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

by J E Higgins

  Kusaki remained behind to set about dropping incendiaries into each of the craft. He reached the shore and touched dry ground just as tiny explosions were going off in each of the boats sinking them. With luck, by the time anyone found and salvaged them, the salt water and the algae would have erased any incriminating evidence.

  Kusaki followed up the beach to rejoin his team. They were in the final stages of removing the camouflage netting that masked their trucks in the shrubbery. They stripped their tactical clothing and equipment and discarded them into plastic garbage bags that they stuffed into the back and covered with ice boxes and camping gear. Next, they slipped into T-shirts and jeans to look like ordinary tourists.

  No one spoke. No mention was made of the Belgians, whether they were alive or dead or if they should even go back to check. There was no point as there was nothing that could be done one way or the other. If they were dead, then it was pointless to take any further action. If they were alive they were likely to end up in police custody and it was only a matter of time until they gave up everyone else. It was best to get across the border as quickly as possible before the inevitable manhunt occurred. No one liked it, but it was the reality of the merc business.

  Piling into their trucks the mercenaries pulled out onto the nearby road and headed off via the planned route offering the easiest way out of town. With the vehicles topped off with petrol, they needn’t stop until they were in Chile.

  Darson readied herself for the impending gunfight. There was no safe place for the helicopters to land, but they managed to come within a few feet of land, allowing their passengers to exit and move in to join the fight. The battle was over quickly as the choppers strategically landed the tactical units along the flanks of the hostiles. They then dropped snipers on rooftops that gave them excellent vantage points. Finally, they provided overhead intelligence on the hostiles’ locations for the ground forces to better maneuver. After a few pitched skirmishes, the mercenaries realized their futile situation and surrendered or escaped through whatever opening in the police blockade they could find.

  When it was over, her team found a man willing to take them out to where the cartel men had been slaughtered. She did this while Kang and his men raided the Fighting Sailor and proceeded to search it for any unauthorized visitors. Wading through the carnage of floating bodies, she sorted through an endless parade of corpses trying to find Guttierez. It was proving to be a fool’s errand. Many had been shot up beyond recognition, and several others had their stomachs and organs chewed up by gunfire had sunk into the sea, and would never to be found.

  Darson felt a sense of defeat. All these months in the field, all the effort, all the resources spent in the hopes of bringing in a vicious criminal, and it had all ended with a terrible gunfight between some mysterious assassins.

  “He got his just end at least,” Ashler quipped, in a vain attempt to cheer her up.

  Gazing down at the water, she shook her head defeatedly, “He died in a gunfight. It read like he went down in a blaze of glory. He won’t see a trial or live out his days in a prison cell. I have to explain this to my bosses back home. Whether we find the body or not, they’ll likely close this task force down.”

  “At least he’s dead now,” Ashler continued. “He won’t be terrorizing innocents anymore. You can take that as a win at least.”

  She looked up at him, “That’s just it. Is he? Without a body, it becomes even worse. He’ll become that ghostly figure criminals continue to invoke as the man still alive and hiding, secretly controlling everything from the shadows. You can’t prove it, and you can’t disprove it. He’ll continue to be the scapegoat for criminals who always want a bigger fish to give to the police for a sweet deal. No, he’s far more of a problem like this.”

  Chapter 29

  “Well in the absence of finding an actual corpse, we can’t say for certain that Mr. Gutteriéz isn’t still alive and possibly still a threat,” James Dasher speculated as he poured a glass of Hendrick’s gin into a small glass.

  “If that’s the case, what options do we have?” William Tenison interjected as he accepted the glass and leaned back into the soft leather armchair he had taken for this meeting. “I mean if he’s alive, he has certainly not announced it, has he?” he shrugged while casting his sights towards Arthur Hechman, expecting an answer.

  The Deputy-Attorney General paced slowly across the room as he fixed his eyes to the floor. “Regardless, I think, we have to count this whole thing as a victory in the long run. Gutiérrez has gone missing. According to our sources, his own people have had no contact with him. Even if he does surface, there’s nothing tying us to his would-be assassins who would likely be assumed operatives from a rival organization. The British are satisfied and have ceased making noises. And, in the face of everything, we now have ample justification for shutting the task force down and, hopefully, putting an end to this affair for good.”

