by Geoff Wolak
He lost his smug grin and he straightened. ‘They have no evidence against me.’
‘Then after a few comfortable years they release you!’ I nudged him outside, but stayed to look at the room with Rizzo, shooting off locks and opening drawers.
Rizzo found a hidden compartment, stuffed full of diamonds. ‘Very nice,’ he noted as he wrapped them up and stuffed them in his webbing.
‘Don’t be caught with those, I’ll turn them into cash,’ I assured him. ‘You get a small cut, or a long prison sentence.’
Blasts registered, and I ran outside and to the next villa. Smoke billowed from broken windows.
A Russian said, ‘We blow door of safe room, but ... maybe we just give them headache.’
A woman stumbled out like she was drunk, blood on her face, soon a man coughing in the smoke.
‘Grab the men, tie them up, ask about money and jewels. Search the place.’
Teams had now moved down to the last villa. I walked across the road and to the open grassy area, and peered down at the city below. I fired a few bursts at that city, the Russians laughing and copying.
‘It’s Tomo, police cars coming, three.’
‘Hit engines and tyres, then windscreens, at maximum range.’
No.6 lugged heavy bags towards me. ‘Cash, US Dollars and Euros.’
I had a peek inside the bags, and it was a great deal of money. I placed it near the captives as they sat whispering to each other. A distant blast registered, and I could see three smoke stacks at least. ‘Your city will need some work done on it,’ I told the captives.
I took out my sat phone and called Franks. ‘It’s me, note this exact location, send helos as soon as ready, your prisoners are sat on the grass waiting, good landing area, no hostile fire nearby at the moment, and we’re keeping them busy.’
‘The birds are sat ready, I’ll send them now.’
Phone away, I had a good look at the hostages. I pointed at a young man. ‘What do you do? Job?’
‘Orthodontist.’
‘Your father is here?’
He pointed at a man sat on the grass.
I untied the orthodontist. ‘Go to the wall, climb over, run, don’t look back.’
His father encouraged him on, and the man ran to the wall and over, soon gone.
I pointed at that man’s father. ‘Point out someone not in the family business.’
He looked about him, and nodded at a younger man. ‘He does finance only, invest in local business, green energy.’
I untied the man and let him go, because I did not want the FBI to look stupid - and for the Americans to whinge at me for grabbing the local dentist.
Having the cash moved up into the trees, No.7 came running with papers and a bag of jewels. Under a street lamp, quiet cracks sounding out, I scanned the detail. My Spanish was no good, but most of this was in English; tonnes, ship names, and money.
There was a list of bank codes, scrambled, but maybe CGHQ could make something out of it. I tucked it away, but the remaining papers would go to the Americans as evidence. I placed that evidence down under the street lamp, a rock over it, and walked to the wall to view the city.
‘It’s Tomo, they’re gunna need some new cars.’
‘What are they doing?’
‘Out on foot, hiding, some trying to sneak up.’
‘It’s Sasha, we killed maybe twenty, now some men down the slope, but they are not good, we kill them at distance.’
‘Send two men to me.’
I turned, and could recognise Rocko and Rizzo even with their facemasks on. ‘You two, try and hit something interesting in the city below.’
They walked down, and peered over the wall where it was low enough, aimed, and started laughing as they sniped at distant targets.
‘Why you speak English to these men?’ the older man asked me as I came back up, other prisoners now being dragged over, but seemingly stunned by the explosives.
I knelt next to the man. ‘Here’s the thing, old chap,’ I mocked in a refined English accent. ‘If this job goes wrong, we’re Russian gang members. If it goes OK, we’re British and American special forces. All a matter of perspective for the newspapers. And we got here after parachuting from 25,000ft using oxygen, from an American C130, radar jammed.’
His eyes widened.
‘You see, my friend, you pissed off a great many people, and they all want you gone, and right now most of the phones in the city are not working as they should, and those that do work are being intercepted. You finally pushed the world too far.’
A Russian ran in. ‘No.17 is hurt bad, he won’t make it.’
I stood. ‘Finish him off, take his rifle and ammo, anything useful, destroy his radio. And if I’m wounded here – do that for me, and don’t hesitate.’
