The Grey Man- Down South

by J. L. Curtis

  “Certainly.”

  Salazar came back and picked up John’s bag. “We go?”

  John nodded. “We go.”

  An hour later, he finished the meeting with the coronel, and found Salazar waiting in the outer office. “I am to be your escort, Señor,” he said with a smile.

  “Good. Can you give me a ride over to the PIP offices in the morning?”

  “Si, Señor.”

  ***

  Two days of meetings, briefings, and one raid later, John had seen enough of the PIP. Prado was aggressive and extremely competent, but he had soon realized he was a pearl among the swine of the local PIP office. Prado’s boss was…a glory hound, wanting all the credit and money, and none of the blame, and didn’t want Prado to get any credit for the information John was getting. Two nights of dinner and drinking with Prado had yielded more information that was usable than all of the briefings combined.

  Late the next day, after dismissing the day’s patrol, Teniente Salazar said sadly, “I am sorry, Señor, but I must leave tomorrow for a week in the field with my platoon. We are going to try to intercept some mule trains that are supposedly getting ready to cross the river north of here.”

  John said, “I wonder if I could tag along?”

  Salazar shrugged. “It will be dangerous, and nasty in the jungle. Lot of walking, not like the last few days. Maybe for nothing.”

  John laughed. “Been there, done that. I’m fine with the jungle. I’d need an LBV, a bag, and a mosquito net, but I think I can keep up.”

  Salazar cocked his head. “You have experience?”

  “Vietnam, three tours. The last six months in the jungle in Colombia. I was…Special Forces.”

  Salazar said softly, “You were American Green Beret?”

  “Yep. Fifth Group.”

  “We can go talk to the coronel.”

  Two hours later, John had a full issue of gear and a smiling Teniente Salazar was introducing him to the platoon, making sure to tell them he was an American Green Beret and would be observing their patrol.

  Three days later, John was regretting that decision as he slogged through the mucky ground at least a mile from the river. He had a mosquito net around his head and was sweating like a stuck pig as they neared the track the mule train was supposed to be on. He chuckled to himself, No wonder these guys just keep going and going, I’ll bet they’re all chewing coca leaves. Maybe I need to try that before I fall over. Salazar really wants my 1911. He’s carrying a Sistema 1911 that’s a lot older than he is. As low as that serial number is, it might be late 20s, maybe early 30s, so it’s the old soft steel, but it’s in damn good shape. I wonder… “Teniente, what are the leaves you are chewing?”

  Salazar reached into his pocket and pulled out a foil package, opened it and took out a couple of leaves. “Coca, Señor, it lets us get the mission done with less pain.” He proffered a leaf. “If you want to try it, Señor, I recommend one leaf, just chew it, don’t swallow it.” John took it and tried it noting an odd taste as his mouth got numb, then a lessening of the pain in his shoulder, Damn, no wonder it’s addictive. And probably a lot better than uppers, downers, and pain pills.

  The corporal who was point man held up a hand to stop the patrol an hour later, and everyone took a knee, each man on alternating sides of the trail, if you could call it that. John’s knee was getting wet, and he shook his head, Just lovely. More mud. He peered through the trees, and suddenly heard a mule braying. The patrol moved at Salazar’s signal to spread out parallel to the new track, and less than a minute later, five mules came into sight, plodding slowly by themselves. He heard Salazar cursing softly, then calling out commands to seize the mules. John moved up beside him and Salazar said, “Well, Señor, we were tricked. The train is on another track.”

  “Why?”

  Disgusted, Salazar waved his hand at the five mules, now standing placidly in the trail. “The contrabandista know we have to take the drugs in. Four hundred kilos of pasta means each of us will be loaded down and cannot chase them elsewhere. There is a clearing about two kilometers from here that a Huey will fit in.”

  John shook his head. “Damn. A decoy. That’s…creative.”

  Salazar spit and replied, “About the only time we get a full train is when two smugglers are arguing over territory. Then one will give us the actual route the other is using.”

  “What about the mules? Will you shoot them?”