  Dasher took a sip of his drink. “I have to say, Wurry’s man certainly got the job done. I’m impressed.”

  “He certainly did,” Hechman continued. “I’m assuming then that we can put this little chapter of unpleasantness to a close.”

  “Not quite,” Tenison interrupted. “I feel we have one more loose end to tie up. And that’s Mr. Wurry. He’s been a great asset. Unfortunately, he’s been the closest link to this dirty little affair. I feel he is the last few pages of this story. A story that has to be resolved.”

  “I agree,” Dasher said as he raised his glass in support.

  “What did you have in mind?” Hechman asked while quietly upset, even though he already knew the answer.

  Tenison raised his glass towards the Deputy-Attorney General. “I’ve taken the liberty myself. Things are in the works as we speak.” He exposed a sinister grin just before downing the remainder of his drink.

  Trent Wurry relaxed as he enjoyed the calm serenity of the park. It was the one place he made a point to routinely visit. Every Friday from one o’clock to two thirty he performed his ritual of walking the trail until arriving at the pond where he spent at least a half hour watching the ducks swim in the water. Then he would walk the rest of the trail slowly soaking up every bit of the scenery.

  Time was the factor. He could walk the entire trail in less than forty minutes. He made a point of not leaving the park before two-thirty. It was a promise he made to himself. Everything else in his life he kept sporadic, unpredictable. It was largely out of habit. A man in his line of work made dangerous enemies, and it served well not to give them a concise timetable.

  But the park was different. He wanted it uncontaminated from everything else in his life. It would be a solid practice with no wavering from the established schedule. Deep down, he suspected that conducting this practice was dangerous. If he were to be killed, he would want to meet his end here. What better way to ensure this than to keep the habit predictable.

  He was enjoying the ducks from his favorite bench. A rather plump one with brown feathers and a whitish blue beak had risen out of the water and waddled up close to him. At first, he quacked at the attorney, as if lecturing him about something, and then it waddled up to the base of the bench and proceeded to fan out his feathers.

  “I see sir,” Wurry addressed the fat critic. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.” The duck ignored him and waddling around to focus his attention elsewhere. The attorney smiled as he watched.

  A gloved hand came out of nowhere and reached around grabbing his forehead. Wurry felt his head violently jerked back as a sharp metallic object was shoved into the back of his head directly into his brain stem. The attorney went instantly limp as his body slumped over onto its side. It all lasted less than a second. The assassin, a young man in his early thirties, and dressed in a tracksuit removed the object as quickly as he had inserted it and casually continued jogging down the trail.

  Aftermath

  With the help of Guerrero, Saverine dragged the portly figure across the concrete floor
ing. It was only a short distance, but the hefty weight of the limp figure made the whole exercise feel like a long trip up a steep mountain. Dragging the figure to a hardwood chair, they placed him in a sitting position before binding his already tied hands to one of the steel bars on the chair frame.

  Once restrained in the chair, Saverine removed the burlap sack that had been thrown over the man’s head. They were now looking at a dark-skinned man clearly of Mestizo ethnicity. He had a round-ball of a head with a crop of bushy dark black hair. Several days’ worth of facial growth did not look natural on a man who otherwise came across as normally being well-groomed.

  Samantha Richards walked up to the bound man. He stared back at her with a defiant grin.

  “What, no terrifying threats reminding us of who you are,” she began as she looked at the man with a stone-cold face. Saverine and Guerrero had taken up positions on both flanks beside the man. It was wiser to be where they could see what his hands were doing. They wore dark balaclavas to hide their faces. Richards continued, “I must say that’s not what I expected from you Mr. Gutteriéz.”

  Gutteriéz sank back in his seat and let out a defeated sigh. “You already know who I am, or I wouldn’t be here. Reminding you of that would be pointless. Besides, where are we?” he looked around at the room that was nothing but dark grey concrete walls with a line of greyish white fluorescent lights. “I imagine that right now what I am doesn’t matter very much and whatever resources I have will do me no good at this point.”