The man ran off as more prisoners arrived. I had two young men untied and I sent them off, warning Rocko and Rizzo not to shoot them.
I pointed at the father of the orthodontist. ‘You, man of honour, any of these men innocent?’
‘Not by blood, but some do not work with us, just in family business – not drugs.’
‘Pick two.’
He pointed at two men. ‘They have no blood on their hands.’
I had them untied and I sent them off.
‘What manner of man are you, Senor Petrov?’ the father asked. ‘You send off innocent men, yet you have a reputation as a stone cold killer.’
‘I’ve never killed an innocent person, unless by accident, nor will I. And none of your money or jewels will find their way into my pocket.’
‘You are indeed a man of honour.’
‘I am a man ... with bullet fragments in his skull. Many years ago they told me I had weeks to live, but I am still here, no fear of anything, no need of anything.’
‘Ah, you are one step from God’s judgement, a place of grace that few find, let alone live in for years. Tell me, what lies ahead for us?’
‘A trial in America; you will not be killed. If found innocent you come home. Simple.’
He nodded. ‘Judgement has been waiting us for a long time.’
My sat phone trilled. ‘Go ahead.’
‘It’s Franks, choppers inbound, what’s the situation?’
‘The area is clear, some distant fire, we’ll hold the perimeter for you, touch and go. Land on the estate lawns – no shooting.’
‘OK, they’ll be there soon.’
A Russian ran in with heavy bags of cash. I had one placed down with our guests, the second lugged up the slope. Another Russian brought diamonds and drugs, so I had the drugs placed down as well. Over the radio I ordered all Russians to the tree line.
In English, I transmitted, ‘Listen up, American helos coming in, cover them, hold the perimeter.’
Rizzo transmitted, ‘Are they taking the goodies?’
‘Some, as evidence, relax.’
Quiet cracks sounded out. ‘Report the shooting,’ I said in English.
‘It’s Swann, some men coming up the slope, but it’s wide open. We hit them.’
‘If you can hit any cars, do so, make a mess.’
The Russians were now all back up the slope, three women sat on the steps of a plush villa, stunned by the explosives, the rest of the area clear. Sasha’s two men were setting fire to a villa for me.
Those few nice cars parked on the roads and not in the huge garages were now being shot-up as well, by Swann and Leggit.
The drone registered, a heavy drone of helicopters, and I slung my rifle, stood above the evidence, some twenty five prisoners tied up, and as I stood there I doubted that the evidence would stick. Trick would be to break the cartel’s stranglehold on the population, and have locals give evidence. Then the floodgates would open.
The roar grew, soon a line of Seahawks coming in from around the hills south and heading straight for me, an impressive sight. I stood waving, the first Seahawk about to hit me on the head before I knelt. Its front wheels hit well-tended lawn, and Marine
s burst out and ran to me.
I grabbed a man and shouted in his ear, pointing at the bags, ‘Evidence!’
He grabbed a bag, a signal to his mate to grab the second bag, and they lugged the bags away as other Marines grabbed prisoners, dragging the men bent double. About seven men loaded, and the helo lifted off, a blast of wind over me, and the second helo descended, a line of helos hovering, at least ten I could see, the city’s residents witness to an amazing spectacle – a few guilty residents shitting themselves right about now.
Second helo loaded, it lifted off and climbed over the hill, and everyone in Cali city must have been woken by the noise, and thinking it a full scale invasion.
The fourth helo to set down grabbed the last few prisoners, and as it departed the remaining helos followed it loudly around the hills, a deafening drone created, but it soon fell quiet again.
I transmitted, ‘Russians come back down, Team Six stay with the money. Set fire to these fucking villas, but get everyone out first, eh.’
I walked down to the wall, Rocko and Rizzo back to sniping. ‘Any good targets?’
‘I got a bus,’ Rizzo proudly stated. ‘And it smashed into a shop, fucking hell of a mess.’
‘I hit a radio mast of some sort,’ Rocko informed me. ‘No TV in the morning.’
