Burning Bridges

by Heath Stallcup

The two men ducked lower as the few people inside the hangar rushed for the inner doors and made their way to muster in the front parking lot.

  As Bridger and DJ rose from their hiding spot, Mauk and Lisa were already trotting towards them. Bridger tugged at the cart and pushed it alongside the stack of drone cases.

  The four made quick work of stacking them onto the cart and wheeling it towards the plane as the pilot began to rev up the jets. Laughlin hung out of the doorway and caught the incoming cases, tossing them unceremoniously to the rear of the passenger compartment as the other four relayed them off of the cart.

  Once empty, Mauk pushed the heavy cart away from the plane with his foot then pulled the door shut, sealing it behind him. “We’re clear!”

  Laughlin stuck his head out of the cockpit and gave him a thumb’s up. “We’re out of here.”

  Lisa fell into her chair, panting. “Please tell me you didn’t burn their building down to hide our dirty work.”

  DJ laughed as he cleared two of the cases from his seat. “Hardly. I set up a mini fire bomb in the ladies restroom. Set it right next to the fire and smoke detectors.” He wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “I’m surprised it took their system so long to trigger.”

  Slippy held up a drone. “Uh…Bridger? We may have an issue here.”

  Bobby worked his way past the scattered black plastic boxes and made his way next to him. “They look okay to me.”

  Slippy dropped the drone into the seat next to him. “Yeah, they’re fine. Except none of them are charged and I don’t see a data cable in the box with them.” He gave the man a defeated look. “I’m dead in the water without that charging cable.”

  Bobby groaned and fell into the chair next to him. He scooped up a couple of the black boxes and set them between his feet. “Okay people. Rip these things open and let’s find him that cable.”

  “Great,” DJ groaned as he reached for the bolt cutters. “We got these nifty little guns with no bullets.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of bullets,” Slippy replied. “Just no way to—”

  “It was a METAPHOR,” DJ yelled. “Christ, you’ve got to be the dumbest smart person I’ve ever met.”

  Slippy gave him sarcastic grin. “Me? Dumb?” He tossed the box aside. “Fine. Spell it.”

  DJ gave him a confused look. “It? I-T. There, dumbass.”

  “Ha-ha. Spell metaphor, smart ass.”

  Bridger stood up, his head brushing the ceiling. “Can it, both of you.” He nodded to Laughlin. “Tell me you can conjure us a data cable that will work with these?”

  Laughlin studied the drone then slowly shook his head. “I have no idea. It looks like a standard USBC port…only bigger.”

  “It’s proprietary,” Slippy added. “I read that in the specs.” He groaned as he kicked another box away from his feet. “This is fucking great. We got forty assassin drones and no way to charge them or load their parameters.”

  “Bingo!” Lisa yelled. She pulled a long black cable from a box along with a transformer brick. “You may all call me ‘Your Majesty’ from this day forward, thank you.”

  Slippy sighed heavily and reached for the equipment. “Great. We got a relatively short trip to have to charge this many drones.” He plugged the brick into the 110 outlet and fed the cable to the nearest drone. “I have no idea how long this will take.”

  Bridger stood over him and glanced at his watch. “Can you have them done before we land?”

  Slippy looked at him like he was an idiot. “Did you not hear me say that I had no idea how long this might take?”

  Bridger nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Langley Virginia

  * * *

  Jameson nodded as he listened to the man on the other end of the phone. “Very well. Rest assured, I’ll take care of it. Thank you for notifying me.”

  Ingram held up his own phone. “I got a missed call from MacDill. I assume it has something to do with your future asset?”

  “It most certainly did.” Jameson tucked his phone back into his pocket and leaned back in the observation chair. “It would seem that Mr. Bridger decided to relieve the Air Force of some experimental drones they were testing.”

  Ingram’s brows knit together in confusion. “I’m not following.”

