“And now that you’re trying to do both jobs, you’ve found a whole new respect for the man.”
Bobby shook his head. “Not exactly.” He turned and smirked. “Some people are better suited to giving the orders. I’m better suited to making sure those orders are carried out.”
Langley Virginia
* * *
Robert Ingram knocked quickly then opened the door. “Good news.”
“Why yes, please come in, Robert,” Jameson replied sarcastically. “What could possibly be so pressing?”
Ingram sat across from him and handed him a single page. “Somebody does owe me a favor in Mexico.”
Jameson picked up the profile page and glanced through the information. “And you couldn’t have simply picked up a phone?”
Ingram waved him off. “Too easy. Besides, you owe me lunch after this.”
“And why is that, Robert?” Jameson slid the page back across his desk.
“He’s a Lieutenant Colonel in the Mexican Army. He can get us a drone.”
Jameson crossed his arms and raised a brow at the man. “An armed drone? That he’s willing to use on his own soil? Against a rather wealthy criminal drug czar with his own army and, I’m sure, a cadre of assassins?”
Ingram swallowed hard and slowly shook his head. “No, but…uh, we’d have eyes in the sky.”
“Joy,” Jameson deadpanned. “We can watch my future asset be chopped to bits with machetes by a merciless drug kingpin. Should I bring the popcorn?”
Ingram sighed as he came to his feet. “Fine.” He adjusted his tie and tugged at his lapels. “I’ll make a few more calls. Perhaps we can owe him one.”
“You do that, Robert.” Jameson turned back to his work as Ingram turned for the door. “And feel free to pick up the phone once you have the logistics settled.”
“Of course,” Ingram muttered as he stepped out of the office.
Jameson waited for the door to shut then reached for the phone. “I think that perhaps it would behoove us to fight fire with fire.” He punched in a number and waited for the line to pick up. “This is Jameson. I need to call in that favor you owe me.”
The man on the other line seemed eager to please. “I need special activity in a foreign nation. Mexico, to be exact.” He waited for the man to stutter and stumble through his words. “I need an air asset with plenty of fire power.”
“Wait…what?” The man’s voice rose nearly an octave. “I don’t have those kind of resources.”
Jameson smiled to himself. “No, but you know people who do. The target is a drug lord. Rather, his compound and any assets he may have at that facility.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice into the phone. “Surely you know how to contact others in that same trade who would be only too happy to get the job done?”
The man on the other end was silent for a moment then seemed to find his voice. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises though.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Who’s the target?”
“The Murillo Cartel. The compound is between Chapala and Ajijic, Mexico. Overlooking the water.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can conjure up.”
“You do that,” Jameson quipped before he hung up the phone. He leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. “And that is how you start a drug war.”
Near Chapala Mexico
* * *
El Fantasma walked slowly across the covered porch, his eyes scanning the thick vegetation that clung to the hillsides. He knew that deep in the shadows, the best shooters that the militias had to offer were lurking there. Waiting. Praying for the chance to spill Bravo Team’s blood.
“Jefe?” Raul’s voice was nearly a whisper as he approached. “Should you be out here in the open?”
He turned slowly and gave the smaller man a quaint smile. “There are three armies out there lying in wait. I think I’m safe here.”
“I just got word from Miguel. They had to find a different plane to return. The Gulf that Luis took was damaged beyond flying.” He felt his voice crack as he spoke and his face flushed. “He reports that—”
“I already know what he said, Raul,” he interrupted. “The gringos escaped. Our men are dead or missing. He has no idea where Bridger and his team are.”
Raul felt his mouth fall open and he blinked rapidly. “He already spoke with you?”
El Fantasma shook his head. “No Raul, but I know our enemy.” He sighed as he leaned against the railing and pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket to pat at his brow.
“Are you not well, Jefe? Should I—”
“I am fine, Raul.” He tucked the handkerchief back into his coat pocket and turned to stare at the sun setting behind the hills. “I just…fear that we have not prepared for what is about to come.”
“Señor, they are but a handful of people. You have the militias and our own army lying in wait. Surely you cannot believe that they have a chance?”
El Fantasma chuckled as he pushed away from the railing. “You do not know the kind of trouble these people will bring. You were not here when they went on their rampage, destroying croplands and villages, blowing up runways and shooting down our transport planes.” He sighed as he turned back to the setting sun. “These are dangerous people.”
“As are we.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “We are many and we know that they are coming.” He took a deep breath then stepped in front of his boss, meeting his gaze. “If you are this worried about the gringos, perhaps you should leave? Silently, in the night. You could go to one of our other villas. Do not let anybody know where you go so that they cannot tell them—”
“No.” He smiled at the smaller man. “Even if it means my death, I will look into their eyes as they beg me for mercy.” He scoffed as he inhaled deeply of the cooling night air. “I will have them watch as I cut the hearts from their compadres. They will know the pain I have felt these many years and they will pray to their gods for a quick death.”
