Retribution

by Brent Towns

  “Reaper One, copy.”

  “Reaper One? Zero, over.”

  “Copy Zero.”

  “Reaper, it might be time to pull out while you can. You don’t want to get cut off where you are.”

  “Copy. We’ll start now. Bravo Three, how’s our path of egress? Over.”

  “You have four Tangos between you and your egress point, Reaper One.”

  “Copy. Reaper Two, you copy?”

  “Roger.”

  “Give us two minutes and then meet us at the rendezvous point.”

  Kane heard the M110 fire as she said, “Copy, Reaper One. Two minutes.”

  “Come on, Traynor, let’s go.”

  “Wait!” Traynor snapped. He brought his HK416 up and loosed a burst of gunfire at a group of cartel men. They returned fire and bullets slammed into the front wall of the old bank.

  Kane swiveled and loosed his own burst. They struck the chest of one of the cartel men and brought forth a savage hail of bullets. A round whined close to Kane’s ear, so close he felt the heat of the displaced air.

  “Come on, Traynor, move.”

  Up on the rooftop, Cara watched on as the pair broke cover. She shifted aim with the M110 and fired. Another narco dropped in his tracks when a 7.62 caliber bullet blew through his chest.

  The good thing about the M110Semi-Automatic Sniper System was just that, it was semi-automatic, and took either a ten or twenty-round box magazine. Right now, Cara was using the twenty-round version.

  She fired twice more as the cartel shooters emerged from cover. Two more dropped, and she watched the others fire wildly in hope rather than aiming. With the suppressor on the end of the M110, the muzzle-flash was non-existent; therefore they had no idea where Cara was.

  “Reaper One? Reaper Two. Are you and Reaper Three clear yet? Over.”

  “Almost there, Reaper Two,” Kane said. “Time for you to pull back, Cara.”

  “Copy, Reaper One. Pulling back.”

  Cara came to her feet and moved swiftly across the rooftop and climbed down into a dark alley. Once her boots hit solid ground, she checked left and right. When she was sure everything was clear, Cara walked to the mouth of the alley. She was about to exit when a man appeared; not a cartel soldier, a civilian.

  Confronted with a figure which seemed to have climbed out of the bowels of hell, he threw up his arms, screamed, and staggered backward.

  Cara flicked up her NVGs and put a finger to her lips. “Shh. It’s OK. I’m friendly. I won’t hurt you.”

  The fear-stricken man babbled something in Spanish and fell to his knees, hands clasped in front of him as he begged for mercy.

  Cara cursed. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  She dropped the NVGs back down and went to step around the blubbering civilian when a man with an AK appeared. He shouted and swung up the weapon in his hands. Cara arced her own up but knew she would not be in time. Her blood ran cold, the M110 grew leaden. The AK in the cartel man’s grip opened fire before it had snapped into line with her body.

  Five shots ripped through the air to her left and slammed into the wall of the building that formed that side of the alley. The last one, the sixth, tore a hole in the fabric of her sleeve. After that, the magazine in the AK ran dry.

  The M110 finished its track, and Cara fired two shots in quick succession. Both smashed into her attacker’s torso and flung him back.

  “Shit!” she breathed, casting a glance at the man who still knelt on the ground, and hurried out of the alley.

  “Reaper Two? Bravo Three, are you OK? Over.”

  “I’m good, Bravo Three.”

  “Sorry about that one, he just suddenly appeared.”

  “Copy,” then she muttered, “Fuck!”

  “Reaper One, be advised that your four Tangos are now three.”

  “Copy that, Bravo Three. It might be a good idea to tell us where they are, over.”

  “You should be seeing them now, over.”

  On cue, three armed men appeared before them and opened up with their weapons. Bullets cracked as they passed close to the two Americans. Kane dropped to his left knee and calmly settled the laser sight upon the first of the three attackers. With the HK set to semi-auto, he squeezed the trigger twice. The carbine kicked back against his shoulder, and the target was dead before hitting the ground.

  Without waiting to see the result, Kane had already shifted targets. He noted the laser from Traynor’s HK had already settled on the second Tango, so he kept traversing until his was aligned on the third.

  Traynor’s weapon coughed a fraction of a heartbeat before Kane’s. Both Tangos jerked, then spasmed as another 5.56 round finished what the first had started.

  Before they moved, both scanned the surrounding area for any more threats.

  “Clear,” said Kane, followed by Traynor.

  Kane rose to his feet and said into his comms, “Bravo Three, copy? Over.”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “How is the path to the egress point? Over.”

  “Path looks clear, Reaper One.”

  “Copy.”

  The two moved once again through the darkness until they reached the armored SUV. Waiting there for them was Cara.

  “Are you OK?” Kane asked her.

  “I had an issue, but it was sorted.”

  “You two want to catch up later?” Traynor asked.

  They ditched some of their gear in the back before climbing in. Traynor drove, and as they were leaving, Kane called in their sitrep.

  “Zero, this is Reaper One, over.”

  “Go ahead, Reaper.”

  “We’ve reached egress and are on the move.”