  Jameson chuckled to himself. “It would appear that our boys with SOCOM were testing some kind of drones that act like a swarm of insects. They coordinate their approach and…” He trailed off, trying to think of the words that the colonel had used. “Well, they’re miniature, they’re quiet and heavily armed.”

  Ingram whistled low. “A killer drone?” He laughed out loud. “As if Predators weren’t bad enough. Now they’ve gone and miniaturized them.”

  “Much, worse than that, Robert.” Jameson suddenly appeared worried. “These are smaller than a basketball. Stealthy quiet.” He swallowed hard and felt a cold sweat start to form. “They have suppressed 9MM armament and a C4 core. If they can’t shoot their target, they can act like a landmine…only in the air.”

  “That sounds more like an assassin’s tool.”

  Jameson tried not to imagine the cartel getting their hands on such an instrument. “Indeed. That they are, Robert.”

  Ingram turned to his mentor. “And Bridger is going to be using these on the Murillo cartel?”

  Jameson took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “I believe that is his plan.” He tried to push the idea of these devices being under criminal control out of his mind. “Let’s just hope that he doesn’t accidentally lose any of them while he’s traipsin’ around Mexico.”

  “I think if I were you I would reconsider how you intend to deal with the cartel.” Ingram raised a brow at him. “Perhaps you should consider keeping your end of the bargain.”

  Near Chapala, Mexico

  * * *

  Miguel stood stiffly in the doorway. “Señor, I told him to make the call.” He stared straight ahead, not daring to look the cartel boss in the eye. “At the time, we did not know who we were dealing with. They had already killed Luis and his crew.” He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw to keep it from shaking. “I vouch for Ricardo, señor.”

  El jefe stood from behind his desk and walked slowly towards the barrel chested man. “You know that this organization has been infiltrated by the Americans before, si?”

  Miguel looked down and met his gaze. “I did not know this.”

  “Oh, it’s very true.” He pulled a cigar from the humidor on his desk and snipped the end. He glanced at Miguel and noted the sweat forming on his forehead. “The Americans sent in a mole.” He lit a match and held it to the end of the cigar, puffing gently and forming blue grey clouds of smoke. Dropping the match he stepped back towards Miguel. “This mole worked his way deep into the organization and do you know what Señor Murillo did?”

  “No, Jefe, I don’t.”

  El Fantasma smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Señor Murillo presented this mole with a gift.” He puffed the cigar and blew smoke towards Miguel. “A gold plated pistola.”

  Miguel’s face twisted in confusion. “Jefe?”

  He pulled back the edge of his coat and revealed a gold and silver plated pistol nestled snugly in a shoulder holster. He slowly drew it and the heft of it in his hand surprised him. He was used to wearing it, but so seldom actually held it in his hand. “This pistola.”

  Miguel swallowed hard and nodded slightly. “It is beautiful.”

  “Si, it is.” El Fantasma locked eyes with Miguel and slowly lifted the pistol. “Do you know what he did next?”

  Miguel shook his head nervously. “No, señor.”

  “While the mole’s men stood nearby, and without anybody’s knowledge, Murillo pulled the pistola from the beautiful, hand carved, wooden presentation box and shot the mole.” He tapped Miguel’s chest. “Right here. En el corazón.”

  Miguel tried to swallow but found that his throat had gone dry. “Señor, I swear. Ricardo is no mole. I have known him and
his familia since we were—”

  “That is not the point.” El Fantasma slipped the weapon back into his holster and sighed. “You should have told me that you had him make inquiries.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Now, because of your actions, people in their government may be alerted to our activities.”

  Miguel gave him another confused look. “Señor?”

  He sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. “My contacts in the American government have legitimate dealings in our country. Nobody thinks twice if they make inquiries because it is part of their jobs.” He spat a small speck of tobacco from his lip and came to his feet. “But you…” He forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. “You have your amigo call a woman of low moral character and have her make inquiries on your behalf.”

