Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Choke Point (Tom Clancys Ghost Recon)

by Peter Telep

  No, this wasn’t the first time Pepper had been on a search and rescue mission only to have the package expire on them. And it wouldn’t be the last. The anger was always palpable. You’d spend months going over every decision you made, second-guessing yourself, considering all the what-ifs, then finally trying to justify why you had failed so you’d do better next time.

  Ross was a good man, and he didn’t need this shit. Not now. Not when he was just starting out … It was just bad luck, Pepper thought. That was all. Bad luck.

  SEVENTEEN

  After retrieving his Stoner, 30K ran a sweep of the perimeter with Kozak at his side. The HUD was clear of enemy contacts. The dry docks continued to burn and sizzle, and the stench of gunpowder and gasoline was heavy in the air. The rain had tapered off to a drizzle as they headed back to link up with Pepper and Ross, who’d moved Delgado to some cover beneath the trees.

  ‘Look at him,’ grunted 30K as they approached. ‘He’s dead as a doornail. Mission fail. Shit.’

  ‘Hey, we got him,’ said Kozak. ‘The fact that he’s dead could be considered just a detail.’

  ‘Yeah, a real inconvenient detail.’

  Kozak called in the drone, catching it like a trained bird, then tucking it back into its holster. ‘I’ve got the location of the first drone,’ he said, studying his remote. ‘We need to go get it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah …’ 30K had been hoping for a feel-good, kick-ass mission, one for the record books. What he got was a minor gunshot wound and a failed rescue attempt. Not exactly a world-class memory.

  They reached the captain and Pepper, and Kozak’s tone grew a bit more somber as he made his request.

  Ross glanced back at him. ‘Take 30K. You got ten minutes. Marine patrol boats are on their way to mop up, and we need to be out of here by then.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ 30K told Kozak, and once they were out of earshot, he added, ‘Ross sounds bummed. What did I tell you?’

  Kozak scowled. ‘I’ll give you a dollar to shut up – because you couldn’t have done any better.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. ’Cause they’ll never put you in charge.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because in five minutes you’d cause an international crisis.’

  30K chuckled over that. ‘Yeah, I guess I would.’

  Ross was watching Pepper search the bodies around the SUVs as he put in the dreaded call to Mitchell. ‘Guardian, this is Delta Dragon, over.’

  ‘Delta Dragon, Guardian. SITREP?’

  ‘We’ve scuttled a narcosub and destroyed the dry docks.’ Ross took a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately, our package has expired, over.’

  Mitchell’s hesitation was enough to make Ross vomit all the stress and anger. Some first impression, huh?

  ‘Delta Dragon, you’re to recover the body and have it transported back to Bogotá. The Agency will take over from there.’

  ‘Roger that, sir.’

  ‘Now listen to me carefully. On board one of the Colombian patrol boats is an operator call sign Adamo. He’s a US State Department advisor and an old friend. Stay put till he arrives. He’s got some updated intel for you. Guardian, out.’

  Updated intel? Ross thought. What did this guy know that Mitchell didn’t? Why wasn’t Mitchell conveying this information himself? The major had said that there was no love lost between him and Langley … so what was this about?

  Pepper’s body searches had come up empty. When he passed this on to Ross, the man reached into his pocket and handed him a metal plate. ‘I ripped it off one of those air compressors. That’s why I went back in the sub.’

  ‘Nice …’ Pepper used his Cross-Com’s camera to snap a photo of the air compressor nomenclature plate, then he used voice commands to upload that photo to GST headquarters, where intelligence analysts would better identify it.

  ‘Delta Dragon Two, this is Guardian Base, over,’ called the intel analyst. Woman’s voice. Sexy. But then again they all sounded sexy to him.

  ‘Guardian Base, this is Delta Dragon Two. That was fast.’

  ‘Roger that. Farsar Tejarat comes up as an Iranian medical air compressor manufacturer. The Model 06 doesn’t show in their sales listings. Looks like they’re moonlighting. Serial number 02769 came up on a bill of lading – along with serial numbers 02770, 02771 and 02772 – shipped from Fadakno Piping Company in Tobruk. The phone number on the plate matches a local number for the Fadakno warehouse, over.’

