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

by J E Higgins

  Her plan was simple. Slipping one of their own people onto the DEA’s joint American-Mexican-British operation, they waited until they had a worthwhile target. When her operative, Sergeant Cameron Ashler, identified a viable target, they would strike. After Ashler reported the discovery of the Santiago Shipping Company, she set to work immediately dispatching her unit to surveil the headquarters of the company while their colleagues in military intelligence and GCHQ developed intelligence on the target. As they gathered the information, the commando force was lined up and prepared to take action. This night would be the culmination of all their work.

  Heading down the narrow walkway, she made her way to a room filled with state-of-the-art communication equipment. Two men dressed in blue slacks and light blue T-shirts manned the machinery. Upon her entry, one of the men, the older of the two with a close-cut crop of salt and pepper hair, looked up and noticed her. “Ma’am.” He addressed her in a familiar manner. “We’ve got comms with the recce teams on the ground.” His accent was rough and betrayed the cockney origins of his East Londoner upbringing. “They’re ready to initiate the decoy on your order.”

  “Tell them to hold off,” she commanded. “They’ll initiate once our strike force is in place and not before.”

  “Aye ma’am,” the older man replied just before he turned toward his equipment to relay her orders. As he did, Major Dijoubi leaned against the frame of the hatch. In a few minutes a major raid was going to occur, one that would rock the foundations of the Western Hemisphere. And, if successful, the world would never know the British even had a hand in it.

  Rainn Darson stood hunched over the large laminated picture covering over half of the long folding table in the center of their headquarters. It was an enlarged aerial photograph of the port and offices of the Santiago Shipping company. In remarkable detail, it identified everything with clear imagery. Again, she had to thank the British and their agencies for coming through on needed information.

  Ashler stood off to the side, keeping his distance as he scrutinized the surveillance shot with his own professional expertise. Across the table, Kenner and Salvaras watched in silence as their boss looked over the details of the photo, occasionally jotting a few notes in a small notebook. The rest of the agents were at their work stations reviewing intelligence and typing reports to be sent back to their respective agencies regarding the progress of their operation.

  Having determined that Santiago Shipping was key to the mission’s success, Darson had been tirelessly planning a raid. A move that would result in arrests that, hopefully, would bring them closer to getting evidence on the Black Crow leadership. The results of their last raiding venture had borne little useful fruit as most of the information was destroyed and most of the clerks and office workers were kept too compartmentalized to really know what they were working on.

  In the wake of the raid, the Black Crow responded in a predictable fashion, closing ranks, moving operations to new locations, and tightening security by adding more secrecy to their movements and operations. In the few weeks since the raid, it seemed as if the whole organization had just vanished. Santiago was in truth their only lead at the moment.

  “Where does the Mexican army stand on this?” Salvaras asked, peering at the mane of black hair that covered Darson’s head.

  “Colonel Cassero is being about as open with his information as he can,” she said acidly, not believing her own words.

  Picking up on her distrustful attitude, Ashler pushed the issue. “You don’t think our counterpart might be in the cartel’s pocket?” He shifted his eyes to the other three people at the table making it clear that the question was open to anyone to answer.

  “Doubtful,” Salvaras replied. “If he were on the take, he sure as shit wouldn’t have let us take down that mansion with all that information at risk of being discovered. He would have warned them we were coming well in advance to ensure there was nothing of value. Or, at the very least, he would have had his people with us at all times to ensure we found nothing.”

  Salvaras was referring to his time in Colombia when corrupt cops and military assisting on raids would dispose of the evidence by miraculously lobbing explosives or spraying all the computer systems with gunfire as well as those who were operating them guaranteeing no viable intelligence could be obtained. The police would then simply claim it to be an accident done in the heat of the moment; it became the perfect cover-up. “Otherwise, our good partner would be committing himself to a death sentence for allowing us to get our hands on even this much.”

  Ashler folded his arms as he bobbed his head from side to side as a way of indicating he accepted the answer.

  “No, the better explanation is that he’s playing this close to the vest himself,” Kenner chimed in. “He’s working with foreigners who are operating in his country because both of our governments are applying immense political pressure. While he’s inclined to fight the cartels, he’s probably not so eager that foreign cops are operating in his country with a certain amount of independence. Besides, there’s a history of American agents coming into Latin American countries and acting like wild cowboys. He’s probably unsure about us to some degree, and I assume he’s handing over intelligence as he sees fit and not just catering to our wishes.”

  “All rather intriguing, I might say,” Ashler stated with an air of sarcasm that was not appreciated by the two DEA agents.

  “Our display at our last raid didn’t exactly endear us to them as professionals,” Darson added, her head still buried in the photograph. “Though it was a joint operation, I’m sure they blame us entirely for the lack of any real evidence or information we acquired. We need to make sure that our next operation yields better results.”

  “We have the Mexicans outside,” Joseph Pierce said, staring at the security cameras showing a bunch of uniformed soldiers standing impatiently near the door.