  “The files sent to us didn’t cover—”

  “Did I ask you a question, Miguel?” He watched the larger man stiffen, his head shaking. “I did not. Therefore, I require no response on your part.” He moved back behind his desk and carefully took his seat again. “You took it upon yourself to go behind my back and contact an agent of a foreign government and request information on your targets.” He slowly shook his head. “Because YOU felt that I had not supplied you enough on them. Si?”

  Miguel appeared defeated and lowered his head. “Si, señor.”

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk.” El Fantasma sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What should I do with you, Miguel?”

  “I cannot say, señor.”

  “On the one hand, if I let this go, then everyone else will feel free to question my orders. Perhaps decide that they also need ‘more information,’ and reach out to the wrong people. Those people tell somebody else and before you know it, everybody knows my business before I do.” He glared at the man. “On the other hand, if I make an example of you, I might drive home the message to our people but I lose a mighty fighter…and with a war looming….” He laid the cigar in a crystal ashtray and crossed his fingers in front of his face. “What to do, what to do?”

  “What you must, señor.” Miguel’s voice was soft but firm. “I am sorry I have failed you.”

  “It was not your failure that bothers me, Miguel. It was that you went behind my back to one who could leak our intent to our enemies.”

  “It will never happen again, señor.”

  El Fantasma stood slowly. “Of that, I am certain.”

  Miguel squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the bullet to come. He nearly jumped when he felt the hand pat his shoulder. “Go now. There is much to do.”

  Miguel inhaled a deep but shaky breath. “Gracias, señor.”

  “Do not thank me yet, Miguel. You will have plenty of opportunities to make it up to me.”

  “Si, señor.”

  23

  Near Chapala, Mexico

  * * *

  A very nervous Diego Santiago paced beside one of the military trucks parked at the edge of the old runway. He knew that time had not been his friend. He had thickened considerably in the middle and his knees just weren’t what they used to be. The grey was heavy in his hair and beard and under his Panama hat, he was sweating far too much, even in the heat and humidity.

  He stopped pacing as the door to the plane opened and the steps descended. He painted on his best “salesman” smile and stepped into the shadow of the plane. “My friends! It is so good to see you again!”

  Lisa stepped off the plane and hefted a bag over her shoulder. “You might want to go a bit easier, Diego.” She looked over the top of her sunglasses and met his gaze. “Bridger okayed the deal but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to trust again.”

  Diego’s face fell and he nodded solemnly. “I feared as much.”

  She patted his shoulder firmly. “But hey, look at the bright side. He most definitely said we weren’t going to kill you, so…you have that.”

  Diego gave her a nervous smile. “It’s a start, si?”

  Gregg appeared in the doorway then immediately stepped back inside. “Oh, hell no. It’s hotter than the ‘stan out there.”

  DJ gave him a firm push. “You’ll adjust.”

  Gregg stumbled down the short stairs and groaned as soon as his feet touched the ground. “Christ. The crack of my ass is already sweating.”

  Bridger appeared in the doorway and inhaled deeply. “It smells as bad as Colombia.”

  DJ dropped his bag and ducked to access the plane’s belly storage. “It’s the humidity, Top. I’m telling ya, the ‘glades smell like this too.”

  Mauk appeared by DJ’s side and began to stack the Pelican cases beside the plane. “Yo, Diego. Have your boys back the truck up here, wouldja?”

  “Of course.” Diego’s eyes darted between the two working and Bridger, who stood like a flesh statue under his dark sunglasses.

  Laughlin approached Bridger and lowered his voice. “This is a company plane. The pilot is telling me that he can’t remain.” He raised a brow at Bridger. “Ideas?”

  Bobby sucked at his teeth for a moment then nodded. “Send him on.” He picked up his duffle and hoisted it over his shoulder. “If we survive this, either he can come back for us or we’ll call my boys and have them Uber our asses out of here.”

  Laughlin’s face fell and he stepped toward the cockpit. He caught the pilot’s attention and, using hand signals, told him to give them five minutes, then leave. He already felt less secure knowing that their only real escape was about to take off.