  “No, they are livelihood. We will not kill them; we will turn them loose. They will make it back home, maybe.” Salazar looked around then gave rapid instructions in Spanish to his platoon, who immediately started shifting packs and weapons, with some of the soldiers groaning as they stripped the pasta de coca from the mules. The radio operator handed him the handset, and Salazar gave the coordinates for the clearing to whomever was on the other end of the radio, and asked, “Señor, will you carry my pack, so that I can assist the men?”

  John nodded and took the pack frame from him, turning it so that it was in front of him and slid the straps over his shoulders, This is…really not a good idea, but I don’t have any choice. My damn shoulder hurts, I guess the doc said three months for rehab for a reason. Should have been smarter about volunteering for this. I’m not 21 anymore. It’s no wonder Salazar is liked by his men. He’s one of the few officers I’ve seen down here that actually pitches in and helps the troops. But then he was trained at Bragg, so that might have something to do with it. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. I need to let Alvarez know about him.

  Six hours later, he was back at Iquitos. He’d showered and cleaned up, took a pain pill, then turned his loaner equipment back in. A phone call to Alvarez had him looking for a flight to get John back to Lima, as he waited for Prado to pick him up to go to dinner.

  ***

  Alvarez picked him up at Las Palmas base operations and smiled as he got in the car. “Have fun?”

  “Julio, I’m gonna shoot your ass just for fun. I learned a lot, and also learned just how much shit is going on that is…allowed. I was offered bribes at least four different times, by the Civil Guard, the Army, PIP boss at Iquitos to tell his boss how good he’s doing, and one maybe cartel type that was swept up in a raid. He offered twenty grand U.S.! Apparently, the good smugglers pay the right bribes, everybody gets their cuts, and it’s business as usual. Don’t pay or piss off the wrong person, and there is a big bust. Otherwise, it’s a bunch of little busts, just enough to tie the troops down, without actually…crap. It’s…the price of business down here, isn’t it?”

  “Now you see what I’m dealing with. And I’ve got a bunch of idiots that don’t understand that bribery is a way of life down here. They start raising a stink, they’ll end up dead, cause this ain’t the states. That’s why I don’t let them out in the field much. I’m surprised you survived not accepting any bribes!”

  John shook his head and threw up his hands. “I just told them I was being taken care of by others. How the hell do you deal with it?”

  Alvarez shrugged. “Eh, just let it roll off the shoulders, take a little so that they think they own you. It’s not like I can do anything to change it, and it helps with buying stuff for the kids. Cesar said you had some good conversations with him, and he now believes you are crazy to turn down both his boss’ bribe and the one from the cartel.”

  “He’s good. The best one up there. Thanks for getting me with him, will he survive? What’s next?”

  “Cesar? Who knows. Depends on what bribes he takes from who, or who he can bribe to supplant his boss, or have him killed. Tonight, supper, and you’re out of here tomorrow morning on LAN at nine. So, we will not get drunk tonight.”

  Back in Harness

  John was glad to be out of Peru, That was one squirrely bunch to put it mildly. I’m damn glad I’m working with Menendez, Mason, and Morgan, but it was good to see Julio. He walked out of the terminal to see Menendez sitting at the curb. He put his bag in the back seat, got in, and shook hands with
him. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “No problem. I had to drop somebody off anyway. How did it go?”

  John shrugged. “Not that well. They weren’t a lot of help. I learned more about smuggling from the Brazilian Navy folks and the PIP than anywhere else.”

  “Brazilian Navy?”

  “Yep, they have an Amazon group that patrols the river, and the cell at Lima taught me a lot about the cross border smuggling.”

  Menendez nodded. “That’s good. Speaking of help, your team has been a big help. They’ve fed us another five strips and a bunch of numbers off the airplanes. But—”

  John sighed. “But what?”

  “Wait until we get in the basement. I don’t want to say anything out here.”