  “Buzz them in,” Darson commanded. The door to the room swung open as Colonel Cassero marched through with an authoritative stride, his subordinates following closely behind.

  “What do you know about the fiasco last night?” he growled in his accented English as he stomped over to where Darson was just sliding off the table to meet him.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, utterly confused looking questioningly back at him. “What fiasco?”

  Cassero pushed dismissively past the other two DEA agents as he stopped just inches from Darson. He studied her for a long period of time as if trying to determine whether to believe her or not before deciding to continue. “Early this morning someone attacked the headquarters of the Santiago Company. They sank all the ships, killed several of their security and staff and obliterated their headquarters. The whole fucking place looks like a war zone right now! What do you know about it?”

  “Well, it obviously wasn’t us,” Kenner answered as if it were a foregone conclusion.

  To which the Colonel turned his head slowly to glare at him. “Was I speaking to you?” he growled, as his eyes bore into the DEA agent. “I believe I addressed the question to the one in charge of this unit, and that is not you!” He then turned back to face Darson, baring the same burning glare. “I want to hear this from you. I just got back from there. It was a commando raid done by professionals. So, is the American government resorting to military action against the Black Crow?”

  Darson resisted speaking immediately. She knew her answer would be crucial to the future of the operation. Cassero didn’t expect her to answer yes to such a question. What was important was that he believed her answer. Her response would direct the future of the operation. “If the US were responsible for this, they had no help from us. We know nothing about this.” Her face remained stoic as she stared back at the colonel. He studied her face meticulously for several seconds during which time the whole room was uncomfortably silent.

  Then, taking a few steps back, the colonel nodded. He turned his head and continued his examination of the others around the t
able and then the rest of the room. Satisfied, at least a little that he was being told the truth his temper began to subside. He slid his hands behind his back creating a more commanding presence. “Then, you should be apprised of the situation. The Santiago Company has been attacked. There were numerous casualties, all appearing to be soldados of the Black Crow. As I said, their cargo ships were sunk, and the offices on the docks were completely destroyed. Having gone through the wreckage myself, I can tell you that whatever we hoped to gain has been destroyed.”

  The colonel’s words smacked Darson like the blow from a powerful fist. She stepped back a few paces to gain some space as she searched mentally for a reply. Her next phrases were a litany of confusing half sentences. She turned her attention towards Kenner and Salvaras. The blank stares that they returned told her that they had no better idea of what to think then she did. Finally, after her initial failed attempts, she was able to get her thoughts out more coherently, “I don’t know anything about this, Colonel.” Her voice held a strong hint of defeat. “I don’t even have any idea who it could have been.”

  Cassero pursed his lips. Apparently, he was just as much at a loss for words. Both of them were well aware of what this new onset meant for their operation. The Santiago Shipping Company had been it, all of it. Now it was gone, and the Black Crow would reorganize its operation with heightened security, essentially leaving them back at square one.

  “I’ll arrange for your team to tour the sight,” Cassero began, unsure what exactly to do next.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Darson replied, her face reflecting the same defeated look. “There’s no point.”

  “Very well,” the colonel replied. “I have to report back to headquarters. I wanted to discuss the matter with you first before I briefed them.”

  “No doubt they’ll be interested in our reaction,” Darson suggested.

  Cassero nodded slightly, “They will want to know what you had to say. I will tell them that we need to regroup and figure out our next step.”

  “That’s where we are right now,” Darson pursed her lips tightly as she tried to hold back her frustration.

  The Colonel exited the team’s headquarters, this time in a slow deliberate manner. The steel door slammed shut behind him.

  “Where do we go from here?” Kenner asked, unsure what else to do at the moment. “With the precautions they are taking, you can expect it to take months to get a read on them. And you can bet they’ll have their resources keeping a much closer eye on us than before.” He was referring to the vast network of corrupt police the cartel paid handsomely for intelligence.

  Since raiding the mansion, there had been a sudden wave of inquiries coming from the municipal and state police as well as a few formal requests out of the state prosecutor’s office demanding to review all that had been salvaged from the raid. There had also been several requests to have officers from their departments brought onto the team to aid in the operation. It was all string-pulling by the cartel wanting to infiltrate the operation. With the assault on Santiago Shipping, it was expected those demands would intensify.

  Having collected herself, Darson looked around the room as she worked to present a more commanding persona. “The first thing we have to do is figure out who was responsible for the attack,” she stated as if having an epiphany. “Right now, we’re assuming this was carried out as some military operation. What if this was the work of a new rival making a move on the Black Crow’s business?”

  The room was silent as minds shifted to this new direction. “To what purpose?” Salvaras spoke up, in a quiet voice. “The Black Crow is way too entrenched in this part of Mexico. Making a move at this time would be nothing short of an all-out war, tantamount to a costly suicide mission. I just don’t see it.”