  ‘Roger, received. Where’s Tobruk, over?’

  ‘It’s a Libyan deep water port on the Mediterranean, over.’

  ‘Roger that. Need to brush up on my geography.’

  ‘Sending e-mail copy to your team now. More specific intel to follow. Guardian Base, out.’

  Kozak found the primary drone wedged between two branches about six meters up, and he activated the secondary drone to fly up there and knock the first one free.

  The plan was ridiculously simple and should have gone down by the numbers.

  However, after several attempts of squinting through the rain and deepening gloom and trying to maneuver the secondary drone just right to force the first one free, the thing just wouldn’t budge, and he feared he’d damage both drones if he continued.

  ‘It’s not working. Can you climb up there and get it?’ he asked 30K.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Look, man, I still don’t feel good,’ said Kozak, feigning dizziness. ‘Come on, do me a solid.’

  ‘Hey, my arm hurts,’ said 30K, showing Kozak where he’d been grazed. ‘My monkey skills suck right now.’

  ‘Are you dizzy?’

  ‘No.’

  Kozak nodded. ‘Then come on.’

  After reciting a string of epithets, 30K shoved his reloaded Stoner into Kozak’s hands, then he reached up and grabbed the nearest branch. ‘You know when’s the last time I climbed a tree?’

  ‘When you were a kid?’

  ‘No, when I was regular Army back in the ’Stan. Kids were always flying those kites, you know? One kid’s got stuck in a tree. He cried for me to get it down. So I went up there, but some Taliban assholes took advantage of that and started shooting. Got two in the plates before my buddies took ’em out. I mean, how do you like that shit? I’m trying to save a kite for some kid, and those bastards decide to engage me. I mean, I hate fighting against cowards like that. Got no respect for them at all.’

  ‘Man, that sucks,’ said Kozak, feeling the guilt of pressuring 30K work into his throat. ‘So now you have an aversion to trees.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘You get the kite?’

  30K gave him a look. ‘Yeah. I got the kite. But it was full of holes.’

  ‘Swiss cheese.’

  ‘Don’t talk about food.’

  ‘You hungry, too?’

  ‘Dude, I could eat an entire tray of lasagna right now.’

  ‘And wings. Fifty wings.’

  ‘At least.’ 30K reached the branch where the drone was stuck and began to inch his way toward the end like a clumsy caterpillar, the branch bending more sharply with each move. ‘Dude, I can’t reach it.’

  ‘Don’t give up. You’re almost there.’

  30K’s attention was diverted away, over Kozak’s shoulder. ‘Aw, hell,’ he said. ‘The Marines are already here.’

  ‘Then hurry up!’

  He shifted forward once more.

  And the branch snapped.

  EIGHTEEN

  Four Colombian patrol boats from the Naval Base ARC Bahía Málaga in Buenaventura came whirring down the river, their pilots throttling down as they drew closer. A half dozen heavily armed Marines stood in each vessel, and the barrels of .50-caliber machine guns extended from bow and stern. The lead boat slowed enough to bump the dock and allow a man wearing a black baseball cap, fatigues and a heavy Kevlar vest to hop out. He strode down the dock, undaunted by the wind or rain, and marched across the shoreline toward Ross and Pepper as, behind him, the rest
of the Marines prepared to come ashore.

  Why he wore aviator sunglasses in a rainstorm was beyond Ross, but if you stayed in the military long enough, you got used to the eccentricities and superstitions of operators who were all, admittedly, just a little off center. That came with the territory.

  The man stopped before them and tugged off the sunglasses to expose the deep scar running from his nose, beneath his right eye, and down toward his earlobe. His mustache and soul patch were patterned after the old rocker Frank Zappa but were pure white, and his eyes were a brilliant blue. Whether he was bald or not would remain a mystery, as his baseball cap remained fixed on his head. He proffered a hand and said, ‘You’re Captain Ross, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ross, taking the hand. ‘They call you Adamo?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And don’t let my present company fool you. I’m an old ex-Army colonel. Seems like a lifetime ago, but I was on an ODA team myself. Maybe you heard of them: Triple Nickel?’

