Shadow of Death

by David M. Salkin

  “If they take off and leave a truck behind, wait for them to clear the area first and my sniper will assist, over.”

  “We’ll take all the help we can get. They’re rolling. Out.”

  ***

  The convoy pulled out of the hangar and headed south toward Arista on the main road through Tonala. Once they left Tonala, the roads would be small country roads that traversed farmland all the way to Arista. They roared off, leaving the fifth truck near the jet just to keep an eye on things—Salazar was a cautious and smart man. He didn’t get to be the number one crime lord by accident.

  As soon as the trucks were out of sight, the four Sinaloas by the remaining truck opened the rear hatch and took out a cooler. They pulled out cold beers in ice and smoked cigarettes. They’d be babysitting a jet for hours, and it would be boring. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

  Eric spoke into his throat mic. “Hitting the tangos in ten seconds.”

  McCoy dialed in the MOP inside the jet. “Hunter Six, this is Postman Bravo. Sniper will hit in five to ten seconds. After the first drops, hit what you can. We’ll assist from our position. Out.”

  “Good copy,” said Carl, who rolled out of his pilot’s seat and slowly raised his weapon. Duane saw him and raised an eyebrow. “Showtime in a couple seconds.”

  Duane and Carl squatted in the jet near the open gangway and waited. The first shot from the M40A5 was silenced, but still could be heard. The impact was definitely something that wouldn’t be missed, as the man spun hard, spraying blood as he went down. It took the other three men a split second for their brains to comprehend what they witnessed. By the time they jumped to their feet, Carl had leaned out low and Duane had leaned out high, over the top of him, and the two of them opened fire, two well-aimed double taps at a time, the way they had trained for many years. Each burst found its mark, and before Hodges had time for his second shot, all four men were dead without so much as a scratch on the truck.

  Carl grabbed the radio and yelled to Moose. “Postman One, Hunter Six. You have your wheels!” Carl and Duane sprinted across the tarmac and ran inside the hangar, searching carefully for any hidden guards. There were none. By the time they came out of the hangar, the entire team had assembled at the truck.

  “We ain’t all gonna fit,” said Moose.

  “Pick your five and cram in. We’ll wait to see where’s he’s going and either fly there, or await the Black Hawks. Call them in,” said Carl.

  “Roger that,” replied Moose. “McCoy! Get on the horn! Black Hawks in the air now. Get me the general!”

  CHAPTER 58

  Change of Plans

  “North Star, this is Postman Bravo, come in, over.”

  The English-speaking radioman on the other end of the horn replied instantly. “Postman, this is North Star, good copy. Go.”

  “Target has our friendly in a caravan of four black SUVs, heading south towards Tonala. We have team ready to pursue in one vehicle, but can’t all fit. Request immediate air support for transport to follow target, over.”

  “Good copy. Birds will be in the air immediately.”

  “Postman One requests direct coms with North Star One, over.”

  The radioman screamed in Spanish to General Ortega, who was standing nearby smoking a small cigar. The general dropped it and ran to the Black Hawk, the rotors already starting to whine as the big engines turned on. The radioman handed the phone to him. “It’s the team,” he said in Spanish to the general. “One of their men is with Salazar in four trucks heading south to Tonala.”

  Ortega grabbed the phone and spoke in English. “North Star One here, come in.”

  “Request immediate air support,” snapped Moose. “They have one of our men in a vehicle and took off towards Tonala, over.”

  “That’s not where they’ll be going,” said the general. “Salazar has a place just like El Gato. It’s right outside Arista. Another fortress with plenty of men. But they won’t be ready for a full invasion from the air. We’re on our way! Be at that airstrip in five minutes! Out!”

  Moose looked at Ripper. “What do you think? We can split up and five of us follow by truck, and the other half can go by air, or we can all go by air.”

  Ripper pointed with his thumb at Carl and Duane. “Didn’t those guys say they have Apo’s GPS in their handhelds?”

  Moose yelled to Carl, who trotted over. “You tracking Apo?”

