to you through Masseur Lahier.”

  “I have to warn you,” Crane cautioned, “this Black Crow group is vast and well-connected in Mexico. It may be too well connected for us to comfortably operate there. This operation may encompass more than Mexico.”

  “I’m aware of that possibility,” she said. “Since your operation may or may not be relegated entirely to Mexico, it is best that we keep our means of support flexible. Should you need to switch countries, we will ensure you have a source to acquire funds. But do not abuse our generosity. You come highly recommended with a good reputation for doing the job you were paid to do, which is why I’m being rather flexible with the money. I’ve not added any stringent demands to ensure that you don’t try to milk us. But I would take care though. If I get the feeling that those I represent are being played, we would be inclined to immediately cut funds leaving you and your men stranded. Or perhaps we would be inclined to do even more if we felt that you attempted to cheat us.”

  She looked at both men. “Now, I feel I have answered your general questions sufficiently. For anything more, you will work with the good colonel who will be our go-between. After I leave, you and I will have no further contact with each other.”

  “That works best,” Crane replied, keeping the discussion to the point. He appreciated that the woman hadn’t inquired about the details of his plans. He didn’t want to have the awkward discussion he usually had with such clients. How he carried out the mission was none of their concern if they weren’t coming along. He didn’t like giving information on his operation to anyone who wasn’t going to be in the thick of it. It could prove fatal if the client wasn’t careful in protecting the information, or no longer needed to.

  The Contessa Selena de Alvarez slid past him and elegantly walked out of the room. It was only when they heard the door shut that Lahier began speaking. “In truth, I was glad it was you that accepted this contract,” he said softly.

  “Should I be flattered?” Crane lifted his head towards the ceiling.

  The Frenchman continued. “In a way, you should be. You’re quite the gifted soldier Devon, which is something to be proud of.”

  “Is it now?” Crane replied dismissively. “These days, I’d assumed that soldiers were likened to Serbian war criminals considering how we tend to get treated by the enlightened elements of European society.”

  “That is Europe, my friend,” the older man scoffed. “In times of peace, we are embarrassments to the intellectual society. They like to think that all was achieved with artists and philosophers shaping the world with their bullshit, and militaries are but viscous machines of oppression comprised of mindless killers.”

  “Until they need us,” Crane interjected. “Even the most pacifist leaders in government eventually find us necessary for whatever agenda they’re pursuing.”

  “Down to business.” Lahier quickly changed the subject. “How do you see this mission?”

  “This one will be very complicated,” Crane stated sharply.

  “How do you plan to recruit for this?” Lahier inquired.

  “I have some familiarity with Latin American militaries.” Crane began. “I’ve worked with them on several occasions when I was in the Legion training in French Suriname. Some of those countries have good units that produce quality soldiers. Ideally, I would like to recruit local for something like this.

  “However, I’ve never worked as a mercenary in that region which means I’m not as familiar with how things work as I am with Africa or the Middle-East. I’m working in the cartel’s backyard and until I get a better feel for how connected they are in the region, I don’t want to do anything where my recruiting would draw attention.

  “After all, Black Crow and the newer cartels actively recruit from these same pools and likely keep tabs on the types of people I would be looking at for this operation. So, until I’m on the ground and have a firsthand understanding of who I’m dealing with, let’s keep the initial recruitment outside the region. With the kind of money any cartel could pay, I run a serious risk that someone would turn us in if they find out what we’re doing. I have some contacts down there though who I can trust to help me get up to speed with everything.”

  “That is probably why the Contessa was inclined to give you seed money for Europe.” Lahier leaned back in his seat.

  “That woman is no fool, she knows her business,” Crane stated.

  “That goes without saying,” Lahier quipped.

  Crane continued. “Surprisingly, she didn’t even blink when I quoted the price tag for this kind of operation. What’s more, she didn’t even try to negotiate or place any sort of stipulations or oversight on us. That’s a rarity in our world. Usually, the people who hire me are suspicious and always want to armchair general the operation or enforce some other way to ensure I don’t cheat them or just steal their money.”

  “Oh, don’t make that mistake.” Lahier turned his focus toward the doorway. “She didn’t make any such demands because she didn’t need to. The spooks and shady business types we usually work with like to think they’re seasoned experts able to separate truth from bullshit over a glass of beer. Someone like the Contessa doesn’t base important decisions on clandestine meetings with dubious characters such as the pair of us. I imagine she had thorough background checks done on you. She wouldn’t have offered you the job if she wasn’t sure you would carry it out. She would also have the ability to find and eliminate you if you should become problematic for her people. If you did steal from her, I doubt you’d get very far.”

  “I kind of figured that was the case.” Crane cracked a smile as he looked back at the Frenchman. “When it comes to the art of intrigue and back-alley politics in this business, Maurice Lahier is the grand master of the game.

