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

by J E Higgins

  Returning to the office, Wurry made a long-distance call to the Contessa through their usual encrypted means. He wasn’t worried. He figured the concerns being raised by Dasher and Tenison could be blamed on rivals. They had hoped the whole operation would amount to a quiet search for the target followed by a quick surgical assassination.

  But having spent considerable time negotiating the dark criminal worlds on behalf of companies and government agencies, Wurry knew better. The Contessa had promised that this would not be done overnight. It would be a slow and methodical operation. Events were proving her right.

  The problem would be convincing the two intelligence men that they needn’t take any additional action. They were already uncomfortable working in this dark world of shadowy contractors and off the books operations where they had no direct control. In his communication with her, he didn’t expect to have a full brief but at least enough information that he could use it to quell the concerns of his fellow conspirators.

  It was late afternoon when he arrived at the usual meeting spot in James Dasher’s home. Tenison’s and Hechman’s cars were parked along the side of the road and had become a rather familiar sight. Wurry assumed they had arrived only a short time before he did. That probably meant that they hadn’t had time to discuss any matters of importance without him. Hopefully, Hechman was quelling whatever dire scenario was being concocted by the two intelligence men.

  Heading up to the door, Wurry was met by Dasher immediately, who was visibly irritated. “You made it,” was all he said to the lawyer before waving him to enter. As they walked down the hall toward the meeting room door, they could hear the distinctly southern flavored voice of Tenison as he railed loudly. The thick door made it difficult to make out his exact words, but it was easy to guess what was being discussed.

  Dasher opened the door to reveal Tenison standing and waving his arm with index finger extended as if practicing making a speech. Hechman was sitting in a soft leather chair nursing a drink listening with mild interest. Tenison stopped in mid-sentence the moment he realized the other two men had entered the room. He turned to greet them. “We were just discussing the recent attack at Veracruz.”

  “I gathered,” Wurry said indifferently as he followed Dasher into the room. He made his way to the small bar set up in the corner. Pouring himself a small glass of gin, he noticed the room had gone silent, he could feel all eyes were on him. He knew the topic that was on everyone’s mind but decided he was going to wait and let them raise their concerns. He had only taken the first sip of his drink when Tenison spoke up. “The people you hired seem to be raising all kinds of hell. And, so far, it’s gained a lot of attention yet hasn’t seemed to have solved our problem.”

  Wurry kept his back to the deputy-director as he continued to nurse his drink in a calm casual manner. He had made the decision that he was going to first enjoy a decent libation before being subjected to the inevitable inquisition he was about to endure. The room was dead silent for the next few seconds as Wurry savored the last few drops of gin and placed his glass on the table. “What exactly did you expect?” he asked with a slightly sarcastic voice that only seemed to irritate Tenison, who pursed his lips as he glared back at the attorney.

  The deputy-director said nothing though, and Wurry took it as a sign that he still had control of the meeting. He looked over the rest of the room. Dasher, with a nervous look that he was trying to conceal, had taken a chair and was silently watching him. Hechman was sitting in his chair with his hands wrapped around his glass of bourbon while eyeing the attorney and the deputy-director with exasperation and a clear indication that he wanted to get down to business.

  Wurry continued, “Gutiérrez is not an easy target. He’s well entrenched in Mexico and takes many security precautions. On top of that, we have a joint-agency task force operating with the Mexican army breathing down his neck and watching his organization very closely. This was never going to be a simple matter of solving the problem with a single surgical strike. It was always going to be a complicated operation that involved a well-planned strategy and a delicate approach to accomplish what we need to be done.

  “The actions taken by our contractors, loud and egregious as they may have been, have served us better for the long run. The raid on Santiago Shipping could have been the nail in the coffin on this deal if agent Darson and her team had hit it before our operatives and found something that could have connected us to the Black Crow. Any such findings and Mexico would have honored an extradition request at that point. Now, her team is stymied with no avenues to pursue and that has bought us more time.”

  After his conversation with the Contessa earlier that day, Wurry was sure that the raid on Santiago Shipping had been done by someone other than her people. However, with his cohorts attitudes being the way they were he certainly was not going to volunteer such information. Doing so would only create panic and possibly force unneeded action. Besides, with the knowledge that the attacks in Peru were the actions of Ms. Chase’s hired contractors, the attorney thought it best to present all of it as the actions of their own mercenaries and allow the illusion that this was all part of a larger plan and totally under control.

  Dasher and Tenison seemed to breathe a little easier, somewhat satisfied with the explanation. “I’m still not entirely comfortable with the situation,” Dasher chided. “All these attacks have struck hard against Mr. Gutiérrez. Are we sure nothing is raising his suspicions that it’s our doing?”

  Wurry moved to the center of the room, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “As you know, Gutiérrez has reached out demanding intelligence on who the mysterious attacker is. The intelligence we’ve supplied him has been fabricated and points the blame at a Colombian cartel that we’re saying is expanding their activities in the Caribbean. They see the Black Crow as an affront for some reason.”