“But señor, if you truly feel that they are that much of a threat, you owe it to everyone to stay alive.” Raul shrugged. “Let them think that you are still here and once they have been captured, you can safely return and have your revenge.”
El Fantasma shook his head slowly and took Raul by the shoulders. “You do not understand, amigo. I must face them.” He tapped at his chest. “I must remain here.” He waved his hand out over the lands. “The people who come here to fight, they need to see me. They need to know that I stood with them in this. Otherwise, they will lose faith in me.”
Raul nodded knowingly. “You cannot afford to appear weak.” He turned and stared out at the lush canopy of trees climbing the surrounding hills. “You must maintain control…or somebody with ambition might try to take that which is yours.”
“Among other reasons, si.” He reached for the snifter of brandy on the railing and cradled it. “I have to be where our people can see me. I have to be ‘available’ to them.” He craned his neck and slowly smiled as a Mercedes G Wagon made its way up the winding roads towards the villa. “Miguel has arrived. Prepare for him rooms and have food brought in. They will be tired and hungry.”
“As you wish, Jefe.”
He watched Raul leave then made his way to the wide steps leading up to the porch. He watched as Miguel climbed out of the Mercedes and began making his way towards the house.
“We have failed you.” Miguel’s face was stern.
He smiled to his assassin and waved him onward. “No, you did not. It went as I suspected it might.” He opened his arms to welcome the men home. “I had hoped that our prey had grown soft and fat over the years. I was wrong.”
Miguel paused just short of the porch and sighed. “It does not forgive their escape.”
El Fantasma smiled and motioned them into the house. “Do not worry, amigo. They will be coming to us.”
Miguel stepped onto the wide porch and narrowed his gaze. “How can you know this?”
H
is face grew somber as he turned for the house. “I know the men we hunt all too well.”
18
MacDill AFB, Florida
* * *
Major Blake gave Bridger a knowing look. “There may be something…” he trailed off, his mind considering the ramifications as he glanced toward the empty doorway.
Bobby slowly came to his feet, his gaze narrowing. “Talk to me.”
“You have an IT guy, yeah? A computer whiz to do all of your electronic backdoor shit?”
Bobby nodded slowly, his gaze narrowing. “Yeah. Why?”
“Because if he’s good enough, there may be something to help you pull off this suicide attack of yours and increase your chances of walking away.” Major Blake stepped to the door and checked the hallway before closing it. “Look, I’m not supposed to mention this, but it is a joint military and CIA contract.”
Bobby crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the heavy conference table. “I’m listening.”
Blake pulled open a drawer from a secure file cabinet and fished out a thick folder. “We might be testing prototypes for a program nicknamed Hornet’s Nest. These little bastards would be the swarm.” He dropped the folder on the table. “We may have samples from three different contractors.”
Bobby flipped open the folder and perused the pages. “Drones?”
Blake nodded. “Yeah, sort of. Miniature ones.” He chuckled low in his throat. “Real quiet, too.”
Bobby shrugged as he pushed the file away. “Okay. And?”
Blake reached across the table and opened the file again. He flipped through some of the pages then turned it around for Bobby to read. “They’re tiny. They’re silent. They can be preprogrammed with facial recognition and allowed to run autonomously with what they’re calling Assisted AI, or operated manually via a remote.” He pushed the file closer. “And they can be armed.”
Bobby pulled the file closer and stared at the specs. “Eleven rounds of 9MM?” He ran his finger down the sheet. “C4 charges?” He looked up at Blake. “Are you fucking serious?”
“But wait, there’s more!” Blake added, mocking the late night TV infomercials. “They can be set to track heat sources. They can be assigned a target and follow it.” He sat down and gave Bridger a knowing look. “Of course, there are always ‘buts.’”
“Like what?”
“Like, they have just under thirty minutes of flight time so you’ll have to be close and act quickly.”
“What else?”
Blake pursed his lips. “We have prototypes from three bidders, all hoping to gain that golden government contract.” He crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “So, we have limited numbers of each.”
Bobby sighed and stared at the specs again. “How are they operated?”
“That’s the good news. They can all be operated from the same remote. We wanted universal connectivity, so regardless of manufacturer, one remote controls them all. Same radio frequency, same electronic specs.”
“What’s the catch?”
Blake glanced toward the door again then lowered his voice. “You’d have to steal them.” He cleared his throat. “From us.”
Langley VA
* * *
William Jameson, Director of the CIA’s Information Operations Center picked up his phone eagerly. “Please tell me that you were able to actually do something.”
The voice on the other end sounded slightly more confident than the previous time they spoke. “I’ve got people willing to listen.”
Jameson felt his jaw tighten and he had to force himself to remain calm. “And what exactly are they listening to?”
“They want to know what’s in it for them.”
Jameson heard his breath against the speaker and fought the urge to use an expletive. “Do they not see the benefit of removing a considerable competitor? Why the financial windfall alone should be—”
“They’re not stupid, sir,” the voice interrupted. “But they also aren’t prepared to go to war with another cartel at the moment.”