  “We can’t entirely rule the idea out,” Ashler stated with firm resolve. “Even if it’s not an all-out assault on the organization. We have to admit, what we know about their operation and how important Santiago Shipping is. This act definitely strikes a blow to their overseas operation.”

  “We should wait,” Cassandra Holden emerged from her workspace and walked over to the table where the discussion was being held. “When I worked organized crime cases, gangsters were always taking swipes like this at each other, sometimes for utterly idiotic reasons. I found that getting wrapped up in investigating who-dunnit jobs like this often amounted to a colossal waste of time.”

  “Are you saying that we should just ignore this?” Darson was horrified by the suggestion.

  “No, I’m saying right now we’re just speculating and don’t have enough information to determine anything,” Holden snapped. “Was this a move by another organization, was this an internal problem of some kind or was this a covert military operation none of us knew anything about? What we are discussing is all just speculation at this point. And, if it’s speculation, then it gets us nowhere.”

  “Look, I realize this attack just destroyed our best lead and has left us with nothing to fall back on. This situation is making us desperate and wanting to grasp at anything right now. We need to recognize our handicap; we’re dealing with a ghost. Even in the US, it would be hard to figure out what happened, and we’re here in Mexico with too many things working against us.”

  “So, what are you suggesting?” Kenner approached, then edged himself into a sitting position on the table, shooting a look at the FBI agent that suggested she was out of her league discussing this.

  Undeterred, Holden continued, “I’m saying we should wait and see where this is leading. I’ve found gangsters can often be our best allies in unraveling these things. Either we can expect more of these attacks which will let us get a better picture of what we’re dealing with, or the Black Crow will do our legwork for us finding out who is behind this attack. Then we can figure out how to prioritize our actions.”

  Darson looked back at Kenner, then Salvaras, and then Cassandra. Everyone nodded in agreement. Holden was right; they needed to wait for the next action.

  Chapter 20

  Crane and Harkness crawled the last few meters to get into position. Their blanket-sized ghillie suits were draped over their bodies masking them and their movements. The skillful craftsmanship of the suits and meticulous attention to detail made sure that they blended perfectly into their surroundings making them literally invisible. They had recced the area enough times in the last few days that finding their way had practically become second nature.

  In the encroaching darkness, it helped immensely being able to rely on second nature to help find their direction. The lighting around the camp was just enough to allow the guards and workers the ability to see what they were doing and little more. Solar blankets were hung over them and lined the eaves of the buildings to deter any heat signature that might get picked up by surveillance planes or satellites that the US was constantly sending.

  Sliding into place, they were positioned perfectly at the crest of a small elevation point giving them a clear view of the camp. They were around a hundred and fifty meters from anything that might present itself as a target. The shrubbery gave them perfect concealment. When the attack began, they would have a cluster of overhanging trees that would allow them to move more quickly to cover the remaining distance between them and the camp while still enjoying a fair amount of concealment.

  Once in place, Crane gave three squelches over his comms system to alert the other teams. They were team three of the five teams that were quietly taking up positions surrounding the camp. They were each designated numerically as teams one through five. When a team was fixed in their designated spot, they squelched the number of their team designation. Crane and Harkness were team three. They had already received the confirmation signal from teams five and one, the Spanish and the Belgians. Crane figured that McNaulty and Kusaki were each half of the other two teams with the two Brits, were taking longer to reach their positions farther up the road leading to the camp. Once the assault kicked off a distress call woul
d be placed, and reinforcements would soon arrive. Guzman and Hidalgo Peron would likely be with them.

  Staring through his set of night vision binoculars, Crane scanned the area. Things at the camp were moving in the expected fashion with the guards walking about nearly oblivious to anything not happening in their purview. The few workers that remained consisted of chemists working in either of the two laboratories and a few men stacking bricks of cocaine into a shack that was serving as a makeshift warehouse.

  “Things look about normal,” Harkness whispered.

  “Yes, they do,” Crane replied. “So far Murphy’s Law has not seen fit to fall on us.”

  “Hopefully, it stays that way,” Harkness replied as he made his own scan with his binoculars.

  Crane could see no sign of Serona, Guzman’s chief enforcer. He was the one wild card in the deal as his presence at the camp was sporadic and unpredictable. Crane had hoped he would be there this evening. A vicious thug, more accustomed to using extreme violence than orderly command in the heat of an actual attack, he would only serve to create confusion and chaos that would work to the mercenaries’ favor. Instead, they were dealing with the man with shoulder length hair, who otherwise maintained control of the camp and, from what could be ascertained, possessed a good degree of competence. Though the guards were likely to run at the first sign of a serious attack, a halfway decent leader could still rally some of them to fight. In that case, just a few armed men running through camp defending the premises during the assault could complicate things greatly.

  Two squelches came over the comms system followed a few minutes later by three more, signaling the other two teams were now in place.

  “I reckon it’s time,” Harkness said as he lowered his binoculars and turned to face Crane.