by Geoff Wolak
‘This is Leggit, got the night watchman, hope he was alone.’
‘OK, move south along the river.’
Rizzo transmitted, ‘They’ll find the chutes in the morning.’
‘Yes, but they’re civilian chutes, and we hope to have the first job done by morning,’ I responded. ‘And if those greenhouses had been glass we’d all be fucked right now.’
‘Swann landed in a stream, he’s covered in mud,’ Tomo reported, a lilt in his voice.
‘It will dry quick enough, or wash off if it rains,’ I transmitted. Phone out, I called SIS London. ‘This is Papa Victor, just landed in Colombia, all OK, text book landing.’ I could hear laughter through the dark. ‘Moving towards Cali city now. Out.’
I followed the river bank till we found a forest. ‘In your pairs, in your teams, stay sharp. I want your teams at least ten yards apart. We have six to eight miles to go, four hours, so we go slow and quiet.’
I adopted a track in the trees and maintained a steady pace, alert to any odd sounds or smells, and we soon started to climb steeply. But at least we had a cool breeze. After fifteen minutes the trees thinned out and I left the track, following the contours of the hill, and we glimpsed the bright city down a steep-sided valley, traffic seen on a road.
Around the hill we dropped down and climbed back up the next hill, going around the contours, a few clear areas to assist our progress. I kept getting glimpses of the road that led from the city to the drug labs, and around the next hill I found it below me. I led the teams east, and we carefully negotiated a steep slope down, nowhere near the hidden guard post I knew about.
Down at the road we hid in the trees, running across in pairs, ten minutes taken up, no one caught in the headlights of a car. Once safely across I had the bright lights of the city as my navigational aid, but the hills here were steep. Fortunately I found a great many tracks hugging the contours, but tracks that were not used for anything other than maybe fire breaks.
A slow hour brought us to a high peak, below us two valleys and then my target. Seeing the airport, and an aircraft land, I called Tomsk, knowing that he would be awake – or at least sleeping with the phone.
‘Da!’ came a sleepy voice.
‘It’s me. We’re all down safe, above Cali. Anything happening?’
‘They searched both planes, lots of police, found nothing. The pilots said the police laughed at the sex dolls in uniform, and then the pilots said they were paid good money to take them and the police didn’t shoot the pilots.’
‘OK, so far so good, we move on the villas at 4am or 5am as planned.’
I called GCHQ. ‘It’s Papa Victor in Colombia. Anything?’
‘There was a flurry of activity concerning two planes landing, an odd report of sex dolls dressed like soldiers.’
‘Very odd, yes. Anything else?’
‘All gone quiet, talk of a party earlier at the boss’s villas, some birthday. That’s about it.’
‘OK, I’ll move on the villas around 4-5am, if we make it there undetected. Papa Victor out.’
We had made good time so far, not having to penetrate thick jungle, and the contour tracks had proved very useful. But below me sat tall trees and seemingly few paths, some nasty ridges that we needed to cross, or maybe follow south and around.
In the distance I could see a ridge line and trees, highlighted by the city behind, and below those trees nestled the villas, and within those trees a great many armed men hid themselves. Question was, how far did they patrol out on a dark night – and did they know we were coming?
After resting the teams I moved off down the ridge diagonally, save breaking ankles going straight down, and anyone down there with a good thermal lens would have spotted us. Nearing the bottom of a ridge a set of distant headlights inched towards us, so I hurried the teams into thick trees, fire positions taken.
The vehicle bumped along uneven surfaces, and stopped. A man got out, one got in. Bingo, I had a static guard position. The vehicle trundled on four hundred yards, and stopped, passenger out, another man in. It turned and headed away, so I memorised the positions of the static guards as best I could.
But we were two valleys away from the villas, so what were they doing here? I moved off south, away from the static guards, studying the ground as best as I could in the dark.
A sniff, and I stopped. Cooking. I clicked on the radio. ‘There’s an underground installation down in the valley bottom. Dead quiet.’