  Twenty minutes later, safely ensconced in the secure room in the basement, Menendez pulled out a file from one of the safes. He laid out pictures and a topo map, shoving them across the table to John as Morgan rummaged through another safe. Menendez said, “There have been…significant developments since you left. The cartel has put a team of sicarios in the field, headed by Jorge Fuentes,” he tapped one of the pictures. “It appears Juan Escobar is the cartel lieutenant that is running this group, for lack of a better term. They’ve been roaming all over the area south of Cali, killing Policia Nacional, and anyone else that gets in their way. They just killed a couple of park rangers up at Tinigua night before last.” He tapped another photo. “This is Escobar. Don’t know his actual relationship to Pablo, but he’s probably at least a cousin.” He pushed a sat photo over. “This is the compound they are holed up in. Based on what little intel we have; it appears there are eighteen to twenty shooters in two teams that Fuentes is running. They’ve got covered trucks they roll out in, along with two BMWs. Escobar occasionally shows up, maybe a couple of times a week, we think to give them areas to go patrol.” He glanced over at Morgan, then back at John. “John, we want to take out the leadership of these guys, if we can. Fuentes definitely, and Escobar would be a bonus. How would you go about that?”

  John looked at the topo, spun it around and looked from several different angles as he thought about ways to do it. Finally, he leaned back and steepled his fingers. Morgan and Menendez looked at each other, then back at John when he leaned forward and tapped the ridgeline above the compound. “The best way to do it would be from up here. Snipe them. No way we could take twenty shooters by ourselves. That would…probably get us all killed. But, there is only one way in, one way out.” Tapping the topo map again. “That driveway is it. If it could be blocked…maybe a charge down here to drop part of the hill on that road. That would block them, since the other side of the driveway is a straight drop off down the side of the hill.”

  Morgan asked, “Do you have anybody that is good enough to be a sniper?”

  “Me. I grew up hunting deer and antelope. Some of those shots were five, six hundred yards. And I trained as a weapons guy in the Green Berets. But I’d need a good rifle. A real good rifle.”

  Menendez said speculatively, “We could probably…what kind of rifle, John?”

  “Heavy barreled model seventy in thirty-ought-six. Or a star barreled oh three-A-three. And a good scope. Something like a Unertl ten power.”

  “Model seventy?”

  “Winchester. We had a few of them for Army snipers, and I know the Marines were using them in ‘Nam.”

  Menendez glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you go get some rest and catch up with your team tomorrow.” He looked over to Morgan. “Give us a couple of days to work on a rifle.”

  John got up. “Okay. I can do that. Is my car—”

  Morgan interrupted him. “Your car is in the garage, the battery has been charged, and it’s full of gas. We also made sure your rent was paid, so you should be okay.”

  “Thanks! I appreciate that. Didn’t think about that until just now.”

  Menendez laughed. “Well, we try to take care of our own down here.”

  ***

  The next morning, John drove over to the warehouse, parked in the alley and knocked on the back door. Felix opened it and smiled. “Welcome back, boss!”

  John chuckled. “I’m not going to say I’m glad to be back, but I’m here. Everybody okay?”

  Felix nodded as he locked the door and led John to the conference room. “So far, so good. Lemme go get Hector and Pasquale.” He disappeared down the hallway as John flopped into a seat at the conference table, idly looking at the blackboards. They were all clean, and the coffee pot was empty.

  Growling at that, he got up, just as Hector and Pasquale walked in. They pounded him gently on the back and welcomed him with smiles until he said, “Coffee. I need my coffee.” Felix turned around and disappeared back down the hall, returning moments later with a cup of coffee. “Thanks, Felix. Somebody,” he glared at Hector, “Seems to have raided my apartment and taken all the coffee, and all the food.”

  Hector laughed. “Well, it wasn’t like you were going to eat it, John. Besides, we were hungry.”

  Pasquale grinned and rubbed his stomach. “And those steaks…glorious! Muchas gracias!”

  John shook his head and smiled. “You assholes…so what has been going on? And where is Fernando?”

  Hector motioned to the table and they all sat. “Fernando is out at the airport; we need another fifty barrels of avgas, and he’s picking up a new member for our team. A Carlos Montoya. Federale from Zacatecas province. He’s an oficial from their Intelligence group. Got a delivery tonight to one of the fields above El Doncello.”

  “A new member? What the hell? Nobody told me, I’m gonna go talk to Menendez. This field, is that anywhere near La Plata?”