  “What about equipment and supplies?” Lahier asked trying to bring the discussion back to the operation.

  Crane shrugged. “The region is awash with rebel groups, paramilitaries, foreign intelligence services, and criminal gangs all waging their own private wars. They buy military equipment in large and small quantities all the time from all sorts of dealers. It would be virtually impossible for the cartels to trace weapons back to a particular source. And, arms dealers don’t like questions about who they’re selling to or what their merchandise will be used for. Having information like that is a good way to get yourself killed.”

  “That’s the truth,” Lahier chuckled. “The black market in that part of the world thrives and is vastly more fluid than here in Europe.”

  “Besides, for a mission like this, we need to be agile and able to move quickly. That can’t happen if we have to be tied to any stationary means of support,” Crane stated.

  Lahier hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Whoever the Contessa is fronting for are very powerful and likely very dangerous people. You need to play this operation carefully.”

  “I always do,” Crane grinned as he started to leave.

  Chapter 11

  Trent Wurry had just been served his lunch when he was joined by Arthur Hechman. Wurry had reserved a private room at one of his favorite restaurants, the Claremont, for their meeting. It was a perfect location designed specifically for powerful people to enjoy an excellent meal while discussing important business in a discrete setting.

  Hechman entered the private dining room, leaving his security detail outside the glass double doors so it was just the two of them. They had decided to have the meeting away from their other two conspirators for whom neither had a high re
gard. They would meet with the other two after they hashed out the particulars of their course of action. The waiter finished laying out the cuisine and was quietly dismissing himself as the Deputy AG slipped into the chair next to his dining companion.

  “I’ve bought you some time.” Hechman opened the conversation wanting to avoid small talk and get down to business. Ever the cool operator, Wurry took a second to enjoy a bite of his lobster. He sucked the soft white meat from the fork into his mouth and chewed slowly. It was a well-practiced routine Hechman had seen several times in such meetings. It was a trick designed to project the image of power, experience, and being in complete control by not being perceived as concerned with an otherwise dire matter. This display of power did not impress him, however, he wasn’t about to look desperate by pressing the issue. Instead, he casually picked up a menu from the table and commenced reading it.

  Wurry swallowed his food and started digging for the next bite when he acknowledged the presence of his dining partner. “How so?”

  Still reading the menu Hechman began to explain. “I ordered a review of the evidence to determine the validity of arranging an extradition order. That will take several weeks at least providing we do everything as meticulously as possible. It will look like nothing more than thorough legal work. All in all, it should give us some breathing room to put things in place.”

  “Good,” Wurry said casually, as he started to tear off some more meat from the lobster carcass.

  Hechman continued. “I have also ordered the creation of a joint task force to go down to Mexico and work with the local authorities in trying to combat this Black Crow menace.”

  Having anticipated his companion’s reaction, Hechman sat calmly reading the menu. Wurry suddenly tensed up. “What the hell?” Wurry hissed, trying not to shout. “We don’t need any up-close eyes on this thing. Why would you send a damned task force into this of all things?”

  “A task force takes time to organize.” Hechman began. “Especially since the agent who has been responsible for this investigation has been placed in charge.”

  Wurry smiled as Hechman’s logic began to unfold. A joint task force would take time to organize. Recruiting agents from other agencies and bringing them all up to speed would take a couple of months at least. Then there was the issue of moving into Mexico and getting operational. In that time the focus would be on setting up, not on tackling the Black Crow organization.

  Noting that his companion had worked out the logic of the move and was satisfied with it, Hechman started with his own questions. “How far along are we with finding our own answer to the problem?”

  Wurry had resumed his meal. “I have an associate who has found potential candidates. I should be hearing back from him in a few days.”

  “Does this associate know what he’s doing?” Hechman asked, sitting back in his chair and looking his colleague up and down. “With all that’s at stake, we don’t need a fool screwing this up or creating another problem to replace the old one.”

  Lowering his fork, Wurry raised his hand calmly. “I’ve been doing this awhile and so has my associate. We’re recruiting from overseas to prevent our actions from being too close to home. The person I’m working with has good contacts that allow scoping out suitable options with all our concerns in mind. I’ve been privy to some of their meetings, so I’ve been able to make my own evaluation. I intend handling this more intelligently and cleanly than our other two friends did.”

  “Good,” Hechman replied. “What do our friends know so far?”

  The waiter returned balancing a silver tray with a glass of water on it. He carefully placed the glass down in front of the Deputy Attorney General. “I’ll be back to take your order, sir,” the young man said cheerfully.

  “Thank you,” Hechman replied cordially.

  Once the waiter disappeared, the two resumed their conversation. “Only what they need to know,” Wurry continued. “I prefer that we have things set in place before we tell the other two anything. That way we don’t waste time with pointless arguing. I would like to have them backed into a corner, so they can’t lose their nerve and weasel out. When we present this plan, I want nothing but cooperation.”