We were still a hundred yards up the slope, and so safe enough as I again led the teams off south, away from the installation and the static guards, and this had been a lucky break. If I had walked down the bottom of the valley we could have come face to face with an armed man.
I now had a strategy, and I would avoid the valley bottoms and stick to the steep slopes. We plodded on, the trees thick, the movement slow, and finding a large clump of trees sat in the middle of the valley I moved down towards them, listening carefully, sniffing the air.
This clump sat on ground raised above the valley, and it cut the valley; no jeep could pass through here. I slowly wound around tall trees, an eye on the valley north, and fortunately never came face to face with a static guard. Relieved, I started up the slope diagonally, but south, away from the underground installation.
Cresting the ridge I halted and peered down, one more ridge to the villas. There, an orange dot, a guard smoking. After five minutes I spotted another orange dot.
I transmitted, ‘There are men in the valley below, hidden, but they’re smoking, I can see them. Be very careful here. We go south and around, slow and quiet, over the ridge away from those men.’ I repeated it in English.
I moved back down behind this ridge so that we would not be seen or heard, and followed the ridge south four hundred yards, hard going in places, a few bushes pushed through less than stealthily.
Emerging onto a clear ridge, I stopped to peek over and look down. Left a hundred yards were the silhouettes of two guards stood chatting. So far that made six men seen, so there were at least twelve around here someplace. Question was, was that normal, or had they increased their security rotas?
Looking further south I could see that that this valley ended in a steep slope with trees, so that would be where we crossed over. All I needed was to get the team across, the rush the villas, even if the alarm was raised. Where I currently knelt was less than five hundred yards from those villas, we could sprint it.
‘It’s Tomo, there’s something shiny up a tree, looks like a camera.’
‘Memorise where it is, hit it when we’re across the other side. All of you, take five minutes and look for cameras and wires.’
Two minutes later, came, ‘This is Swann, I can see a claymore I think, tree down the bottom of this slope, this side.’
‘Good job we’re not going down there then.’
‘This is Nicholson, there’s something square, left, down the valley, maybe a hide, two hundred yards. Hang on ... someone smoking nearby.’
‘Memorise the position, that’s your target when I say. Tomo, which way is that camera facing?’
‘Centre of the valley floor.’
A distant blast registered, echoing. In the space of thirty seconds I saw four men move, their radios checked. After the flurry of activity, they moved back into the shadows.
I figured the blast to be Tomsk, but why had it gone off now? I checked my watch, and it was 3.25am. Someone was early. Still, it had made a difference; I now knew were four men were.
Moving back over the ridge slowly, I led the teams further south, a slow movement through just two hundred yards of dark trees, all the time testing the way ahead with my shin and hopping for no claymores. I made it to the turn point alive, not fragged, and I sighed, now sweating – and tense. Turning east, I led my team slowly through thick trees, peering down the valley, and we moved to the final ridge.
Reaching the final bush before open ground, I could now see trimmed grass stretching down to a large e
state some five hundred yards southeast, and most of the ground below me resembled tended lawns. I could even see sprinklers. If I was drunk I would have thought it a golf course at a very steep angle, balls rolling down the slope for the unlucky players.
Looking left, I could see my target villas - all large and expensive, and they were tantalisingly close, a wall around them, well tended flowerbeds, a few guards visible, lights on in a few windows still. Whitewashed walls led to brown-tiled roofs, metal bars seen on windows. Each villa had been built up the slope, several floors, nice tiled roofs, balconies, some with flat roofs, guards seen.
‘OK, listen up. Target villas are left and down, just a few hundred yards. There’s a wall, some guards. First we move left along this ridge, spread out in a line. We shoot the men behind us, then the house guards, then rush the villas, two men to help each other over the walls, but in some places it’s low.
‘Tomo, Nicholson, come forwards now, dead slow and quiet. Sasha and your team, come forwards quietly.’
Sasha got to me first. I told him, ‘This is your position. Hit guards down there on the left, then aim at the other estate, on the right, snipe at any guards. One man watches the rear and this valley – don’t shoot at dark shadows, could be us.’
