by Spell, David
“Just like old times, huh, Colonel? I mean, we’re not wearing uniforms but we’re still going into a country where the people hate us, we don’t know the language, and if we get caught, we’re so screwed!”
Clark smiled. “You really have a way with words, Smith. Remind me to never ask you to cheer me up.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tourists in Tijuana
Tijuana International Airport, Tijuana, Mexico, 0330 hours, Saturday
Prince Mohammad Rashid felt the excitement and tension building up inside. The email from Corona had changed the pickup time of the two girls from later on Saturday morning to much earlier. The gangster had explained that at 3:30 in the morning, there was much less chance of him attracting any attention from the authorities at the Tijuana International Airport.
The prince understood the wisdom in Pepe’s line of thinking. No, he certainly did not want to have any dealings with the Mexican police. The clincher in Corona’s message was that the captives were going to be delivered to his plane by federales on Pepe’s payroll. Rashid had been impressed by how much control and influence the infidel’s money bought him.
Mohammad had decided to accompany his four trusted servants to Mexico to pick up the girls. His two primary bodyguards and his personal assistant were also with him but he was traveling with a much lighter entourage than he normally did. The fewer of his people who knew about what he was doing, the better.
The prince did not plan on even leaving the plane. The money had been wired into Corona’s account the previous day. The girls would be brought to the plane under the cover of darkness and his pilot would immediately take off, heading back to Saudi Arabia. His mind was already racing as he thought of the long flight in which he could begin to get to know his new ‘friends’ in one of the private compartments on his luxurious jet.
The Saudi’s private plane had touched down at 0255 hours and was directed to the far end of the runway, into the Alfa Aero Hangar lot. The large building could hold a number of airliners, but at this time of the night, it was locked up tight. The sprawling parking area just off of the runway, however, was devoid of any other planes. Pepe’s email had informed Mohammad that one of his people in the airport had been alerted to the prince’s arrival.
An immigration official drove down to Rashid’s airliner and conducted a cursory check of its occupants’ passports. The prince had told the official he would only be in Mexico for a few hours, just long enough to have an important meeting with a government official about a private business matter. The immigration officer pocketed the five one hundred dollar bills that Rashid handed him when they shook hands, quickly stamping each of their passports. He even gave them their exit stamp so they wouldn’t have to wait when they were ready to leave.
At 0345 hours, Mohammad texted Jose, asking where the ‘package’ was. There had been no answer but the prince understood that ‘Mexican time’ meant sometime within an hour or two of the actual time given. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. Rashid’s goal was to be back in the air before daylight. He had given his four servants permission to nap in the reclining seats in the enclosed rear compartment of the plane, where the pilot and co-pilot were already sleeping peacefully after the seventeen-hour flight. The two bodyguards and his PA stayed with their boss in the front of the large aircraft.
At 0405 hours, two black and white Mexican Federal Police SUVs pulled up to the Boeing 737, parking at the base of the mobile stairs that had been pushed up to the front door of the plane. Five figures exited the police cars with two of them climbing the stairs, the other three police officers stood around one of the police cars, scanning the area. My prizes must be awaiting me in that vehicle, Rashid thought excitedly.
The shorter and chubbier of the two men tapped on the side of the aircraft. Rashid saw that his rumpled uniform bore the three stripes of a sergeant. His partner was taller, with a more chiseled frame but appeared bored with their assignment, Mohammad thought, glancing out the small window on the closed door.
“Señor Rashid?”
One of the prince’s bodyguards opened the door, pulling it inward, Rashid and his other bodyguard standing behind him. The stocky sergeant bowed, removed his hat, and bowed again, clearly uncomfortable before royalty.
“Hola, señor,” he said, struggling to find the right words. “I no speak good English. I need Señor Rashid. Excuse, I need Prince Rashid. Señor Corona send us.”
The personal assistant started to step forward, accustomed to speaking for the prince. Rashid laid a hand on his arm, having decided to address the simple policeman himself in an effort to speed things up.
