by Brent Towns
Morales gave him a defiant look. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Reaper One, from Arenas. We have movement inside the house. Three men so far. I heard them say something about an alarm. They’re on the stairs.”
“Put them down.”
“Copy.”
Kane let out a whispered curse and shot Morales in the leg just above the knee. The secretary screeched and grasped at the wounded leg. Reaper ignored it and turned to face Cara. “They’re coming. Get out there and help our friend.”
Cara nodded, hurried towards the door and disappeared.
Kane turned back to Morales. “How many guards?”
The secretary sat and whimpered.
Kane raised the USP again. Morales’ eyes widened. “Quince! Fifteen!”
From the end of the hall, Kane heard the shots from the suppressed handguns followed by the clatter of weapons dropping to the tiles.
“I ain’t got time to fuck around. Tell me where Montoya is!”
“I do not know.”
“Bullshit. These are his men. He pays you, and you tip him off when things are going down. Where?”
“I do not know!”
“Fuck!” Kane swore and brought the USP in line with the man’s head.
Morales cried out and brought his bloodied hands up in a useless display of self-defense. “Wait! Wait! Don’t shoot me. I’ll tell you!”
Kane could hear the muffled sobs of the secretary’s wife in the background, but he ignored her. “Where?”
Morales made one last desperate attempt to stall. “You do not understand. He will kill me if I tell you.”
Kane hissed, “I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t. Where?”
Cara’s voice came through the comms. “Move your ass, Reaper. There are more coming.”
“Reaper One? Zero. Get out now! Over.”
“Where?” Kane snarled and made the secretary flinch.
“Reaper, do you copy? This is Zero, get, out, now!”
Morales cracked. “He is in Guatemala. There is an abandoned resort near the Pacific Coast. He is there. He has another lab there.”
“Zero, you copy that?”
“Copy, Reaper. Guatemala.”
Kane picked up the recorder and grasped the wounded Morales by the collar. “Get up.”
“Ahhh! I am wounded. You shot me.”
“Too bad,” Kane snapped and dragged him to his feet.
A cry of pain escaped the secretary’s lips, and Kane shoved him forward.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going to see how much your security detail think of you.”
“Reaper, easy,” Ferrero’s voice came over the radio.
Out in the hall, more gunfire erupted. Bullets twanged off the walls and some smashed into the ceiling. AK-47s rattled out their staccato death song. Ahead of him, Cara and Arenas ducked back as another burst of gunfire hammered out.
Cara leaned forward and dropped a cartel man on the stairs. The man cried out and fell backward, only to be replaced by another more eager killer who sprayed the landing with a deadly hail of bullets.
Kane shoved Morales forward. “Tell them to hold their fire.”
“They won’t listen to me.”
The silencer dug up under the secretary’s chin. “Fucking tell them.”
“OK, OK,” he blurted out. He lurched forward and shouted, “Mantén el fuego! No dispares! Hold your fire! Don’t shoot!”
Raised voices came from the bottom of the stairs, and Kane edged Morales forward. There were two men on the stairs, and another three or four below in the foyer, it was hard to tell.
Kane hissed in his ear. “Tell them to put their guns down and let us through.”
“Bajen las armas. Déjalos pasar!”
Incoherent murmurings came from below. Then one of the men on the stairs snarled, “¡Vete a la mierda! Imbécil!”
The AKM in his hands roared to life, and 7.62 rounds cut through the air like knives, two of which ripped into the secretary’s chest, killing him instantly.
“Shit!” Kane cursed.
He fell back to the hallway with the others and dragged the body of Morales with him. “I guess they said no,” Cara said above the gunfire.
Kane checked the secretary for a pulse. “He’s dead.”
Glancing up, he saw a cartel soldier’s head appear above the top step. The H&K came up, and he put a bullet in the man’s forehead.
He glanced at Cara and Arenas. “Fall back to the bedroom; we’re going out the window. Cara, you first, check it out.”
“Copy.”
“Reaper One? Zero. Sitrep, over.”
“They killed Morales, Zero. We’re cut-off from our exfil point and are looking for a secondary. Out.”
“Copy. Out.”
Suddenly a door opened behind Arenas, and a kid appeared. Kane snapped, “Get the kid back in there!”
Arenas whirled and pushed the frightened child, a boy, perhaps ten years old, back inside the doorway. He knelt in front of him. “Hide behind your bed and stay there.”
He slammed the door and almost cannoned into Kane. “Come on, fall back.”
More bullets lashed the air, and Arenas fired twice at another cartel man whose large frame seemed to fill the end of the hallway. After the second shot, the weapon’s slide locked back with a dry magazine.
“Reloading!” Arenas said in a loud voice.
Kane fired more shots along the hall to cover the vulnerable special forces officer. Cara’s voice came over the comms, “Reaper One? Reaper Two. The window is clear.”
“Copy.”
Kane touched Arenas on the shoulder and ordered him to fall back, then emptied his own gun along the hallway and followed him. He slammed the door shut and saw Cara leap out of the second-floor window. Arenas prepared to do the same.