He led his team off to the right.
When Tomo reached me with Nicholson, I said, ‘Go left along this ridge, dead slow, there may be guards. If you have to ... shoot, but if you can - back of the head with a rifle butt. Go along around three hundred yards, till you can see the road. Your job is that road, plus any guards you can see, that hide and camera if you can hit them.
‘If police cars come up that road, hit engines, tyres, wound them. Anyone else, armed - kill them, leave women and kids obviously. Off you go.’
They moved past me and on, and I followed ten yards behind, calling forwards the teams. On my right I caught glimpses of the villas, lights, guards patrolling - and so far they were not the most switched on bunch.
As I slowly and quietly inched along I felt disappointed, and I wondered why. This had been straight forwards enough, but they had not been expecting us, and the men guarding these hills were no soldiers, they were married men with families at home, and they had been guarding this area for years with no problems, so they were lax.
None of them thought that a small group of soldiers would come for the Cali Cartel leadership, they figured no sane person ever would, and they were probably right. Getting this far seemed less to do with my skills and my planning, and more about their lack of both those aspects.
We were soon to the place where I knew a static guard hung out below, little more than thirty or forty yards below us. I stopped and waited, peering down, and saw a guard move into the valley. Another dark image appeared from the right, and they stood chatting.
Letting out a silent criticism of their ability to think, I moved on slowly. Twenty yards on and I heard a thump, and it was loud enough for the static guards to hear. I spun around and aimed down into the valley.
‘It’s Tomo,’ came a whisper. ‘Clocked some guy.’
Two dark shadows started towards Tomo. There was nothing for it. I aimed, and fired four silenced rounds.
‘Hit the hide now!’ I hissed over the radio.
Four cracks sounded out, a call in Spanish, another two quiet cracks, two additional quiet cracks.
It fell quiet.
‘Tomo, report.’
‘We hit two men in the valley, and the hide. Can’t see anyone else.’
‘Move along to your position, they may be onto us in minutes. Everyone, speed up a bit. Team Six, watch the valley, go down there and wait, hide and listen! Go!’
An all-Russian four-man team moved down as I took out my phone and recalled a number.
‘Da?’ came from Big Sasha.
‘It’s Petrov,’ I whispered. ‘Start the distractions now!’
‘OK, I do it, he’s asleep.’
I called GCHQ in a hurry. ‘It’s Papa Victor, start the fun and games now, fast.’
Final call as I knelt in the dark was Franks, his number programmed in. ‘Hello?’ came an alert Franks.
‘It’s me, standby helos for pick-up inside the hour. We move in five minutes.’
‘Roger that.’
I led the other teams on a hundred yards, and turned to the villas, just as two guards were wandering up. This was as good as it would get, my heart racing, but I was happy we had made it this far.
‘All teams on the ridge, aim down at the guards, standby to fire in ten seconds - after I stop talking, then shoot out windows as well. When we move, teams Two and Three left villa, teams Four and Five right villa, English behind me, middle villa. Kill the guards, grab the old men alive, then the last two villas. Standby.’
I aimed at the two guards approaching, counting in my head, and at ‘eight’ I opened up, both men hit in the chest, no doubt most of their heart muscle and a large chunk of spine displaced, a big hole left behind. Cracks sounded out all around, guards falling, or being knocked off roofs to land with a thud below, large holes in their chests as well.
After four seconds there were no guards left alive, at least that we could see. I stood. ‘Let’s go!’ I repeated it in Russian.
A roar went up, men smashing through bushes and firing from the hip, and we ran down the slope. There was an obvious place to jump up onto the wall and most of us aimed for it. I leapt across from a steep slope onto a wide wall, down onto a flat roof, a roll and off down six feet to the grass.
Righting myself, I was looking into someone’s plush kitchen and down their hallway as I took my silencer off. Rifle held level from the waist, I fired six rounds, loudly smashing windows, others copying, a mess made of the nice kitchen units inside.