  “Yeah. Just off the horn with my boss at the company store. We’re all watching Apo via GPS tracker and satellite. There’s also a Coast Guard cutter bookin’ full speed south that has a Cobra on it. They get close enough, the Cobra will be handy to back up the Black Hawks. This went from covert ops to full-out warfare.”

  “We’re better at warfare, anyway,” said Moose. “I think we should forget about taking their truck and wait for the birds. Keep the team together and just follow them from above until they get wherever they’re going. Where’s Duane?”

  Duane appeared from the hangar as if Moose had summoned him magically. “Did none of you Frogmen notice that the SUVs took off without the box truck?”

  Moose’s face turned bright red. He was so worried about Apo, he had lost focus. “Fuck!”

  “Relax, I was inside breaking the lock. The fuckin’ thing is empty. That’s where they’re going. I’d bet my life on it. They’re taking Apo to the package.”

  “You’re betting Apo’s life on it—but you’re probably right.”

  “Think about it. Salazar just found out El Gato got hit and Las Zetas are busted up pretty good. He’s going to be super cautious, and also very excited to get that heroin supply. He’ll do business with ISIS or anybody else. But he wouldn’t be careless enough to bring that package to a first meeting with anyone, right?”

  “Okay, makes sense,” said Moose. He used his command voice and barked out loud enough for the entire team to hear him no matter where they were. “Okay! On me! Birds inbound. We’re hitching a ride and tracking Apo. He should lead us to the package, which is most likely at Salazar’s fortress. We have zero plans for the building, but I’m hoping the general can get us something. Carl, can your spook bosses get us a picture of Salazar’s house?”

  Carl snapped a finger at Duane, who replied, “On it!” and ran to the jet to call into Holstrum.

  Moose continued. “Okay! So that’s it. We get in the birds and try and put together a plan of attack to assault the Salazar compound without killing Apo. And we still have to find that weapon. Gear up, take a drink or a piss, and be ready to move when the birds get here. Should be any minute!”

  The team members for the most part just took a knee. Their weapons hadn’t been fired since arriving at the airstrip, and they were ready to go to war. Having Black Hawks with door gunners definitely evened up the odds. The only problem was Apo. He needed to get clear when the shit hit the fan.

  Hodges called out. “Birds inbound from the north!”

  Sure enough, a string of helicopters moved into the airstrip and set down single file along the runway. The team started running toward the first bird where a door gunner was flashing a green light to signal them. Other than the flight crew, the bird contained only the general and the radioman. There was room for the entire team plus the MOP crew in the eleven-man aircraft. Duane and Carl secured the jet and then chased the team to the helicopter with their weapons. The door gunner moved out of the way as the team members piled in. His M60D machine gun was mounted on the M23 subsystem, and looked like the ominous advantage that it was. The second the last man was inside, the bird began moving forward and up.

  Moose snapped a salute to General Ortega and asked him about Salazar’s compound. While the general began talking about the estate, Duane pulled a tablet out and opened up a satellite image. He showed it to Moose and the general, who smiled.

  “Isn’t it nice to have everything at the touch of a button? We’re trying to catch up to you. A slight difference in budgets.” He pointed to the house with the walls around it, set
back away from the small town. “This lake, La Joya, just east of his estate, can be our inbound route. From this direction, Salazar will have no warning from any of his soldiers. His estate is like El Gato’s, just in a flatter geography. He has walls and plenty of guards, but it won’t matter. Your team can be placed inside the walls by these helos.”

  “Right. We just have to know what’s up with Apo first,” replied Moose. “We show up too soon, and he might be a dead man. We also need to confirm that’s where the package is.”

  Duane asked Moose, “Doesn’t he have a phone?”

  “Who? Apo?”

  “Yeah. A regular phone.”

  “Yeah, but you think I can just call and ask him if it’s okay to assault the Salazar compound while he’s sitting next to the dude in a car?”