From out in the hallway an AKM sounded. Bullets punched through the wooden door and sprayed splinters across the room. The secretary’s wife grunted, and Kane saw that she’d been hit.
“Fuck! Go! Go!” Kane snarled to Arenas as he slapped a fresh magazine into his HK.
The special forces officer disappeared as he jumped from the ledge.
The bedroom door crashed back, and a large man filled the void. Kane snapped off a couple of shots before diving out the window.
Fuck! This is going to hurt.
Straight down. Six-feet-four of rock-hard muscle plummeted towards the ground. He vaguely remembered the window above being shattered by gunfire as he went through.
When the impact came, it wasn’t the sudden, bone-jarring crunch he’d expected. It was to the snap of branches and the rustle of leaves. He’d landed in a clump of shrubs. Their tight-knit branches had broken his impromptu fall.
A familiar hand dragged him free of the tangle. “Come on, Superman. Next time, try your underwear on the outside of your suit.”
Arenas fired at the figure who appeared through the window and was rewarded with a cry of pain.
“Cara, lead out,” Kane ordered. “The way we came in.”
The trio started to jog along the side of the house towards the pool area. Once adjacent to it, they were stopped by shouts from cartel men. Four appeared suddenly on the other side of the pool. Cara reacted first and shot out one of the floodlights, before diving into the garden. Arenas was right behind her and bullets scythed through the air where the pair had been only moments before.
Kane brought up his H&K but realized he was going to be too late as an AKM held by a snarling Mexican centered on him.
He threw himself to his right and into the pool, as hot metal tore through the space above him.
The cool waters engulfed his body, the sound of gunfire distorted by the roiling liquid. Kane found his feet as bullets peppered the water like small, leaden torpedoes. He waited for as long as he could before he surged upward and burst free of the surface. Water cascaded from his body in a liquid sheet.
The HK came up, and he
sighted on the closest gunman. He fired two shots, and both punched into the killer’s chest. The guard threw his arms up and squeezed the trigger of his HKM. Bullets lashed the sky as the man fell backward to the hard pavers.
More cartel men appeared out of the darkness and this time, each of the three-member team opened fire at them. They jerked and twitched as the rounds hammered home. Two fell, but one managed to get some shots off.
Bullets ricocheted off the house, and a statue of the Madonna lost her head as a stray slug smashed through the neck. Then the shooter was slammed back as rounds found their mark.
Arenas stuck out a hand to pull Kane from the pool. “This is not the time, amigo.”
“No shit.”
Kane climbed from the pool. “Lead out, Cara. Let’s get the hell out of here before more of them come after us.”
A crackle came from Kane’s comms, and he cursed. “They’re fucked. So much for being waterproof.”
“What?”
“My comms. Move.”
They slipped into the shadows and headed towards the boundary fence. Behind them, the leftover cartel guards could be heard calling to each other. Before long, they were at the fence and moments later, were over it and about to climb into the SUV.
Cara stopped Kane before he could climb into the driver’s seat. “Uh uh, water boy. All fish in the back.”
And with that, she relieved him of the keys and climbed behind the wheel.
Arenas chuckled at him.
“Shut up,” Kane snapped. “Call Zero and tell him we’re on our way home. Also, confirm with them that I want a meeting with General Jones and clearance for a mission to Guatemala.”
Kane climbed into the back and closed the door. “We’ll get this son of a bitch before we’re done.”
Cara floored the accelerator, and the SUV shot forward. Behind them, a cartel soldier watched them leave and then reached into his pocket. He took out a cell and dialed a number.
Guatemala
Montoya touched the disconnect button and stared across at Salazar, fuming. “These fucking people won’t leave me alone!”
“What has happened now?”
“They killed Morales and his wife.”
Salazar raised an eyebrow. “But why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they were after me. Trying to find out where I went.”
“Did he know?”
“Of course he fucking knew! Dios mío. These gringo bastards are getting on my nerves.”
“Are we sure it was them?”
Montoya nodded. “It was. One of the men heard them speak American.”
“Then we must leave,” Salazar said, indicating around with his hands. “It is not safe for you here.”
“We will wait until the shipment is ready.”
Salazar wasn’t happy. “But that is still ten days away.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But, Jefe –”
“We are staying, Cesar!” Montoya erupted. “The shipment is worth two-hundred million dollars. I am going nowhere until it does.”
Salazar nodded. “Then at least allow me to bring in some more men.”
“Do it,” Montoya agreed. “How many will you need?”
“Twenty should be enough. I can have them here within twenty-four hours.”
Montoya turned away and stared out at the darkness. “If they come, we will be ready.”
Washington, The following morning
Mike Turner reached across his desk, picked up the phone, and said, “Tell me it went well, Luis.”
“Morales is dead, Mike.”
“Damn it, Luis. What the fuck happened?”
“His own men shot him.”
Turner shook his head in disbelief. “And why would they do that?”