“I am Prince Mohammad Rashid,” he said, regally, puffing his chest out. “I believe you have something for me?”
“Sí, señor. Por favor, please, you have passport? I need see passport first.”
The prince started to explode but quickly brought his temper under control. Of course, the corrupt cop wants to make sure he’s dealing with the correct person.
“I understand. Amar,” he ordered his PA, “go retrieve my passport.”
The man quickly turned to go but there was a popping sound and Amar collapsed to the floor with a squeal. A second pop sent the closest bodyguard down, writhing in pain. The other bodyguard instinctively attempted to get in front of Rashid and draw his weapon, but just as quickly, he was down also, a guttural noise coming from his throat.
The prince stared open-mouthed at the scene in the small passageway, trying to process what was happening. The two policemen were now inside the plane, both holding small guns in each hand. The shorter officer, the simpleton, Rashid had thought, swiftly raised the pistol in his left hand, pointing it at Mohammad’s chest. The prince raised his hands and started to protest as the federale squeezed the trigger of the taser. Another pop and the two prongs struck him in the sternum and abdomen, the pain excruciating as thirty thousand volts surged through him. Mohammad heard someone screaming, but realized that it was him as he slammed down hard onto the floor of aircraft.
The other three police officers had rushed up the stairs and in seconds the prince, his PA, and the two bodyguards were secured, both hands and feet, with zip ties. A strip of duct tape was placed over each of their mouths, and they were quickly searched and disarmed. Tasers are now used by police departments all over the world and provide an alternative to using deadly force. While overriding a suspect’s nervous system and causing excruciating pain, they seldom cause any lasting damage, merely incapacitating the subject until they can be secured.
In less than five minutes, the other six people on the plane had been zip tied, as well. The Mexican cops quickly prepared Rashid to go, snipping the ties on his ankles and jerking him to his feet. The Saudi attempted to negotiate with the police but the gray tape over his mouth made that impossible.
“How much you think Señor Pepe get for this one?” the stocky police officer asked in broken English, loud enough for everyone on the plane to hear.
The taller officer laughed. “He a prince. Pepe get millions for him.”
A huge officer wearing a dark mask over his face grabbed one of Rashid’s arms. His eyes don’t look Mexican, the prince thought, noting the thick beard pushing against the mask. Another man, this one with blue eyes, the rest of his face also covered, held the Saudi’s other arm as they walked him down the stairs. Blue eyes? I’ve never seen a Mexican with blue eyes. What’s happening? he wondered.
The Saudi was thrown facedown onto the back floorboard of the federales’ Chevrolet Suburban. His two escorts climbed in and put their feet on him, pinning the prince to the floor. In seconds the vehicle was moving and a fear like he had never felt before settled in Rashid’s belly.
Kevin Clark was thrilled at how smoothly the mission had gone. His earlier reservations had been completely unfounded. He was a career military man and understood that when you were given an order, it had to be obeyed. It was always nice, though, when the people actually issuing the
commands knew what they were talking about. Admiral Williams was clearly one of the best leaders that Kevin had ever served under and would be tough to replace.
Everyone had performed spectacularly, Clark reflected. Kevin had met Alejandro ‘Hollywood’ Estrada on previous missions, along with Jay Walker. They were both on loan from the CDC Enforcement Unit. Estrada had a begun his career as an Army Military Police Officer. After five years, he had gotten out to become an LAPD cop. From there, Hollywood had been recruited to the CDC, having been one of the original agents on Eddie Marshall’s team.
Walker had retired from the Navy after twenty-two years of service, twenty of those years as a member of several different SEAL teams. During his last five years in the Navy, Jay had been a part of the elite SEAL Team Six. After retiring, he, too, had accepted a position with CDC Enforcement, working out of the Washington, D.C., office. Walker had recently transferred to Atlanta, now working as a team leader there under Marshall’s leadership.