  “Well, no—you can’t. But what if Langley can make a call and have it look like it’s coming in from Syria? International number, Arab speaker—act like it’s ISIS command checking in. That person could speak with Apo in Arabic and these fuckers wouldn’t know what he was saying.”

  Moose scowled. “Look, man. You’re the professional spooks. We just break stuff and kill people. I mean, it doesn’t sound outrageous that he’d get a call, right?”

  “Exactly. Let me make a call to the boss.” Duane pulled his encrypted phone and dialed into Director Holstrum while the general and Moose went over the pictures of the estate and layout of the property. While they discussed the assault, they also discussed the possibilities that the package might not be an EMP weapon. What if it was, in fact, explosives, a dirty bomb, or chemical or biological weapon? There was no way to be sure until Apo actually saw it.

  Duane handed his phone to Carl. “Hey, man, your Arabic’s better than mine. You listen in, in case they start talking fast.”

  Carl put on headphones that he attached to the encrypted phone to be able to hear better with the Black Hawk’s rotors beating over their heads. He wouldn’t be able to talk, but he was being patched in to listen to the call being made from Virginia, and bounced off a tower in Syria in case anyone next to Apo could see the incoming area code.

  “It’s ringing!” announced Carl.

  ***

  Apo’s voice said hello in Arabic. If he was shocked or nervous, it couldn’t be heard in his voice. An unfamiliar voice said, “As salaam alaikum, Ali. It’s Adnan, in Syria, my brother.”

  Adnan was the name of the man Apo had killed in Syria. Director Holstrum knew that from Apo’s report, and he knew Apo would understand it was a friend on the other end of the line.

  Apo returned blessings and greetings, then said in Spanish so the caller could hear, “It’s my commander in Syria. They’re worried about our mission.”

  Joaquin nodded. “Tell them they have nothing to worry about. I’ll talk to him myself if you wish.”

  “He doesn’t speak Spanish. None of them do. It’s why I was chosen. Can any of you speak Arabic?”

  Joaquin admitted that none of them could.

  “Let me discuss this with him for a moment, excuse me.” He spoke back into the phone in Arabic. “I’m currently heading to an unknown location, supposedly to see the package for myself. I don’t know if anyone knows my location.” While Apo didn’t believe that any of the Sinaloas could speak Arabic, he was very careful in his words, as was the CIA interpreter on the other end of the phone sitting next to Director Holstrum.

  “The eyes of God are upon you, my brother, from the east, as always, just as the sun rises over the water.”

  “That is comforting, thank you.”

  “You are most likely heading to this man’s estate, just like the cat’s. The black birds can always find a way to overcome any obstacle, can’t they?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “We need you to confirm the package, what’s in it, and then find safety.”

  “I understand.”

  “Use whatever means necessary to send your location. You’re a smart man. You’ll think of something. You can dial back to this same number should you be able. God’s speed, brother.”

  Ali bin-Salud hung up and turned to Joaquin. “They’re prepared to send the heroin immediately after my mission is completed. How much farther?”

  “Not far. The roads make it a longer ride than it should be. Fifteen kilometers can take forever in this part of Mexico. I’m thinking of paying for a highway myself. It would be good for everyone, and speed up my deliveries. The locals would be happy, too.”

  “As in Syria, we provide what the government does not, and win the support of the people. Most people are sheep. They prefer tyranny to anarchy.”

  Joaquin smiled and laughed out loud. “I love that one! I will use it again myself! We keep the locals in line here as well.” He looked out and saw lights in the distance. “Not much farther, my friend. I can see my villa from here. There,” he said, pointing outside the window. “The only lights around for a few kilometers. I prefer the company of poor farmers than the big city. I can see visitors from a long way off, which is good in my line of work.”

  Apo casually tried to look around at his surroundings. It was impossible—the windows were tinted and it was pitch black outside. The only thing he could see was the twinkling of lights in the distance, all centered around one area—Salazar’s compound. He could see the driver’s console and knew they were still heading south, but had no real idea of where they were. He was hoping the GPS in his chest was still transmitting to Langley, and the team and MOP somehow knew where he was. He’d been in plenty of jams before, but this was going to be tight. Salazar would have no reason to believe he was an American spy, but would probably blame him for any government action against the Sinaloa and kill him anyway. Apo leaned back against the headrest and thought to himself, “Embrace the suck.”

