Burning Bridges

by Heath Stallcup

  “I know, sir…I just…” He trailed off, his eyes settling on Bridger trying to sleep in the overstuffed, yet undersized chair of the plane. “Can I owe you one?”

  “For the love of…” Phil pulled the phone from his ear and slowly counted to five. When he came back on, his voice was deadpanned. “You need the CQB trainer set up to emulate this villa, correct? For how long?”

  “Just until we can get the insertion complete.”

  “What about exfil?”

  Matt glanced at the worn and weary faces scattered across the plane’s interior. “I’m not too worried about that, sir.” His voice betrayed his meaning.

  Phil sat forward, his face painted with concern. “You don’t think you’re coming back from this, do you?”

  Matt tried to choose his words wisely. “I’m not at liberty to…” He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. “If we have time to train for it, we will. Sir.”

  Phil pressed the phone tighter to his ear and lowered his voice. “You know I can’t authorize such a—”

  “I’m not asking you to, sir.” Matt tried to maintain calm in his voice. “I just need access to their trainer. And if any of the spec op boys are willing to work with the team, that would be great, too.”

  Phil nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll make a few calls. There will be somebody to meet you at the tarmac.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me, Laughlin. Just make sure you and your team survive this.” He paused for a moment then quickly added, “So I can chew your ass properly when you get back.”

  “Roger that, sir.” Laughlin hung up the phone and stared at his old team trying to rest in flight. He knew that if anybody could pull this off, it was the people in this plane.

  He turned and glanced out the window. He just wished that there was a way they could survive the mission.

  Near Chapala Mexico

  * * *

  “They are nowhere to be found?” El Fantasma paced slowly, his mind racing. “And how are we doing with recruiting the militias?”

  Raul shifted nervously. “We have two of them onboard. They will arrive tonight.”

  “And the third?”

  Raul shook his head. “They say that they won’t be coerced into working with…their enemies.”

  El jefe smirked as he pulled his chair out and slowly sat in it. “And they are aware of the consequences for denying me?”

  Raul gave an animated shrug. “I would think so. They know who you are. And they know that you do not ask this lightly.”

  He nodded slowly as he reached for a cigar. “Perhaps a message should be sent to them.” He looked up over the edge of the cigar and eyed Raul. “Send the militias to their leader’s home. Have them ask nicely.” He broke into a slow and sinister grin. “Once.”

  “As you wish.” Raul bowed slightly then backed away quickly. He prayed under his breath that the militia leader would come to his senses. It was only for a few days. Surely they could put differences aside long enough to do what needed doing. Especially for the amount of money that they were being offered.

  He stepped out onto the veranda and nodded to the two other militia leaders. “El jefe wishes for the two of you to make a personal request on his behalf.” He narrowed his gaze at the two men. “Once.” He raised a brow and the message was clear.

  The two men nodded then turned away.

  Raul knew that by nightfall, either all three of the militias would be defending the villa or the region would from then on have to rely on just the two remaining militias.

  16

  Langley Virginia

  * * *

  Robert Ingram, Acting Director of F6, or the Special Collection Service of the NSA, pushed open the door and sauntered across the lush office. “You’ll never guess who I just got off the phone with.”

  William Jameson, Director of the CIA’s Information Operations Center, leaned forward at his desk, peering over his glasses. “Ever hear of knocking, Robert?”

  Ingram sat down directly across from him and raised a brow. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

  Jameson sat back and carefully removed his glasses. “If I were to guess, it would be a certain Colonel from MacDill Air Force Base, yes?”

  Ingram’s face fell. “Do you have my phones bugged?”

  “No need.” Jameson sat back and crossed his hands in his lap. “He called me first. Just as I requested.”

  Ingram sat forward, confusion painted across his features. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Jim.”

  “I don’t.” Jameson leaned forward and tapped at the keyboard on his desk. “I put a flag on Mr. Bridger’s file.” He raised a brow at the man. “Before any asset is allowed into a secure military facility, they run a check. That individual is flagged, and I am notified immediately.”

  Robert Ingram nodded slightly. “Ah. That’s how you keep tabs on your pet future asset.”

  Jameson shrugged slightly. “That’s not the only way.” He sat back and sighed. “Did your friend happen to inform you of exactly what Bridger and his old Bravo unit are up to?”

  Robert took a deep breath and nodded solemnly. “They’ve procured the layout to some drug lord’s compound. The SOCOM fellas are mocking it up while they’re in transit.”

  Jameson squeezed his eyes shut and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “And did your colonel friend give you his assessment?”

  Ingram nodded slightly. “Suicide mission.”

  “Exactly.” Jameson came to his feet and stared out of the window of his office. “You realize we cannot allow that to happen.”

  Ingram sat back and crossed his legs. “Do you want me to have the SOCOM boys deny them? Pull the plug on their little operation?”

  Jameson sighed heavily and shook his head. “I’m not ready to let Mr. Bridger know that I have an interest in his well-being.” He turned slowly, a finger tapping at his chin. “I spoke with the base commander and it appears that Bravo’s ex-handler is involved in this. Unofficially, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “But it was his boss that pulled some strings and called in some favors to make this happen.”