  “And he believes it?” Dasher was astonished.

  Wurry nodded, “Several Mexican cartels have not been pleased with the supply chain of cocaine coming out of Colombia and have been steadily moving their operations south in an effort to take over the production chain. It was an easy sell to intimate that a Colombian organization trying to build its network in the Gulf might be threatened by the possibility of Black Crow moving to do the same.”

  Dasher continued to look puzzled. “I’m just surprised. I would have thought it would have been more difficult.”

  “In the long run, it will be,” Wurry continued. “At first, the intelligence we were feeding him was directed to cartel operations in Mexico and in the regions he was operating in. It was very easy for him to quickly verify the authenticity of our information. At a time when he was dealing with the Iranians and the Pakistanis, we couldn’t afford to try and double cross him.

  “This time we’re reporting that a group is operating out of Colombia, not in his back yard. It takes more time and resources to verify our intelligence. The additional attack in Peru and the chaos it has caused is also diverting his attention. Altogether, it buys us time and has him thinking that he still has the upper hand on us.”

  “I do wish we had more oversight of this operation,” Tenison grimaced. “I don’t like supporting an operation that I don’t know anything about or have any control over.”

  “You know we can’t,” Hechman argued as he placed his bourbon on a small table to the side. “Too close of a connection is what got us here in the first place. The whole point of this hands-off approach is so we don’t replace one problem with another.”

  “Exactly,” Wurry resumed control of the conversation. “Enough distance has been placed between us and the operatives in the field so no one can implicate anyone and make themselves a liability. Our operatives don’t know who exactly hired them, and we don’t know who we actually have in the field doing this. Everyone is protected. You’re in my world now, gentlemen. This is what my clients and the intelligence community employ my services to do. This is why I’m the one directing this op
eration instead of any of you. Because full deniability in matters like this is what I am very good at.”

  The meeting ended with everyone in a rather icy mood and all parties taking their leave without even the pretense of pleasantries. Neither Dasher nor Tenison was fully convinced by Wurry’s explanation but they understood that they had no other recourse than to stay the course. Any other option would involve placing them in a position with too much risk and exposure. Their current plan was their only option.

  Wurry and Hechman exited the house together and proceeded to walk down the stone walkway to their vehicles.

  “You know they didn’t really believe me in there,” Wurry spoke up once they were out of earshot.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Hechman replied, as he kept his head facing forward. “In the end, you said what needed to be said to keep anyone from striking out with some desperate action of their own. Dasher doesn’t have the balls to try anything that might jeopardize his political future, but I can’t say the same for Tenison. He’s a black ops guy from the new school where direct action is more common and accepted. Operating through shadow contractors isn’t his thing, and he doesn’t like it. I’m sure that if he could find a way to work through agency assets to get the job done, he’d try it.”

  “That’s what I’m concerned about,” Wurry responded.

  “Me, I just want to keep my hands clean and get this behind us,” Hechman went on. “If we start going through official channels in any way, we open ourselves up to a ton of dangerous risks and someone would start putting two and two together. That’s why I’m behind you on this one.”

  “The people we’ve hired will get the job done given enough time,” Wurry explained. “My concern is the task force and agent Darson. She’s proving to be determined and intelligent; a lethal combination in this case.”

  Hechman nodded. “She is. But I’m keeping close tabs on her. And, as we discussed, she doesn’t have anything right now which buys us time, assuming your boys can get it done in time.”

  The two men made it to the street and for the first time turned to face each other. “You know when this is over, I’m likely to be a dead man,” Wurry stated.

  Hechman ran his fingers down the bridge of his nose to wipe away some drops of sweat that had formed. He shot Wurry a look of agreement. “Make no mistake. If this thing goes bad for us, you will be. But even if we manage to pull this off and walk away clean, it might be best if you get out of town when this is all done. Our good friends definitely worry about how much of a liability you are at this point.”

  Chapter 24

  Devon Crane casually walked along the tiny port harbor of Ilo, Peru. Ilo was a small coastal town in the southernmost tip of the country that sat on the coastline overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The port was a small operation that catered primarily to the trawlers of local fishermen and the hobbies of the amateur boatmen. Indeed, the Welshman admired the scenery and how it reminded him of Wales, the place where he had grown up. But this town held a far greater significance.

  A few days ago, Crane and his team picked up a call from Raphael Baez to a company in Mexico he had contacted when he first heard of the Guzman assassination. The voice on the other end of the phone was the same deep baritone Baez had spoken to before. The baritone explained that the parties would be arriving clandestinely on a fishing trawler and would need someplace to land that would neither cause a lot of attention nor require the need to provide documents to pesky officials that would record their entrance into the country.

  The conversation was cryptic, and the plan quite clear. As the ‘special parties’ from Mexico wished to enter the country discretely, Baez had recommended Ilo as the best place to accomplish this. Not only was it a quiet fishing village far away from the rest of civilization, but it also was one of three ports that encompassed the interoceanic highway, a planned project aimed at linking the Pacific Ocean to the Amazon Basin in Brazil.