  “Copy, you’re on the move.”

  “Reaper One, out.”

  Retribution

  Ferrero placed his headset on the desk and said, “That’s the first stage down. Ought to piss Montoya off bad enough.”

  “Sir?”

  He stared at Reynolds. “What is it?”

  “The Predator is getting low on fuel. We need to get it back to Tucson.”

  The DEA agent nodded. “If he starts to make a move, we’ll have plenty of time to get a bird back up, yes?”

  “More than enough time, yes, sir.”

  “OK. Land it and get some rest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ferrero shifted his gaze to Teller. “Master Sergeant Teller?”

  Teller turned his head. “Yes, sir?”

  “You did great keeping my people safe. Glad to have you aboard.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Ferrero took one last look at the screen before he turned away. He had a call to make.

  Washington

  The phone rang twice before United States Deputy Attorney General, Mike Turner picked it up. “Yes?”

  “It’s Ferrero, sir. The first phase is done.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No, sir.”

  Turner slumped back in his red-leather chair and loosened his multi-color striped tie. He removed his wire-framed glasses and placed them on the polished top of his hardwood desk.

  “What’s next, Luis?” he asked.

  “It’s wait and see, sir. We’ll monitor everything with the UAVs, and hopefully, Montoya will do what we expect him to.”

  “I’m not too sure about using Hellfire missiles on foreign soil, Luis. When you first came to me with this idea, I must admit I was hesitant. Now, the more I think about it, the more reservations I have. If the Mexican authorities find out, it could be construed as an act of war.”

  Ferrero hesitated before asking, “Do you want us to cancel the operation, sir?”

  There was a long pause before Turner answered, and the DEA agent thought he was about to say yes, when, “No, keep it going. But if something goes wrong, it can’t be traced back to this office.”

  “It won’t be, sir.”

  Turner stared at the picture of his daughter on the desktop. It had been taken at her graduation.
The photo showed a happy young woman, her broad smile split her face and her eyes sparkled as her mother’s had done. Now they were both gone. His wife, Mary, to cancer. Amy, to the vile stuff that killed so many young people; Cocaine.

  “Tell me, Luis. If this doesn’t work if you can’t draw him out, what will you do?”

  “I’ll send a team across the border, and they will kill him wherever they find him.”

  Another moment of silence, then, “I’d rather he faced the legal system, Luis. But if you can’t manage that, then, do what you must. He can’t be allowed to hurt any more American families.”

  “Once we get his money, sir, he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll be hopping mad.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Couple more things, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

  “You mean about this becoming a permanent task force?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You get Montoya, Luis, and I’ll see you get your task force and all the funding you need to run it. I’ll take it to the president myself if need be, but you’ll get it.”

  “And the other?”

  “Your man, Kane?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Taken care of.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Good luck, Luis.”

  “Goodnight, sir.”

  Hawk

  Sonora

  It seemed as though every light in the compound came on at once. One moment the desert was dark, quiet. The next, it was illuminated by floodlights for half a kilometer in every direction.

  “Shit,” Hawk murmured. “Looks like someone got the news.”

  He took up his field glasses and scanned the compound. Men were starting to move about like a colony of ants after a crumb.

  “Reaper Four to Bravo. Anybody up? Over.”

  “I wish I wasn’t, Reaper Four,” a tired-sounding voice came back.

  “Is that you, Slick?”

  “Roger.”

  “You’d best wake the old man up. We got a whole lot of movement out here.”

  “Copy, wait one.”

  A few minutes later the radio-silence was broken by Ferrero. “Reaper Four? Zero. What do you have, Hawk?”

  “Looks like our boy just got the news about our little show. They took their time about it, probably too scared to tell him. Anyway, the place is lit up like a Christmas tree, and he’s got fellers running about everywhere. In the last minute or so, he’s had a couple of vehicles lined up ready to go. It looks as though the plan is working.”

  “So far. All right, Reaper Four, keep an eye on them and let me know if anything else develops. If not, wait until they’re gone and move out to link with Reaper One.”

  “Copy. Reaper Four, out.”

  “Zero, out.”

  Ferrero paused before he tried Kane. “Reaper One? Zero. Copy? Over.”

  “Copy, Zero.”

  “Reaper Four just informed me that our friend is marshaling his troops. Over.”

  “Copy.”

  “What’s your position, Reaper One?”

  “We’re about ten minutes out from our destination.”

  “Copy. Keep me informed if anything changes. Zero, out.”

  “Reaper One, out.”

  Montoya

  Sonora

  “You find the puta who tried to steal my money, and you cut his fucking balls off, so I can feed them to him!”

  Flecks of spittle flew from Montoya’s lips as he raged at Salazar. When the call had come, the Cartel boss’ screams of anger were heard throughout the whole house.

  “And another thing. The one who was supposedly in charge of watching over the money, my money! Kill him!”

  Salazar’s voice was stoic. “He is already dead.”

  Sarcasm replaced the anger in Montoya’s voice. “Then kill his family. Kill someone, anyone. I don’t care!”