  Ingram sat forward, his interest piqued. “Is this something we can use then? Have the handler’s boss call it off?”

  Jameson shook his head. “No.” He turned back to his desk and took his seat again. “He’s one of mine.” He looked up and met Ingram’s gaze. “I don’t recall ever meeting the man personally, but his record is exemplary.” He sat back and rocked his chair slightly. “If he’s willing to do this for Bravo’s old handler when he knows the odds are stacked against him…” He trailed off, his mind going to dark places.

  Ingram shifted nervously in his seat. “You realize that my hands are pretty much tied here. They’re doing this without official sanction.”

  Jameson nodded. “Do either of us have any favors owed? Particularly by any Mexican assets?”

  Ingram shrugged. “I’ll have to check my little black book and get back to you.”

  “Please do.” Jameson eyed him cautiously. “While I don’t particularly care what happens to the others, I need Bridger to survive this. And I fear that the only way that will happen is if we call in support from a third party.”

  “Understood.” Ingram stood and buttoned his suit coat. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Do hurry, Robert.” Jameson stood and poured himself a short drink. “I don’t know how long they plan to train for this little dust up they’re about to cause, but something tells me that time is not on our side.”

  MacDill AFB, Florida

  * * *

  “Let’s run it again,” Bridger barked.

  “Bobby.” Laughlin stepped beside him and lowered his voice. “Let them take a break. They haven’t eaten since we touched down, they’re exhausted, and they haven’t even stowed their gear.”

  Bobby turned a steely eye to the smaller man. “You aren’t calling the shots any more Laughlin.” His
voice was a low growl. “They’re seasoned professionals.”

  “They’re also twenty years rusty, and the odds are stacked against you.” Both men turned to see a major in desert camo taking notes on a clipboard. The name “Blake" printed across his chest. “Just using the assets we were able to verify has them stopping you cold before you breach the inner courtyard.” He stopped writing and turned to the men. “Recent intelligence has the Murillo cartel hiring anybody that can pull a trigger and drawing them in to defend the compound.” He pointed the pen at Laughlin. “They know you’re coming.”

  “They may suspect, but they’ll never see us coming.” Bobby grunted as he pushed past the man. “Set it up and let’s run it again!” he called out to his crew.

  Blake stepped between him and door of the trainer. “You should really step back and look at this from a different point of view.”

  Bridger paused and clenched his jaw. He silently counted to five then turned and faced the officer. “These assholes have taken out two of my crew already. They’ve attempted on the rest of us.” He raised a brow at the man. “What would you do?”

  “Not this.” The major crossed his arms and glanced at his clipboard. “Do you have any air support?”

  “None.”

  “Operators?”

  “You’re looking at them.”

  Blake slowly nodded and peered out across the trainer. “You need overwatch. Somebody with a head for long range shooting.”

  “We have that. We can’t know that the terrain is available to set up an overwatch, though.”

  Blake motioned him aside. “Stand your crew down. Let ‘em grab some grub, take a rest and recharge their batteries.”

  “I don’t have time. The longer we waste here, the more time this ‘Murillo Ghost’ has to recruit shooters.”

  “I understand.” He pushed open a door and motioned Bobby inside. “Let’s look at this from a different angle.” He glanced over Bridger’s shoulder to Laughlin. “Stand your people down. Grab a bite, get some rest. I need to talk to your boss a moment.”

  Laughlin bristled. “Technically, I’m the handler.” Bridger and Blake both shot him a dirty look and Matt took a half step back. “Well, I…uh, used to be.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just…go and have them…uh…yeah.”

  He pulled two sets of maps and laid them out over the light table. “I took the liberty of having these printed up for you. This is a topo map and this is a satellite aerial view.” He overlaid the two and flipped on the light box. “You have three positions that would be prime real estate for an overwatch. Personally, if it were me, I’d station a man here,” he tapped a spot across from the main entrance of the villa, “and here. But you don’t have the manpower to support two snipers.”

  “Unless you wanted to loan me a few.”

  The major scoffed and shook his head. “I’d be hesitant to send anybody into this situation, but without authority from a higher power…?”

  “Right,” Bridger sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

  “You’re barely a six man team. That’s already one less than the minimum I’d send into a breaching situation. To sacrifice one of those six for overwatch is risky, but considering the situation you’re looking at, I feel it’s necessary.”

  “Agreed.” Bobby craned his head to stare at the maps. “I think I’d rather station here.”

  “There’s higher ground behind your shooter.” Blake shook his head. “That’s a bad move.”

  “True, but if we take a half moment and wire the upside of the hill, the shooter’s back is covered and they won’t expect a sniper from this location.” He met the major’s gaze and raised a brow. “All it takes is for one of Murillo’s men to have military training and the prime real estate for overwatch is compromised.”

  He sighed as he nodded in agreement. “Too many unknowns in this scenario.”

  “Any trick we can pull out of our asses is worth trying.”