Of course, Kevin and Scotty Smith had served together as Army Rangers on two tours in Iraq. Smith had been one of his platoon sergeants and also served as one of their snipers. After being injured when an IED explosion took out his humvee and killed his two best friends, Scotty had left the Army to pursue his dream of becoming a fireman. After several years of working as a fireman and paramedic, the giant of a man had been hired by the new CDC agency, becoming a member of Chuck McCain’s original team.
The Director of Operations for the CIA had also sent Raul ‘Gordo’ Gonzalez to the safe house to round out the colonel’s team. Gordo was a field agent assigned to gather inside intelligence on the cartels. Raul had grown up in Phoenix, but after spending the last two years in Tijuana and Juarez, he was as close to native as he could get.
Gonzalez had proved to be an excellent asset for the operation. He was able to procure the police uniforms and for twenty thousand dollars, Gordo was even able to ‘rent’ two police cars for an hour. The CIA agent had explained that the local and federal police in both cities thought that he was an enforcer for one of the cartels. Raul never corrected their assumptions, merely laughing and paying the easily intimidated cops for information and continuing to play his part.
Sandra Dunning had also played a key role in this mission. One of her computer experts had broken into Corona’s computer and sent the email to Rashid changing the time of the meeting. In reality, Clark and his people that did not want to deal with the Mexican authorities, either.
There were some definite holes in the operation as they had planned, but they were counting on the prince’s unbridled lust to blind him to any kind of a setup. Another of Dunning’s people had broken into Pepe’s bank account, confirming that Mohammad had already transferred the hundred thousand dollars for the two girls. While the hacker was in Corona’s personal account he went ahead and drained it, transferring three and a half million dollars into one of the Agency’s slush funds. That money would go a long way in the war on terror.
The colonel and his team had been surprised to find that they were supposed to take Rashid alive. As the admiral had given them the preliminary briefing he was adamant that they bring the Saudi back to the United States. Williams had explained that that order had come directly from the President, political considerations preventing Kevin and his team from executing the perverted prince in Mexico.
It would have been so much easier to just put a bullet in the scumbag’s head and then flee back across the border. It would be blamed on corrupt cops working for one of the cartels and would never be traced back to the Americans. Snatching a member of the Saudi royal family out of Mexico was definitely more challenging, Clark thought.
In the end, there was nothing to it. The tasers had done their job. The only two men who spoke were Hollywood and Gordo, leading the witnesses on the plane to believe that Corona had double-crossed the prince. Of course, Pepe was dead but someone would step into the gap to take over the organization. Maybe the Saudis would go after the cartel and eliminate whoever took over for Pepe Corona.
Clark really didn’t care what happened. The main thing was that there would be no suspicion cast on the United States. Kidnapping is a big business in Mexico and what better prize than a Saudi Prince?
As the vehicles started moving, Kevin pushed transmit over his radio, “Modelo to Dos Equis, one additional passenger. ETA five.”
“Roger, Modelo. We’ve got some cold ones waiting on you.”
Gonzalez took the lead as the borrowed police cars drove out of the hangar parking lot, the prisoner still pressed to the floorboard by Kevin’s and Scotty’s boots. Estrada and Walker followed as the SUVs turned right onto Via do Aeropuerto. The irony was that the border was just a hundred feet from them, the tall, gleaming new wall looming overhead.
A mile east of the airport was an industrial area. A massive warehouse with an even larger parking lot had been designated as the pickup point. One of the primary border crossings was just a half-mile away but Clark and his team would not be passing through American or Mexican immigration control tonight.
The police SUVs pulled into the middle of the wide and, thankfully, empty lot, leaving their headlights on. A thumping sound was suddenly right on top of them, the unmarked, unlit, black helicopter landing fifty feet away. Kevin and Scotty roughly grabbed Rashid, pulling him out of the vehicle and shoving him towards the Blackhawk. Walker, Estrada, and Gonzalez scanned the area as the captive was hustled across the open parking area.