A flash, and we heard the blast many seconds later, some six fires raging around the city, flashing blue lights everywhere.
‘Watch this,’ Rocko said. ‘See the fire engine closest.’
I peered down, that engine 1500 metres away at least, Rocko firing, men seen running away – and not tending the fire. Rizzo fired, hitting the windows of a high rise office block, a mess made.
‘It’s Tomo, I see trucks and jeeps unloading men, thousand yards down, partly hidden. Fucking hundreds of them.’
I transmitted, ‘Swann and Leggit, cover the road as well. Team One and Two, down to the wall with me. Rest of you ... search those villas for money then set them alight, get the women out first and send them off down the road. And quickly!’
My Russian team appeared at my side and got read.
‘There,’ Rizzo said, aiming left.
‘Let them get closer,’ I told him as the men got ready.
Screams preceded women and girls on the road, plus a few old grandmas, soon a line of them walking down the road and towards the gate, a few young boys with them. A burst of flame, and a car inside a garage went up, the garage soon well alight as the women ran past, some barefoot.
A Russian ran in with a box of magazines, Russian standard 7.62mm. ‘They were in garage.’
I placed them down behind the lads and checked the magazines. Swapping my own magazine, I placed in a long and curved thirty-two round magazine, and fired bursts at the city, happy with the quality of the ammo. The residents below were probably not happy, but I was.
I placed magazines on the wall next to the lads. ‘Use these first.’
‘It’s Nicholson. I got the man in charge, head shot, twelve hundred yards.’
‘Well done,’ I commended.
‘Tomo hit his second in command in the balls,’ Nicholson added, my staff sergeants laughing, along with many of the Russians – who understood a fair bit of English.
‘It’s Team Six, we just hit four men coming from behind!’
‘Spread out, stay quiet, ambush them. Tomo, look behind you!’
More women ran past, cursing us as they went, rude hand signals as well, a second villa now well alight, a jeep alight. A ten year old girl in a night dress gave me the angry finger as she passed, No.3 laughing.
A Russian ran in with a heavy box, his rifle slung. I knelt and had a look under a street lamp. ‘Share certificates,’ I noted. ‘OK, we keep them. Leave them there for now.’
Rocko said, ‘Here they come. They’re spread out as well, but some of those fuckers look like they have Uzis. Not gunna hit much with those.’
‘How far?’ I asked.
‘Say ... six hundred and inside.’
‘Let them get to four hundred, no closer, don’t waste ammo, could be a long night.’ I transmitted in Russian, ‘Don’t waste ammo, we could be here a while.’
‘What we wait for?’ No.3 asked.
‘A high body count,’ I told him. ‘Or some of those men down there will come looking for us up the hill.’
‘It’s Tomo. We hit three men on a track behind us, north, say four hundred yards out. Rest ran off.’
‘OK, don’t get caught from behind.’
‘We’re up a fucking tree, so that would be hard, Comrade.’
‘Comrade?’ No.3 repeated. ‘Not fucking Soviets!’
‘Sasha, what can you see?’
‘Groups trying to sneak up. They can get so far, but then it’s just cut grass. Is it a golf course?’
‘Yes, golf for people whose balls don’t run down steep slopes!’
No.3 laughed.
‘It looks like a fucking golf course!’ Sasha complained.
‘Watch our right flank, and rear, they will try and flank us.’
Rocko fired.
‘Someone close?’ I asked.
‘No, just that the fucker was walking upright like we weren’t here. How rude was that, eh?’
I peered over the wall and down the dark slope. Parts of it were tended lawns, a few parts were under construction, a few areas of bushes. We had the high ground and the advantage. I sipped my water.
Swann and Leggit fired.
‘Something?’ I casually asked.
‘Man in charge of a group, waving them on.’
A blast, and we all turned around, a nice Mercedes exploding in flames, four villas now alight.
I transmitted, ‘Those of you setting fire to the villas, find a vehicle or two and push them down the slope – on fire first. Quickly.’