  The major stared at the map and shook his head slowly. “You realize that they won’t be wearing uniforms. Are you equipped with IFF?”

  Bobby shook his head. “Nope.”

  He crossed his arms and continued to stare at the map. “That’s something I can probably arrange for you.” He sucked at his teeth as the layout formed a 3D image in his mind. “You’re going to need a distraction.” He pointed to the far side of the compound. “If you take your time and recon the area, remove any spotters as you find them. Set off charges on the far side as a diversion and have a half decent shooter at overwatch…”

  “You think it’s doable?”

  Blake shook his head. “Oh, hell no. You’re all going to die anyway, but odds are you’ll be able to take more of them with you.” He grinned at the man.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Let me see what I can do about IFF. I’d hate to hear that your sniper shot one of his own.”

  Near Chapala Mexico

  * * *

  Raul stiffened as the two militia leaders returned. One held a burlap sack in his hands and the bottom of the sack was dripping blood as he climbed the stairs to the villa. “Is that what I think it is?”

  The militia leader dropped the sack on the porch and it rolled slightly before listing to the side. “We asked him nicely. Once.”

  “Just like you said,” the other man added.

  Raul cleared his throat and nodded nervously. “I take it that…” he pointed to the sack, “is his head?”

  “What a shame.” All three men turned to see el jefe step out of the house, a cigar rolling between his fingertips as he lit it. He spat a loose bit of tobacco from his lips and stared at the sack oozing blood on his porch. “I had really hoped that he would come to his senses.”

  “You offered a LOT of money, señor. I cannot believe that he was so stubborn not to take it.” The militia leader smiled broadly before kicking at the sack. “We brought his head in case you wished to make an example of him.”

  “Or use it as a piñata,” the other man added, chuckling at his own joke.

  “No, gentlemen,” el jefe responded as he blew a gray blue plume into the evening sky. “My days of sending messages to our own people are over.” He turned and stared out into the darkening jungle. “The message I need to send is for this Bravo team that dares to…” He paused and took a deep breath, stopping himself from being worked into a rage. He slowly shook his head and slipped the cigar into the corner of his mouth. “Have your people stay on alert.”

  “They are, Fantasma. Both armies are combing the jungles. We have men positioned in all of the best places to launch an attack.”

  Raul stepped forward and whispered in his ear, “Perhaps you should come back inside, señor? In case they approach in the darkness?”

  El jefe scoffed as he turned and faced the two militia commanders. “Do this, and you will be rewarded.” He met their greedy gaze and smiled. “Do it well and you may find yourself in my inner circle, eh amigos?”

  “We will deal with these gringos, Jefe. Let them show their cowardly faces. We will make them wish they were never born.”

  17

  MacDill AFB Florida

  * * *

  “Major?” A female sergeant entered the room and handed him a manila folder. “Fresh from the printer, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Major Blake flipped open the folder and sighed heavily before handing it to Bridger.

  “Dammit,” Bobby groaned as he scanned the heat signatures surrounding the villa. “I knew we didn’t have time for this.”

  Blake sat down slowly and stared at the map on the wall. “They’re reinforcing.”

  “No shit.” Bridger pushed the map across the table and fell into the chair opposite. “There’s no way we can pull this off without heavy duty munitions and air support.”

  Blake scoffed and shook his head. “In a foreign country? Mexico, no less? Fat chance.”

  “So, we’re screwed.” Bobby sighed and rested his head i
n his hands. “We always knew this was probably a suicide mission.” He leaned back and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “All we can hope for now is to kill this Ghost before they kill us.”

  “No chance of you calling this off?”

  Bobby shook his head. “They’ve been trying to pick us off individually.” He looked up and met Blake’s gaze. “Once they realize they aren’t succeeding, they’ll start going after family. Associates. Anybody they can think of to try to hurt us.”

  “That’s definitely the cartel’s MO.” Blake rubbed at his chin as he studied the print outs. “As a mission commander, I’d scrap this idea. If this Ghost is an HVT, I’d hide and wait. Eventually he’ll have to come out of his hole.” He glanced at Bobby. “I’d hit him then. Motorcades are a lot more vulnerable than a fortified compound.”

  Bobby sighed as he sat back in his chair, considering options. “Task Force Blue didn’t wait to get bin Laden.”

  Blake scoffed. “Because intel reported to DEVGRU said that he hadn’t left his compound in over six years.”

  Bobby gave him a knowing look. “So one could argue that he was due. One could also argue that this Ghost could do the same thing.” He rubbed at his temples as a headache began to form. “That’s why I never wanted Laughlin’s job. Too damned many variables to consider.”

  Blake studied him for a moment. “So, the bearded wonder out there was your handler?”

  Bobby nodded. “Back in the day.” He groaned as he stood and reached for the coffee pot in the corner. “This is the kind of shit that I always blew off. We were the tip of the spear. Laughlin pointed us to the targets and it was up to me to keep my team safe until the mission was complete.” He sipped the bitter liquid and tried to push out old memories. “It’s a lot easier to blame someone else when shit goes sideways when you’re not the one in charge.”