Suddenly, the prince jerked away from his captors and tried to run, his eyes wide with panic. Smith calmly grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. A beefy right uppercut slammed into the sex-trafficker’s gut, lifting him off his feet, driving the breath out of him, and sending him to his knees on the asphalt.
The muscular former Ranger pulled Mohammad up by his collar, tossed the prisoner over his shoulder, and jogged to the aircraft where he threw the Saudi inside. The colonel watched, making sure each of his men boarded the helicopter. The Mexican police cars were left in the middle of the parking lot, their engines running, lights on, and doors standing open. In seconds, the Blackhawk lifted off, flying back into the United States.
“Welcome to America, your Highness,” Kevin said, pulling down his balaclava. “I hope you enjoy our hospitality.”
The Saudi’s mid-section still pulsated with pain from Scotty’s punch, but he tried to get a look at the man with the blue eyes, wondering what the Americans had in store for him.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the Blackhawk touched down on the most remote section of runway at the naval air station in Coronado. A Lear jet stood waiting, its side door open, with four figures standing at the bottom of a mobile staircase. Clark and Smith escorted their prisoner over to the bottom of the steps.
Thomas Burns, Joe O’Reilly, and two of their agents had been asked to transport a high-value target back to DC. They were planning on traveling back later in the day so they only had to adjust their schedule by a few hours, but Shaun Taylor had not provided any other details.
Burns’ eyes got wide as he recognized the massive frame of Scotty Smith. That new guy, Colonel Clark was there and two more agents that the FBI agent had thought were with the CDC. Thomas did not know the short, stocky Hispanic man in their group.
“Well, hello, Agent Burns!” Smith exclaimed, cheerfully. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Smith, what the hell’s going on?”
Scotty glanced over at Kevin. Clark stepped forward and shook the agents’ hands.
“Gentleman, this is Prince Mohammad Rashid, a member of the Saudi royal family, and major league sick bastard. I’m guessing you all heard about the two young girls who were just rescued by a Navy SEAL team?”
The FBI agents had heard, even though the story had not broken on the news yet. Burns wondered if Chuck McCain had been involved in that. You never see Clark Kent and Super Man in the same room, the agent mused. There had been a few times when Chuck had disappeared
right before something big had happened and then shown up after afterwards with a knowing look on his face.
“Well,” the colonel continued, “the prince here paid a hundred thousand dollars to buy those girls and take them back to Saudi Arabia.”
The look of disgust was evident in the G-Men’s eyes. Rashid began to violently shake his head, the tape still preventing him from arguing his innocence.
“Thankfully,” Clark concluded, nodding at his team, “my friends and I just happened to be at the right place at the right time to meet the good prince and we asked him if he’d like to come discuss these serious accusations. Of course, he agreed.”
“Are those…are those Mexican Federale uniforms?” Joe O’Reilly asked, not sure he even wanted to know the answer.
“Anyway,” Kevin said, ignoring the question, “we need to be going. Thanks for taking care of the prince. Someone will meet you in DC and let you know what his next step is. My guess is that it’s not going to be pleasant.”
Joe shook his head and ripped the duct tape off of Rashid’s mouth.
“I demand my attorney right now! You must take me to the Saudi embassy! I am a diplomat and you must release me immediately! These men assaulted me and kidnapped me out of Mexico and I wish to press charges!”
The prince ranted for several minutes before O’Reilly slapped the gray tape back over his mouth.
“I’m not listening to this fool all the way across the country,” he grimaced, motioning at the two junior agents who quickly escorted the prisoner up the stairs and into the aircraft.
Burns laughed as he shook hands again with Clark and his team.
“I’m gonna miss working with you guys. You fellas get more done in a night than the FBI gets done in a month!”
Kevin and his team watched the small jet taxi to the end of the airstrip and then take off, heading east.