  “No, I don’t suppose they will,” she began pacing the room. “You’ve made some very powerful enemies, sir. Enemies that don’t intend to see you stand trial. They would like to have you disappear altogether.”

  “You’re not with a criminal organization,” Gutteriéz surmised. “If you were you wouldn’t have bothered taking me to a place like this or bothered taking the time to talk to me about the inevitable. No, my enemies would have killed me outright or simply began torturing me.

  “Otherwise I would have just been left alone while you negotiated with my people for a hefty ransom. No, my guess is you’re a government intelligence agency. And, I’m assuming not the Americans, someone else I’ve pissed off. My guess is a country in Europe who doesn’t like my latest business dealings on the other side of the Atlantic.”

  “Impressive, sir,” Richards went on, “However, that still does not change your situation. I’m afraid those who I work for intend on dropping you into a very dark hole, somewhere where you will never be found. You see you have angered people who strongly feel this is the course they wish to take.”

  “What if I have something to offer?” Gutteriéz said.

  Richards shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it will do you no good to offer money.”

  “Not money,” he interjected, his mouth forming a sly grin. “I’m offering your people something much better. My life story, how I formed the Black Crow cartel. Its rise and how it became one of the most powerful organizations in South America. In addition, telling you about the men in Washington D.C who were instrumental in helping me achieve all of it.”

  Richards turned and for the first time acknowledged two other people who had been standing in the corner. Major Sarah Dijoubi and Charles Bains, head of MI-6 operations for Latin America. They were listening with rapt attention.

  Sensing he had not entirely made the deal, Guttériez went on, “Perhaps, I could sweeten the deal by offering hard proof of their involvement in many of my more heinous endeavors.”

  The Players

  DEA Joint Operations Team

  Cameron Ashler — MI-6

  Colonel Cassero — Mexican Army

  Rainn Darson — DEA

  Cassandra Holden — FBI; former lawyer at District

  Lin Kang — Peruvian National Police

  Ward Kenner — DEA

  Dan Leveran — DEA; Rainn’s boss

  Joseph Pierce — ATF

  Quintin Ross — ATF

  Tom Salvaras — DEA

  The Employers

  James Dasher — Congressman; Ranking member of the intelligence sub-committee

  Arthur Hechman — US Assistant Attorney General

  William (Bill) Tenison — Deputy Director of CIA Operations

  Trent Wurry — High powered attorney with criminal connections

  The Mercenaries (The Strike Team)

  Ramon Espinoza — Former Spanish Special Forces

  Regan Harkess — Former Australian SAS

  Rene Macron — Former Foreign Legion

  Dugan McNaulty — Former Foreign Legion

  Charles (Charley) Mulgrane — Former British Marines

  Avron Pizzaro — Legionnaire for eighteen years

  Jean Rubian — Former Foreign Legion

  Ian Sally — Former British Marines

  Pedro Sandoval — Former Spanish Special Forces

  British

  Major Sarah Dijoubi — British Intelligence

  Martin Rankin — British MI-6; murdered in Mexico

  Samantha Richards — Freelance contractor to the British Intelligence

  Black Crow Cartel

  Alvaro Gutierrez — Head of the Black Crow Cartel

  Santos Guzman — Cocaine producer; Major supplier to the Cartel

  Hidalgo Perron — Advisor; Right hand man to Guzman

  Serona — Enforcer for Gutierrez

  Other

  Selena De Alverez — Broker of mercenary services

  Maurice Lahier — Grand master of intrigue and back-alley politics

  Zaid Saverine — Former U.S. Combat Control; hired by British Intelligence

  Acknowledgments

  To Rod, Gloria, Shannon, Bob, and Arne for their time reading and editing, and to Shayne at Wicked Good Book Covers for the fantastic cover image.

  My sincerest thanks.

  About the Author

  J. E. Higgins is a former soldier who spent twelve years in the US military, first as infantryman in the Marine Corps and then in the military police with the Army. He holds a B.A. in Government and a Masters in Intelligence; intelligence operations.

  The Devil’s Shadow is his fifth book.

  You can reach J. E. Higgins at his website: www.thehigginsreport.com where he publishes monthly papers on international political trends.