  Ross’s eyes widened. Hell, yeah, he’d heard of them. ODA-555 was one of the first Operational Detachment Alpha Special Forces teams to deploy in Afghanistan after 9/11, and their work there had become legendary among all SF operators. ‘Well, then, sir, it’s an honor,’ Ross answered. He introduced Pepper and Jiménez.

  ‘I already know Captain Jiménez,’ Adamo said with a knowing grin. He added quickly in Spanish, ‘The captain and I have been working these mangroves for a long time.’

  Jiménez gave a weary grin. ‘Too long.’

  Adamo finished shaking hands, then regarded Ross. ‘Mitchell needs good people like you. Don’t get discouraged. Now, let me see what you got here.’

  Adamo turned away and crouched down over Delgado’s body. He muttered something to himself, studied the man once more, then lifted his voice. ‘Just what I thought. This ain’t him.’

  ‘What?’ asked Pepper.

  Adamo got to his feet. ‘That’s not Delgado.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ The word came out of Ross’s mouth before he could stop it. ‘We got intel. That’s our man.’

  Adamo shook his head.

  The branch had cracked, sending 30K sliding forward, but he managed to maintain his grip, even as his legs came swinging around. Now the branch acted like a vine, and he crashed into the trunk with a heavy thud.

  When he looked up, he realized he was dangling by a splintering thread, and if he didn’t find better purchase, he was going down the hard way at a rate of 9.8 meters per second squared, according to the math guy who had invented gravity – what was his name, Carl Sagan?

  Wise-ass thoughts like that kept him from panicking, he assured himself, but Kozak wasn’t helping matters, screaming for him to hang on. Yes, his ‘little brother’ had an absolutely keen eye for the obvious.

  ‘Reach out and grab that branch right there,’ hollered Kozak.

  30K saw the second branch in question, tried to grab it, couldn’t. ‘Get under me,’ he ordered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said get under me!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cause I’ll let go, and you’ll catch me.’

  ‘Are you nuts?’

  No, he wasn’t. Those were just more wise-ass remarks to punish Kozak, whose eyes threatened to explode.

  ‘Dude, wait a minute. Wait a minute.’ Kozak worked the controls on the remote, got the secondary drone back up in the air, and brought it close to 30K, the quadrotors humming loudly in his face. ‘Grab hold in the center.’

  ‘That thing can’t hold me up,’ 30K shouted.

  ‘No, but it’ll slow your descent. You ready?’

  30K felt the branch begin to give way, and he suddenly dropped another half meter. ‘Oh, shit. Here goes nothing!’ He reached out, seized the drone, then let go of the branch.

  The quadrotors whined in protest, fighting against his considerable weight, but lo and behold, his descent slowed enough so that when he hit the ground, the reverberation that rose through his legs was mild. He fell back, on to his rump, and released the drone.

  And not a second later, the primary drone plummeted from the tree and crashed to the ground, practically in his lap.

  ‘Sweet!’ cried Kozak. He policed up both drones, then quickly offered his hand. ‘Nice work, bro.’

  30K snickered and ignored the hand. ‘You know how much beer it’ll take to pay me back for this shit? More than you can afford.’

  Kozak switched on his Russian accent. ‘What is it with you, country boy? Always beer? Drink vodka! For good health.’

  ‘All right, Sulu. Let’s go.’

  ‘Chekov was the Russian guy.’

  ‘Whatever!’

  Ross had some hard-copy photographs of Delgado tucked into his pack, and he produced them for Adamo.

  ‘See, have a look,’ said Pepper, hovering at Ross’s shoulder. ‘He fits the description. He’s the guy!’

  Adamo thumbed through the photos, his frown deepening. ‘Gentlemen, we got ourselves a bit of a mess here.’

  Pepper threw up his hands. ‘Oh, here we go. I don’t believe this.’

  Ross hardened his voice. ‘Sir, I hope you can clarify, because we’re all about to have some anger management issues.’ Ross felt his cheeks warm.

  Adamo returned the photos. ‘Take it easy, Captain. This intel was supplied to your group by Langley.’

  ‘Meaning it’s not worth shit,’ snapped Pepper.

  ‘Meaning it was deliberately altered by someone,’ Adamo corrected. ‘Here’s a picture of Delgado.’ He reached into his pocket.