Two minutes later a huge black jeep drove past and to the gate, men jumping down. Rounds fired, the tank was set alight, something jammed on the gas pedal. Off it went down the road, veered off the road, bumped and flew, landed issuing burning fuel like a flame thrower, slowed, sped up and flew over a rise and somersaulted whist spurting burning fuel, and landed in bushes, a burst of flame seen.
‘Fucking top that,’ Rizzo enthusiastically commended.
Rocko added, ‘And the fuckers down there are highlighted a little now.’
The second vehicle, a silver Mercedes, just trundled slowly down the slope.
‘Well that’s fucking boring,’ Rizzo noted. ‘Not even on fire.’
It came to a halt, then blew apart, sparks flying everywhere.
‘More like it,’ Rocko commended. ‘Boy’s put charges in it.’
‘It’s Tomo. Can we shoot these fuckers already?’
‘Yes, open fire. All teams, open fire.’
The cracks sounded out, Swann and Leggit hitting men beyond six hundred yards, men who figured they were safe. A few rounds cracked overhead or pinged off the wall, a street lamp near me smashed, but we were all behind the wall and safe enough.
Considering those street lamps, I shot out the remaining seven, making it safer for the men inside the estate, apart from the light given off by the raging fires that was. At least the leadership’s estate, now on fire, was a symbol to the people in the city below; the Cartel was not all-powerful.
Ten minutes later, and thirty men lay dead down the slope, the rest not yet willing to give up, or maybe they knew they would be killed if they did give up. So they kept coming, and we kept hitting them easily, and half an hour later the stragglers ran off, police seen running off.
‘What next?’ Rocko asked, sipping his water.
‘Next ... I hope they try and flank us, I want more of them dead. But ... maybe we go get a good spot in the jungle first. Form up in teams!’ I transmitted that in Russian. ‘We are leaving, headcount your teams.’
‘One man dead,’ No.3 noted. ‘One small wound only.’
‘It went well, yes,’ I agreed. ‘But we are not home yet.’
; Teams trundled slowly up the slope through wafting smoke - bags and boxes carried, villa roofs collapsing, bright orange sparks flying off into the dark night. Over the wall and up the slope, into the tree line, and we grouped with Team Six.
Looking back down, I could see a million small orange embers floating off into the night. But was it a symbol, the end of this cartel, even if for just one night, or would they regroup I considered, would someone else come around?
I transmitted, ‘Sasha, you and your team carry the cash and jewels, spread between you. You’ll get it to the safe house for me.’
‘Is it much?’ No.3 asked through the dark.
‘Not so much, not as much as the ten tonnes of drugs in the hills. If we get that to the coast ... bonuses for all.’
Sasha spread out the cash into backpacks, each man now with a heavy load, and we retraced our steps, Tomo and Nicholson remaining for a while. Six Russians lugged heavy bags, making it hard for them to kneel and fire if necessary.
Across the other side we snaked through the dark to a point level with Tomo and Nicholson.
‘Tomo, report.’
‘No one coming up the slope.’
‘Get down, retrace your steps, we’ll cover you from here.’
‘Moving.’
‘Swann, Leggit, Rocko, Rizzo. You remember that underground place?’
‘Yes,’ came from Swann first.
‘Go find it, go on ahead, one valley over, north four hundred yards.’
They moved up and moved on past, heading for the next valley over.
I waited till Tomo signalled, and then followed on behind Rocko and Rizzo, reversing our route exactly. Up the ridge it started to rain lightly, soon gunfire on the breeze, quiet cracks and regular automatic fire. I pressed on through the dark.
‘It’s Rocko, bring up the charges.’
‘Be there soon, what you got?’
‘Killed the men in the valley, but there’re sounds underground.’
‘OK, standby.’ Off the radio I said, ‘No.3, you have charges?’
‘I never used mine.’
I picked up the pace, six minutes to reach the valley floor and Rocko’s dark outline.
Rocko stamped a foot. ‘Trap door.’
No.3 knelt, fuse broken. ‘Run,’ he quietly offered, so a mad dash ensued as men ran to the trees. The blast was not huge, no shrapnel, and as the smoke cleared a shaft of light penetrated the smoke and reached for the heavens. Rizzo dropped a CS flashbang, Rocko a second.