  “Sí,” Salazar said, but he knew he wouldn’t do it. There was no point.

  “I want all of the money brought back here,” Montoya said, his voice somewhat calmer.

  “The vehicles will be ready soon. Romero will take care of it.”

  The cartel boss shook his head. “No. You do it. I want someone in charge that knows what they are doing.”

  “Sí.”

  Salazar was about to leave when Montoya asked him another question, almost as an afterthought. “Who do you think it was? The Sonorans or Rafael?”

  Rafael Martinez was the head of the Nogales Cartel.

  “It is hard to say.”

  The cartel boss’ voice grew cold, eyes flared with bright sparks, and he hissed, “Find out.”

  “Sí, patron.”

  Chapter 14

  Nogales

  Salazar stood on the rooftop, sun at his back, and stared towards the bank where his men were loading a small Isuzu refrigerated truck with the money from the in-ground vault. Five others stood guard with AKs.

  There were no worries about Federales. They never came to this part of Nogales, hence the reason why Montoya chose it to house a portion of his money. He refused to keep it all in one place, said it was safer that way. Besides, who would be fool enough to steal money from a cartel?

  When Salazar had arrived, all the bodies were gone, taken away by the ones who’d survived the gun battle. All that remained were bloodstains and spent ammunition cases. He stared down at those in his right palm. 7.62 shells he’d picked up from the rooftop where he was.

  Someone had set up position here and picked off the responders as they’d appeared. Almost twenty men had fallen. Not all were dead, but a good number were. Whoever had done it was good, well trained. He frowned.

  Salazar’s gaze dropped to the rooftop. It was covered with dust, debris, bird shit. Then he saw it. The imprint of a boot. He walked over and knelt beside it. His fingers traced over the ridges and bumps of the tread pattern.

  The sicario had seen a pattern like it before. They were Danner RAT (Rugged All Terrain) Boots worn by U.S. armed forces.

  Why? Why would American armed servicemen be in Nogales trying to steal Montoya’s money? A Special Forces operation, maybe? That would explain the sniper nest.

  He shook his head. It still didn’t make sense. So, who? Salazar came to his feet once more and stared back out across the way. Surely someone must have seen something.

  He walked to the edge of the building. He estimated the distance for the shooter to be around two-hundred and fifty meters. In the dark. They had skills. Military? Ex-military? Either way, Montoya wasn’t going to like it.

  He reached into his pocket and took out his cell. He punched in a number and then waited for the man on the other end to answer.

  “Sí?”

  “Take some men. Find me some witnesses.”

  “Sí.”

  Salazar disconnected the call and replaced the cell back into his pants pocket. Then he looked up.

  Retribution

  “Shit! Has the son of a bitch made us? Did he see the UAV?” Ferrero snapped, afraid their surveillance had been blown.

  “Negative, sir,” Teller assured him. There is no way he could see the Predator at this height.”

  “Damn it! Are you sure?”

  “Teller is right, sir. He couldn’t see the UAV.”

  There was an element of relief in Ferrero’s voice when he said, “Thank Christ for that. Did we get a facial shot of him when he looked up?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Teller.

  Ferrero nodded. “Good. Send it across to Swift for him to run facial recognition on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Whoever he is,” Reynolds said without turning her head from her screens, “he’s no amateur. He found the nest that Cara used, and studied the rooftop as well.”

  “He also policed the brass that was left behind,” Teller put in.

  “It would only have raised more questions than answers. Keep watch on them to se
e what they do next.”

  “Holy shit! Mother fucker!” Swift burst out.

  “Something you would like to share, Slick?” Ferrero called across to him.

  He spun on his chair. “Sorry, sir. But I got a hit on the picture.”

  “Already?”

  “Yes, sir. Didn’t have to dig too far at all.”

  “I presume you’re going to tell us who it is?”

  “Ah, yes, sir. It’s him. It’s Cesar Salazar. El Monstruo himself.”

  Nogales

  Salazar’s men rounded up nine witnesses. Eight of them weren’t worth much at all. They told him what he already knew. There were two would-be robbers with automatic weapons. The last witness, however, proved to be quite helpful.

  At first, he seemed to be confused and kept saying, “Ojos verdes, ojos verdes. Green eyes, green eyes.”

  The sicario thought the man was touched in the head until he remembered his theory about the American Special Forces.

  Eventually, Salazar extracted, under intense questioning, that what he had seen was a person with night vision goggles on. And not just any person, a woman. The sniper was a woman!

  She had killed one of the responders while the frightened man had been present. So, there were only three in all. Three highly skilled attackers who blew open the door and then killed a sizable number of the responders.

  Still, they had been driven away.

  Once again, Salazar reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell. He dialed in the number, and it was picked up straight away.

  “Yes? What did you find out?”

  “I questioned several witnesses and checked things for myself. It looks like the ones who did this were professionals.”

  “What makes you think this?”

  “There were three of them. They blasted their way through the wooden door. There was a sniper with them, a woman. I found where she set up.”

  “That doesn’t mean they were professionals.”

  “They had night vision.”