  “I agree,” Hechman resumed reading the menu.

  “What about the British?” Wurry asked, returning his attention to his meal.

  “They know we have more pull in Mexico than they do,” Hechman began. “So, now that we are in the process of taking action, they’re perfectly happy letting us take the lead on this so long as they have some of their people as part of the task force.”

  Wurry grinned. The task force was proving to be a true stroke of genius. It collected all the troublemakers in one group making it easier to keep an eye on them and slow everything down providing the necessary time for their own plans to fall into place.

  Kusaki Ito walked along the beach of Kourou French Guyana. It had been years since he had seen the place, and it looked as if hardly anything had changed. The town was still the same lazy summer village ─ a tourist site that rested comfortably on the coast of the Caribbean. It was almost impossible to believe that such a quiet place was home to so much activity as the European Space Agency’s main spaceport. Anyone passing through would think the whole place was nothing more than a ghost town. That was probably why he liked the town so much. He could enjoy the quiet solitude and peace.

  He had time to kill until his meeting and decided to enjoy time on memory lane. He walked casually along the trail just above the beach to avoid getting his shoes caked with sand. The tropical vegetation brought back so many reminders of his past life here. He looked at the dark water that appeared to be a large, black pit of nothingness this time of night.

  The evening brought a haunting silence with the beaches deserted and a dark, ghostly jungle corridor lit only with a faint trail of lights sporadically illuminating the pathway. Here in the still of the night, he could reflect on his life, seeing in the darkness the faces of men; men he had fought with and watched die on the battlefields; men and even some women and children whom he had sent to their ancestors.

  He had never been comfortable with the expectations of Japanese society. From an early age, he had known that he wanted to be a soldier. As a boy, he had been raised on the stories told by his grandfather about the country’s long esteemed warrior tradition of the samurai and the clever cunning of the shinobi ninja. In school he had devoured books discussing the country’s military history, the great naval wars fought for centuries with Russia, China, and Korea. He was most taken with the brilliant generalship of the twentieth-century commanders who led the country to be an empire in the world.

  His dreams were curtailed when he discovered that Japan’s Self-Defense Force had not seen any real combat since World War II and was, by his estimation, little better than a glorified reserve force. Its once proud tradition was nothing more than a distant memory. With no chance for a career as a true warrior of old in his own country, he thought his future was over.

  It was only by sheer chance that he stumbled upon a book while looking through his grandfather’s attic. The book was a Japanese print version of ‘March or Die’. It was the story about some men joining a group called the French Foreign Legion and fighting in the harsh deserts of North Africa. Kusaki was instantly taken with the raw toughness and perceptive intelligence of Major Sherman Foster. It was as if he had found the embodiment of who he wanted to be. He was also intrigued by this Foreign Legion group. An organization that fought in the harshest environments against the meanest types of enemies and was comprised entirely of foreign recruits, presented the answer to his problem.

  He delved into the study of this mysterious organization hoping that the fiction he had read matched the reality. To his utter delight, it did. The Legion’s reality proved to be everything and more than he expected. A professional military force, still in existence at the service of the French government, it had continued to see action all throughout the old French protec
torates as well as all the major conflicts of the twentieth century. It had developed like any sophisticated army, with armor units and light infantry paratroopers. He had become especially interested in the Legion’s 2nd Parachute Regiment, a group that offered exactly what he was looking for.

  Soon, he was devoting all his energies toward preparing for this modern-day band of warriors. He intensified his normal workout routines, testing himself against the harsh physical demands of the Legion. He was able to get into a school that offered French in its curriculum. Where other kids his age were getting involved in preparing for college or developing social lives, he was ensuring that he would be fully prepared for the life he intended to lead.

  Upon graduation, to his family’s dismay, he opted not to attend university. Instead, he planned to see his destiny come true. Having saved his money and acquired a passport, Kusaki Ito got on a plane bound for Paris, France. A week later he was standing before the large stone arch and steel-barred gates of Fort De Nogent, the recruitment depot of the Foreign Legion.

  He went through the initial vetting process with twenty other men of various nationalities and was surprised to find that out of the group only he and four others were selected. Within a few days, he was shipped to the small town of Aubagne in southern France near the city of Marseilles for three weeks of rigorous physical testing. He passed the litany of hurdles and was elated when he heard that he would move on to Castelnaudary and sixteen weeks of basic training.

  The rumors he heard of the horrors that were known to go on in this place only enticed him, and he grew disgusted at the recruits who recoiled at such stories. The sixteen weeks was every bit the arduous test he eagerly expected. He literally enjoyed the long pack runs with full gear in blistering hot weather coupled with the endless obstacle courses that followed. Kusaki thrived in this world and in the process felt the closeness to his warrior history he so deeply craved.