“And why not? Aren’t they all blood thirsty, money hungry—”
“There’s been a certain…’peace’ between the cartels for some time now. They’ve all carved out their own little niches and there seems to be enough money to go around.” The voice sighed. “For the moment, anyway, they’re all content with the status quo.”
“Of course they are,” Jameson groaned. “They’ll carve up some poor border farmer and his family for snitching out their mules, but heaven help us if somebody wants to take over another cartel’s territory.” He wiped a hand across his face and moaned. “What do they want?”
The voice cleared his throat and seemed to stammer at first. “T-they’d really like somebody to call off the DEA’s activities along our southern border.”
“I don’t have that authority.”
“I understand that sir, and I told them as much.”
“What else might they be interested in?” Jameson knew that this would be their true goal. Always ask for something unattainable at first, then lower the expectation with something more reasonable.
“Um, well…uh, weapons, sir.”
Jameson scoffed. “They can buy all the weapons they could ever need. They have more money than most nations.”
“True, but the kind of weapons they want are…much more difficult to get.”
“Such as?” Jameson felt a cold chill run down his spine.
“Heavy munitions, sir. APC’s, shoulder fired rockets, heavy machine guns…and, that drone. Along with the armaments to outfit it.”
Jameson actually laughed and had to pull the phone from his ear. “You seriously expect me to believe that they don’t already have such things?”
“They claim they don’t.” The voice cleared his throat again. “Or perhaps they have limited numbers and don’t want to waste what they have going to war against a rival cartel.”
Jameson leaned back in his chair and considered the possibility. “Tell them this…” he began slowly. “Show me proof that they have the resources to pull off this… ‘coup’ against Murillo, and I’ll not only replace their munitions, I’ll double whatever they use to ensure their supply doesn’t dwindle.”
The voice took a deep breath. “I’ll relay the message sir. I’m not sure if they have access to a heavy drone though, sir…”
Jameson scoffed. “With the money they have, they could rent the goddamned Mexican army for a day and use their drones. Just make sure that they understand, action first, resupply after. And if they keep my assets unharmed, I’ll see about getting them their very own UAV.”
“Understood.”
Jameson hung up the phone and stared at the world map hanging on his wall. “Do we really want to create an army of thugs in a neighboring country?” He shook his head slowly then glanced to Bobby’s dossier. “You’d better be worth this, Mr. Bridger.”
Near Chapala Mexico
* * *
El Fantasma peered through the wide blinds at the men in uniform speaking with Raul. Clearly the military felt it was worth risking their very lives to come to his villa.
He pulled a cigar from his humidor and lit it, his eyes never leaving the thick mustachioed man speaking animatedly at the bottom of his steps. Raul nodded vigorously then turned and nearly sprinted up the stairs. The man in the green uniform turned his back to the hacienda and stood at parade rest.
“Señor?” Raul stood in the doorway, a worried look painted across his features.
El jefe gave him a curious look. “Tell me, Raul. Why would the military come to my villa?”
Raul swallowed hard. “There are rumors, señor. Bad ones.”
El jefe smiled. “Aren’t they all,” he muttered. “What does he say?”
“There are people…different groups, they are trying to urge the military to act against you, señor.”
El Fantasma raised a brow as he puffed the cigar. “You don’t say.” He sat carefully behind his desk and p
eered through the blue gray plumes. “And who might these people be?”
Raul’s face fell. “He couldn’t say. No names were mentioned.” He stepped closer and pleaded, “But this is beginning to get out of hand, Jefe. You should leave before…” he trailed off.
He smiled gently and shook his head. “No, Raul. I need to be here. When Bravo comes and—”
“Jefe!” Raul interrupted. “They can bring you their remains, or, if you insist, they can capture them and bring them to you for torture. You can still have your revenge on them, but not if you are dead.”
El Fantasma stood slowly and placed a reassuring hand on Raul’s shoulder. “We have the tunnels still, eh? If things begin to go wrong, we shall make our escape and collapse the tunnels behind us.” He gave him a broader smile. “Let them bring the military. Most are on our payroll. They will not go against us.”
Raul groaned. “Jefe, they talk of using drones.” He pleaded with his eyes. “Have you seen the devastation that comes with them?”
“I have, Raul.” He patted the man’s cheek. “Tell the colonel that we appreciate the warning, but we have things under control here.”
Raul shook his head. “Please, Jefe. At least have him bring a platoon. They can seal off the roads that—”
“Fine!” His face hardened and he squared his shoulders. “I fear that my respect for the gringos has planted an unrealistic fear into your heart, Raul.” He turned and peered through the blinds again. “Have the colonel assign the men on our payroll to the roads. Every road in or out.” He turned and gave Raul a sardonic smile. “Every mountain crossing, goat path, game trail…everything that leads to us, he should assign his men.” He crossed his arms and stared at the smaller man. “Does this ease your mind, mi hermano?”
Burning Bridges Page 12