I ran left and around, a dead guard checked, a round through his chest to be sure, and I reached a patio area, large glass doors. I fired till empty and swapped the magazine, my team smashing the glass and entering, some aiming up and hitting the bedroom windows, a right old mess made of this very expensive villa.
French-style CS gas flashbangs thrown, the team moved left and right to avoid the smoke and gas. I followed, and to the stairs. Aiming up blindly I fired four times, the noise deafening in here with all the smooth marble, someone above caught by ricochet, women and kids now screaming behind closed doors.
No.3 was at my side as I moved up the stairs, and seeing movement I fired at the ceiling, my rounds loudly pinging around whoever was up there. Head level with the first floor landing, I lifted my rifle high and hit a wounded man. A dark shape moved, so I aimed and fired three times, a groan issued, a pistol dropped.
A door opened a crack. I fired four times at the crack. It opened wider, a burst of automatic fire, but small calibre, maybe a machine pistol. No.3 fired twice, the man hit, a clank as the man’s weapon hit the marble floor.
A woman screamed in Spanish, maybe for mercy.
Up the stairs, six of us moved, the angle covered, doors fired into.
I shouted in English, ‘Men surrender, women and children go free. Be the big man, you get prison not death.’ As I ended that I loudly fired into doors.
‘Wait,’ came an accented voice. A man appeared in a robe as lights came on, an old man but still with black hair.
‘Put clothes and shoes on,’ I told him, accented. ‘Call out the other men, or we use explosives.’
The old man dressed as other men appeared, some young, all looking stoic and confident – if not defiant.
‘You will not get far,’ one told me in good English, cracks sounding from outside.
‘There are sixty of us,’ I told him. ‘Four thousand US Marines, helicopters on the way.’
He lost his smug grin.
The old man appeared, now dressed, and looking confident. ‘Why do you wear masks?’ he teased.
‘We’re ugly,’ I told him, No.3 laughing.
‘You sound ... British.’
‘I’m Petrov.’
‘Ah.’
/> Bursts of fire echoed from outside, distant blasts registering.
‘Your police will be a little busy tonight, but please, call anyone you want, ask them to come here. Go on, I let you.’
He stared at me, concerned, but then produced a phone whilst being observed by his concerned family. Call made, he did not like what he heard from the other end.
‘Downstairs! Go!’ I nudged.
We nudged six men down, and to the kitchen, Rizzo and Rocko slinging weapons and tying up our hostages. Rocko nicked a nice watch from the old man, making me smile.
‘This is Team Three, we kill six men, capture four.’
‘Bring them,’ I transmitted.
‘This is Team Five, they are locked in a strong room, some of them. We have two wounded captives, rest are dead.’
Cracks echoed through the broken glass as I dragged the old man to the study, lights knocked on. ‘Money or drugs please, we don’t get paid much.’
‘I could offer you a great deal ... to walk away,’ he smugly suggested.
‘Cash or cheque?’ I asked, Rocko laughing.
The man opened a cabinet with a key, a large box of cash placed on his nice desk despite his wrists being tied.
‘Take it,’ I told Rocko. ‘Find a bag.’
Rocko lugged the box outside.
‘There must be papers here, bank details,’ I told No.3 in English. ‘Bring the girls down, we rape and kill them here, he gives us the papers.’
‘Wait,’ the old man called as No.3 started to move. He moved a painting to reveal a safe.
‘How original,’ I quipped, getting an embarrassed look from the man. Safe open, he placed papers down, all in Spanish, as if daring us to make sense of them. But I knew what a bank code was. I grabbed debit cards, and flicked through the papers, finding what I wanted and pocketing it.
I finally faced the old man. ‘The Panama Minister’s son. I swap him for the safety of the girls upstairs.’
He stared back for a moment. ‘In the hills.’ I nodded. ‘Those documents will be back with me before dawn,’ the old man firmly told me.
‘I got a surprise for you,’ I told him. ‘Americans are here.’