  “Not really, we got to go up forty-five to Altamira, then back down twenty to get on sixty-five. Why?”

  John shifted in his chair, then said, “Close hold. Juan Escobar, a cartel lieutenant, has a team of about twenty sicarios, headed by an enforcer named Jorge Fuentes, operating out of La Plata. They are shooting up any Policia Nacional officers and park rangers they see. And they are apparently roaming south Colombia at will. Do not tell the new guy until I approve it.”

  Felix whistled. “Think that was in response to us blowing the labs?”

  John shrugged. “Unknown. But we need to be really careful. Really careful.”

  Hector replied, “Well, we are working with Escobar’s guys, so we should get a pass, if it comes down to it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Pasquale answered, “Because I saw him. He was at the strip when we delivered the last load of gasoline. He looks like his cousin, and acts like him, but meaner. He checked us out, questioned us, and told his guys to use us exclusively for gasoline.”

  “Any word on the ground about the labs being blown up?”

  Felix laughed and Hector shook his head. “They are being attributed to a rival cartel.”

  “What?”

  Felix smiled and said, “A cartel headed by El Lobo Blanco.”

  John dropped his head, then glared at the three of them as they smiled at him. “What did you fuckers do?”

  Hector had the grace to hang his head as Felix said, “Remember those jokers? Hector put them at the labs.”

  “Oh gahdamn. That’s…all we need. I’ll be back.” He got up and walked out the door, Gotta talk to Menendez. How the fuck did he not tell me somebody else is coming onto the team? Much less not give me any details? A Federal officer from Mexican Intelligence? Why?

  When he cornered Menendez, he admitted he forgot to tell John about Montoya. “I’m sorry, John. This one came from DC. Carlos Montoya is one of their hard chargers, and they wanted him to get more experience on the front lines. He’s been working central Mexico on the smuggling trails and drug movement issues.”

  John sighed. “Well, I guess I’m stuck with him. Woulda been nice to know ahead of time.”

  An hour later, he had just settled into the conference room again when Fernando returned with Montoya a
nd came in smiling. “Got the avgas. We’ll pick it up at six, the usual gate. Welcome back, Señor!” He hugged John, kissing him on both cheeks. “We knew you were too tough to kill. If they had, your boss would have been next. This is Carlos. He’s a cop too!”

  John sat back down and yawned. “Gah, still tired. Fernando, get Hector to fill you in later, but I want you guys running heavy, and careful. Especially in the area around La Plata. We might have a mission, depending on what the powers that be decide. I need to get back to the embassy, and based on our earlier discussion, I’m not going with you tonight.” He got up and shook hands with Montoya, “We need to talk.”

  Fernando cocked his head, looked around, then nodded. “Seguro. There are problems?”

  John nodded. “More than you know. Get with Hector.” He got up and headed to the back door. “Somebody want to let us out?”

  Felix got up and followed him, and John asked, “You know anything about snipers?”

  Felix looked at him. “A little. I spotted a couple of times for one in our battalion at Khe Sanh. Why?”

  “Just a stray thought.” Felix let him out after he’d checked the alley, relocked the door, and stood looking at the door, debating what to say to Montoya.

  ***

  A week later, Morgan caught John as he walked into the embassy. “Come see me when you have a minute.”

  “Is now good?”

  “Sure.” Morgan led him to his office and picked up a long box from behind the desk. “I think this is what you wanted.” John looked the box and Morgan added, “Menendez had it sent via dip courier. Go ahead, open it!”

  Pulling out his old Case knife, John carefully cut the tape and opened the box, gently sliding the cloth wrapped rifle out. He cut the tape holding the wrapping together, and unfolded the cloth to reveal a pristine Winchester model 70 heavy barrel with an odd looking scope mounted to it. He picked it up and rolled it, smiling when he saw the 30-GOVT-06 on the barrel. The scope was, as requested, an Unertl, and he opened the bolt, ensured the rifle was empty, and brought it to his shoulder. Looking through the scope, he smiled again, “Nice! It’s got a Lee dot in the crosshairs.”