  CHAPTER 59

  Operation Postman

  McCoy’s radio came to life.

  “Postman One, this is Company Overwatch, come in.”

  McCoy handed the radio to Moose. “Sounds like the big boss.”

  “Postman One, here.”

  Holstrum recognized Moose’s voice. “Postman One, this is Company Overwatch. We’re tracking you, Mike Oscar Papa, and our Alpha in transit by eye in the sky, you copy?’

  “Good copy.”

  “Moving assets to your location ASAP. Alpha Hotel One Zulu will be on station by the time you arrive at target location. It will bring heavy assets to bear. Call sign Roz will supply fire support. Cutter nearby if the package goes to sea. Alpha in transit is heading south.”

  “Alpha Hotel One Zulu,” Moose thought. “Great.” They were sending an AH-1Z attack helicopter known as a Viper, based on the older model SuperCobra. The Viper looked similar to the SuperCobra, but had four blades instead of two, and packed a punch with its M197 three-barreled Gatling gun. It also packed rockets and surface-to-air missiles. When close-air support was needed, nothing made a ground unit under heavy contact happier than the sound of either a Viper or a Warthog. It had been on the Coast Guard cutter and was now within range.

  “Affirmative. North Star predicts location to be the boss’s HQ. We’re taking it slow to allow them to get there first. Need to get Alpha secure and confirm package, then planning on full assault.”

  “Understood. We’re watching close. Good hunting. Out.”

  Moose handed McCoy the radio. “Sounds like we’re on TV at the company store. They’re probably all sitting around drinking coffee, watching us like it’s the Super Bowl.” He happened to be one hundred percent correct.

  The other members of the team nodded. They’d been here before—those moments before an assault, where the adrenaline was starting to pump, and it took everything inside to keep it controlled. Something about being inside the helo, with that whump-whump noise of the blades, that made it all very real. The team shared face paint as they started getting ready for a night assault.

  ***

  Salazar’s SUVs began turning into a private road. A car parked at the si
de of the road in the grass served as the watchdog, with four gangbangers sitting in it hanging out—not that anyone would dare drive up that road uninvited. Not even the cops. They recognized the SUVs and just waved casually as Salazar’s convoy roared past, heading toward the front gate.

  By the time they reached the gate, it was rolling open, having been activated by the remote in the lead vehicle. The SUVs slowed down and drove up the cobblestone driveway to the front of the villa. Like El Gato, Joaquin Salazar made it a point to have a castle in a land of corrugated steel huts. A king among serfs.

  The house was sprawling, a ranch-style hacienda of stone and stucco, with immaculate landscaping, just like El Gato’s estate. They must have all tried to copy and outdo each other like some Hollywood stars. Somewhere, some architect in Mexico specialized in “cartel kingpin-style homes.” There was a carport attached by a covered breezeway to the house. It could hold seven cars, and the vehicle occupants didn’t need to walk outside to get to the house; they merely walked through the connecting hallway.

  The carport doors began opening. Inside, there were spaces for three vehicles, next to the Maserati GranTurismo Sport Coupe, a large yellow Hummer H1, just because it looked Hollywood and could play off-road, and a Mercedes-Maybach S600. A sweet ride at a little over two hundred thousand, less than a day’s pay for Salazar. The fourth spot was filled to maximum capacity by an old box truck that didn’t fit with the other vehicles. Apo saw it but ignored it.

  Lights inside the carport were very bright in the dark sky, and Salazar’s small collection of vehicles gleamed next to the dirty truck.

  “Can you guess which one is yours?” asked Joaquin.

  “Well, if I was at home, I’d say the Mercedes, but today, most likely that piece of shit truck.”

  “Very good. You are welcome to stay the evening at my home and drive it to your destination in the morning.”