“Because they were cartel. The whole security detail was. They were a private hire. All the Mexican government officials do it. You know that. Well, this one had cartel men from Montoya as his.”
“Christ, the president is going to love this. Is there any good news?”
“We know where Montoya is.”
“Where?”
“The Tranquilidad Resort. Or the Tranquillity Resort. It’s an abandoned place on the Pacific coast of Guatemala.”
“Holy shit!”
“He has another cocaine lab there. The team is on their way home, but Kane requested a meeting with General Jones when he gets back, and permission to plan another mission. This time to get Montoya.”
Turner hesitated and then said, “I’m not sure about this, Luis. I’ll have to kick it upstairs and get back to you.”
“I expected as much.”
“When will your team be back?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“OK. I’ll have an answer by then. If the mission is OK’d, I’ll set up a meeting with the general for the following morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Luis,” Turner said and hung up.
Chapter 21
Retribution
Teleconference
Assistant Attorney General Mike Turner and General Hank Jones stared out at the gathered team from the divided large screen. Their expressions sufficiently conveyed the gravity of the situation.
Turner said, “The president has given the green light for the operation to proceed. Under no circumstances are there to be any American forces used on the ground, whatsoever. The operation is deniable. I suspect you know what that means. How you get in and out will be up to you. Although, I suspect that the general has it covered. If there is anything you need, come to me or General Jones.”
Ferrero nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
General Jones took up the dialogue. “I have taken the liberty of organizing some satellite maps, which you should have tomorrow.”
An image of one with notes and markings appeared on the screen, and Jones continued, “Once I got word about this, I also had some of Rear-Admiral Joseph’s guys take a look at this. The ones you receive will be the same.”
Rear-Admiral Alexander Joseph was commander of The United States naval special warfare command (NAVSPECWARCOM).
“His boys thought the DEA was crazy sending a small team in there to extract someone like Montoya. Looking at this, I tend to agree. You’ll see that they’ve marked out all the guard points. The larger buildings have at least one machine gun post on top. They have standing patrols along the beachfront and the marina. As near as they can figure, the coke lab is in the trees behind the lagoon. Some of the bungalows are used for the cartel soldiers that live onsite.”
“How many are there, sir?” Kane asked.
“A rough estimate is forty men.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I do mean rough, Gunny. They weren’t able to nail it down too well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The issue will be both the insertion and extraction of your team,” Jones continued. “We’ve looked around in all of the dark closets, and we’ve come up with a way. The day after tomorrow, a helicopter will come and collect you all–”
“What about our equipment?” Ferrero interrupted.
“It’ll be taken care of. You’ll travel light.”
“OK.”
“From Retribution, you’ll be flown to a small freighter off the coast of Acapulco. The freighter will then transport you to where you need to be.”
Kane said, “I take it that the freighter isn’t actually a freighter.”
“It is, but on the outside only. It is maintained by the NSA, so you can imagine all the extra bits beneath the run-down exterior.”
“It’s a spy ship?”
“We prefer to call it an observation platform. Anyhow, it’ll be your home for as long as required. Everything you’ll need, plus a few things you won’t, will be onboard.”
“How do we get ashore, sir?” Kane asked.
“There will be a SOC-R on the freighter with its team to do the insertion. You’ve got Joseph to thank for that. The admir
al agreed that you were all crazy and thought that you needed all the help possible, so gave us the use of his best team.”
The SOC-R stood for Special Operations Craft – Riverine. It was a fast boat used for SEAL insertions, with a top speed of forty knots. It was crewed by four and had five weapons mounted onboard, which included two miniguns and a .50 caliber.
Jones spoke again. “Insertion point will be a mile from the target. The planners seem to think that if you make your way along the coast until you reach the lagoon’s inlet, you’ll be fine. From there, use the inlet for cover to get you within the perimeter.”
“I don’t suppose they know how deep the channel is, sir?” Cara asked.
Jones gave one of his rare smiles. “No idea, Lieutenant, but the insertion is timed to be done at low tide so there won’t be a lot, one would think.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It seems like the planning guys have thought of everything, General,” Kane pointed out.
“They did it under my orders, Gunny. As you know from experience, we have many assets at our disposal that you do not.”
“I’m not complaining, sir.”
“I didn’t think you would be.”
“This is becoming more a military than DEA thing by the minute,” Ferrero observed.
“All of this extra stuff is my doing, Luis,” Jones assured him. “However, if this all works out for the best, and the president gives the taskforce a permanent green light, Mike and I have discussed that there will need to be some changes. But we can talk about that at a later date. And don’t worry. All your jobs are safe, up to a certain point.”
“You mean if we don’t all get killed?” Arenas put in.
“Exactly right, Captain. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. After the insertion, the SOC-R will stand offshore and await your signal for exfil. If you run into any trouble, make for the beach. The team will give you cover while you are extracted.”
“I thought you said no military?” Hawk asked.
“I said no military on the ground. There was nothing mentioned about the water.”