  Pepper shifted in beside Ross and cursed as he glimpsed the photo. ‘Well, ain’t that something. That’s the cabdriver we rescued. What the hell was his name? Raul?’

  Ross turned to Jiménez. ‘What did you do with him?’

  The man winced. ‘We let him go. He said he’d walk back to the village and get a ride back to Bogotá. We had no reason to hold him, and I couldn’t afford to leave anyone behind with him. I called the local police to see if they could pick him up, but no one answered at the station.’

  Ross and Pepper looked at each other in disbelief.

  Adamo slapped a hand on Ross’s shoulder. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Captain. Your mission was a success. You rescued Delgado. You just didn’t know it – because he didn’t want you to know it. I’ve been here for nearly ten years myself, and I’ve worked with the guy quite a few times. Never trusted him.’

  ‘Does Mitchell know about this?’

  ‘I briefed him on what I know. My mission here is to work with our own DEA and the Colombian Marines to interdict these narcosubs coming out of the mangroves. Delgado was a good source of intel. Then, about six months ago, he dropped off the map. I thought they’d killed him, chopped him up, fed him to the sharks. But then he turns up, working some kind of operation with the FARC and Los Rastrojos. One of my DEA guys gets a picture of him in Bogotá meeting with a guy named Saif Hamid.’

  ‘That name sounds familiar,’ said Ross.

  ‘It should. Hamid is an old-school al Qaeda bomb maker, a High Value Target we’ve been after for a long time. He was also working behind the scenes in Afghanistan, supplying weapons to the Taliban in the Wardak Province.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Ross asked, his voice dropping to funereal depths.

  Adamo gave a reluctant nod. ‘The RPGs and other ordnance Hamid supplied to those bastards were used to kill your teammates from DEVGRU.’

  On August 6, 2011, thirty Americans – including twenty-two Navy SEALs – had been killed when their Chinook helicopter was ambushed and shot down in Wardak Province. The SEALs had been part of a QRF, or Quick Reaction Force, en route to support an Army Ranger unit.

  What was more, Ross had served with every single operator who’d died that day, and there was, in his mind, no act more evil. Some accounts noted that US forces had been tricked into the area via false intel and that the Taliban had set up a trap for the helicopter, knowing there was only one good approach into the valley. A
n RPG strike to the aft tail rotor assembly resulted in an entire troop of SEALs being wiped off the face of the earth. If Ross had been upset five minutes ago, he was seething now.

  Adamo went on: ‘Hamid has formed a new group called Bedayat jadeda, which means “new beginnings” in Arabic. We think Delgado was acting as a liaison between all three groups.’

  ‘So Delgado went rogue?’ Ross asked.

  ‘We don’t know. The fact that they captured him would argue against that. I think his cover got blown, and I think the Agency realized they couldn’t contain the mess down here – but as always, they’re never telling us the whole truth.’

  Ross squinted into a thought. ‘It can’t be that simple. Why would the FARC drag a cabdriver all the way out here unless they wanted us to believe he was Delgado?’

  ‘Maybe they were like us,’ said Pepper. ‘Maybe they didn’t know what he looked like. Maybe only a few of the officers had actually met him. They had their orders and just followed them. They thought they had Delgado, and so did we – and that’s exactly what he wanted.’

  Ross thought back to the cocaine lab. ‘Maybe you’re right. I mean, for a cabdriver, he was pretty forthcoming, wasn’t he? He wanted us out of there so he could take off.’

  ‘And you know how those spooks are. They will never give up their cover,’ said Pepper. ‘Even to the good guys.’

  ‘We oughta know about that,’ said Ross.

  Pepper rubbed the corners of his eyes. ‘I still can’t get my head wrapped around this. So whose side is that little bastard on?’

  Adamo grinned crookedly. ‘I’d ask that of his entire agency. Anyway, I need to mark the location of that sub, since we plan to salvage it for study. These Marines will finish with the bodies.’

  ‘What about Delgado now?’

  ‘I’ll put out my own feelers with AFEUR and the DEA, but if Delgado doesn’t want to be found, then trust me, we won’t find him.’

  ‘And Hamid?’ Ross asked.

  ‘I think the Agency was tracking him, but I haven’t heard anything more. Maybe they lost him. Who knows?’