  The team made quick work of loading the cases and ensuring they were tied down properly. Diego took the opportunity to approach Bridger. “Things are escalating even as we speak.”

  Bridger nodded slowly. “I’m sure Murillo knows we are coming for him.”

  Diego gave him a confused look. “You do know that Murillo is dead, right?”

  Bridger removed his sunglasses. “That’s what Laughlin keeps saying, too.”

  Diego shrugged. “Because it’s true.”

  “Then who’s running his organization?”

  Diego took a deep breath and looked away. “Nobody seems to really know. There are rumors, but…”

  “But what?”

  He turned back and faced Bridger. “Some say it is his brother. Others say his sister. Some even say he had a son who took over. All we know is he is called El Fantasma. The ‘spirit.’”

  “We caught wind of this ‘ghost,’ too.” Bridger sighed and stretched his neck. “But you’re telling me that after all of these years, nobody knows who exactly is behind the machete?”

  Diego shook his head. “He has a man servant—his right hand. When he speaks, he speaks directly for El Fantasma. When he talks, others listen.”

  “And who might this right hand be?”

  Diego sighed heavily and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “His name is Raul Ortega. From what little I’ve heard, he’s been with the Murillo cartel since he was a child. Worked his way up.”

  “A real badass then.”

  Diego scoffed. “Actually, he is not what you would expect.”

  Bridger raised a brow. “How so?”

  “He is small. He is slight. Balding. Glasses.” Diego chuckled. “From the looks of him, he couldn’t fight his way out of a day care.” He tapped his temple. “But he’s sharp. Like a fox, that one.”

  Bridger watched as the team loaded the last of their supplies. “Could he be the one that is running the show?”

  Diego shook his head. “No. He’s smart, but he’s not cunning. El Fantasma…now he is cunning. And ruthless.”

  “Tell me something, Diego.”

  “Anything, amigo.”

  “Why would Murillo’s ghost wait for nearly twenty years to come after us?”

  Diego exhaled slowly and shook his head. “I’ve asked. Once the Sparrow reached out to me, I made a few quiet inquiries.” He shrugged. “Nobody knows.”

  Bridger growled deep in his throat. “There has to be a reason why he’d want to start a war now.”

  Diego patted his belly.
“Perhaps he thinks that you have gone soft and he can finally beat you?” He chuckled at his own joke then watched as Bridger’s mouth slowly dropped to a frown. “Or perhaps something has changed? Something he blames you and your team for?”

  Mauk approached the pair. “We’re all set, boss.”

  Bridger reached for the handle on the rear of the truck. “Load up. We need to establish a base of operation before the sun goes down.”

  Langley Virginia

  * * *

  “Why weren’t we made aware of these?” Jameson asked as he closed the file on the Swarm Project. “You could fly one of these right up to a man and he’d never hear it.”

  “How?” Ingram asked. “My kid has a quadcopter drone and the buzz from that thing drives me insane.”

  Jameson gave him a knowing look. “They are remarkably quiet. They use…” He paused and opened the file again, “…raked wing tips, which reduce noise by as much as sixty percent. Something called a ‘motor glider’ on each of the electric motors that reduces the noise by another thirty percent.” He shuffled through the printouts again. “Ah, here we go. A nano-fiber noise dampening shroud that directs what little sound it does make upward and the blades are thirty percent longer, so they can spin slower. They make less noise and have the same amount of lift, while saving battery life.” He ran his finger along the printout. “Internals all have rubber dampening mounts and something called ‘air friction’ bearings so there’s no metal on metal for spinning or rotating parts.”

  Ingram stared open mouthed. “Sounds like these things truly are assassins.” He sat down and sighed heavily. “As long as they’re on our side though…”

  “Robert, you know that if our contractors can create something like this, that our enemies can as well, and now we’re handing over a prototype.” He sat back and rubbed at his temples. “And here I feared that our biggest threats would be a sniper or terrorist activity. One of these could fly into your house and shoot you in your sleep and nobody would be the wiser.”