  The town was also on lease to Bolivia to develop a shipping port that allowed the otherwise landlocked country to have access to the ocean. It was the perfect place to enter without arousing any suspicion. The baritone agreed that it would do and that the boat would be arriving on a date two and a half weeks from now and would arrive at the port between late evening to early morning while still dark. The ship would be the Fighting Sailor.

  Seizing on the opportunity, Crane got in contact with McNaulty and instructed him to move his team to Ilo and begin conducting recces of the port and the surrounding area. In the meantime, Crane and the rest of his men stayed in place and spent the next few days listening in as Baez made a series of calls arranging things for the meet. It had proved to be a treasure trove as they listened to him plan and organize the arrival. From this intelligence, they found he was going to transport everyone through a series of old trucks and jeeps with nothing extravagant that would attract unwanted attention but would be practical for driving through the rugged jungle terrain.

  For security Baez had contacted an acquaintance associated with the Peruvian military, someone who was addressed in conversations as Pappy. Pappy apparently was a former guerrilla who had been with the Shining Path, but currently, he was embracing capitalism and seeking his fortune in the realms of the free market. If there was any question that Crane and his team might have been wrong about Ilo, it was all put to rest when they heard the two men discuss security arrangements. As the men spoke, Pappy came across as an arms broker and an occasional broker of mercenaries.

  Baez explained to his friend that important people were arriving in the small port town within the next few weeks and were looking to visit their investments out in the jungle and would require considerable armed security. Although he didn’t mention Gutiérrez or the Black Crow by name, he did mention Santos Guzman and his cocaine operation and that the violence was escalating in Southeastern Peru.

  Initially, Baez inquired about using ex-military for the security detail. To which Pappy explained he had connections into the veteran community. He maintained contact with them through the various soldiers’ clubs. He also informed Baez it would be difficult to line up a decent sized detail of quality men in such a short period of time.

  These days most Peruvian soldiers going into the private sector were finding work in Yemen fighting Houthi insurgents. This factor limited the field of recruitment. In addition, most Peruvian soldiers cut their teeth fighting the Shining Path in Central Peru and wouldn’t be very inclined to provide security for someone they thought might be doing business with them. This was a reasonable assumption given how involved the group was in the narcotics business.

  Instead, the broker thought it more prudent to recruit ex-guerrillas for such an assignment. He explained that there were quite a few seasoned guerrillas who had considerable combat experience fighting for the Shining Path. They had joined when they were young but had become disillusioned with the movement. Now, they were looking to ply their trade for anyone who would pay them.

  The years of fighting against the Peruvian security forces had left many guerrillas highly trained and with combat experience. The Shining Path had even developed its own tactics and training methods. From lessons learned, many were even better fighters than the government militaries.

  Baez wasn’t excited about the idea of having his master’s security handled by a bunch of ex-communist cutthroats. After a calming explanation from the broker, Baez eventually relented. Pappy promised he could have twenty-five quality fighters in Ilo to provide security when the time came. Following the negotiations, Baez contacted the baritone in Veracruz and strongly suggested that the visiting executives bring an additional dozen or so of their own staff who could help with complicated matters. It was an easy guess what he meant.

  After a few days of listening to Baez map out his plan, Crane and his men determined they had gotten enough information and slipped back across the border the same way they got in. After packing and moving their equipment off the ship, they informed the captain they wer
e leaving and vanished. Four days later, following an exhausting drive through the rugged Andean Mountains, they reached Ilo.

  They linked up with the rest of their team a few miles outside of town. There the four weary travelers were met by McNaulty and Harkness at a local cantina on the outskirts of town that catered largely to the transient population of foreigners’ trekking across the Andeans. After a quick round of drinks, they were taken to a small house in a residential area near the port.

  The house was one of several often rented out to tourists. So, it was easy for the locals to dismiss the athletic young men as travelers looking for a place to enjoy their vacation away from any big city. It made it a lot easier for the mercenaries to go about their business without raising suspicion. The landlord asked a few questions and seemed to have a healthy disdain for the irritations of bureaucracy, so he was not forceful about doing any paperwork, especially, when he was paid so handsomely in cash.

  Now, able to see for himself, Crane wanted to visit the landscape he and his force would be dealing with. He observed and carefully evaluated the port. Ilo port was a congested, giant pool of small dirty boats practically piled up on one another looking more like a large floating junkyard than an operating harbor. There seemed to be little or no authority over the operation as boatmen moved within an informal system that somehow managed to work and not create chaos.

  The whole place still looked like a small village with a harbor, which was strange considering the downtown area consisted of a series of three and four-story buildings and a good network of wide paved roads designed to accommodate the sizeable volume of traffic that ran through it on a daily basis.

  Crane’s thoughts were interrupted when, out of the periphery of his eye, he caught sight of McNaulty and Kusaki approaching. They joined him, one on each flank. “As you can see, it’s a muddle,” McNaulty began. “A right good place to sneak someone in without anyone noticing.”