Shadow of Death

by David M. Salkin

  Apo contemplated the best plan of action, unsure of the status of his backup. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I must get this truck to its destination immediately and call in to command to let them know the deal is on. There will be logistics to work out as well, of course. Where you would like the shipments to go, for instance. Landing on the opposite coast is much easier.”

  “And won’t be a problem with Las Zetas out of business. We’ll start finishing them off in a day or two, before they reorganize. As far as you leaving tonight, I’d advise against it. The roads are dark and not well marked. It’s easy to get lost. You are taking the truck to the coast, yes?”

  “Arista,” replied Apo, assuming that Mustafa had probably divulged the plan under questioning.

  Joaquin nodded. “If you insist on leaving this evening, I can have my men escort you. No one will bother you, and they can guide you to the small dock.”

  “That is most accommodating of you,” said Apo. In his head, he was thinking, “Perfect!”

  “I’ll have my men take you at once, or if you prefer, I can have a meal prepared.”

  “Again, very kind of you. I ate well on the plane. It’s urgent I get on the road.”

  “As you wish.”

  Salazar’s men opened the doors for Apo and Joaquin, and they stepped out into the light of the garage. Mustafa came up behind them from another vehicle.

  Apo turned to Mustafa. “We’ll be leaving immediately. I’ll inspect the package, and then we are driving to Arista tonight.”

  Mustafa looked instantly relieved. “I’ll be very happy to get out of here and away from these men.”

  “They’ll escort us and show us the way, but we’re safe. The mission goes on.” Apo turned to Joaquin. “Can I see the package now?”

  “As you wish, of course.” He yelled over to his men, who walked over to the truck and unlocked the back, then pulled open the double doors. Sitting inside on a large pallet was the strange-looking device.

  Apo walked over with Mustafa close behind. His mind was racing. He had seen prototypes before and studied these weapons before the mission, but this one was slightly different in design. Definitely not a US model. He walked to the rear of the truck and looked closer, examining it as best he could without appearing too suspicious.

  “It looks to be in good working order,” he said to Joaquin. “I extend my thanks, once again, I or my people will be in contact with you shortly. If you give me your phone number or e-mail address, I will put it on my own phone.” Apo handed his phone to Joaquin, who took it and opened Apo’s contacts.

  “They use iPhones in Syria, too? I had no idea, Ali.”

  “The weapon of choice for drug cartels and armies around the world,” replied Apo with a smile. “Enter your information and call me, and my information will appear on your phone.” (“As well as the CIA’s instant tracking system virus,” he thought.)

  Joaquin entered his information and called himself so it would appear on Apo’s phone. “There. Now you have my information. I’d like to get the shipments started as soon as possible. As far as ammunition goes, I can get plenty. We’ll just need to be careful about sending. Container ship, disguised as something else, usually works.”

  “Excellent. When I get to Arista, the boat should be nearby. My mission will be completed, and the business can begin. Your first shipment can be here within ten days, I would think. We can make sure it’s a large enough shipment to make you happy, and show our sincerity and ability to work together.”

  Joaquin Salazar smiled, a genuine smile of happiness. He was going to control the biggest supply of heroin in all of Mexico—perhaps the world. “This is very good news!”

  CHAPTER 60

  Langley

  “Holy shit,” said Director Holstrum with a smile. “Sonofabitch is good.”

  Dex Murphy was in the room, along with Darren Davis, watching the satellite images from Mexico in real time.

  “Apo got Salazar to give him his fucking phone number! Son of a bitch called it to store his information. We can track the GPS coordinates of Salazar and Apo in real time. It looks like Apo is on the move, away from the compound. Salazar is stationary at his house.”

  Holstrum was getting excited. It was almost time to spring the assault. Apo just needed to get a little further. The director was the only person in the CIA who had actual knowledge of the MOP. The fact that two of his MOP team were now with the special ops team made things a little complicated, but Darren and Dex were wise enough to know when to ask questions and when not to. Holstrum decided it was time to let them in on the additional manpower.

  “Listen up. Just so you know, the two pilots that brought Apo are mine.”

  “Of course,” said Darren. He was slightly confused by the comment. Of course they’d be CIA or special operators and not just some private pilots for a mission like this.

  “No. I mean, they’re mine. That’s all I can say about that, but the team has two very able-bodied additions to assist with any assault on the compound.”

  Darren and Dex knew it meant contract killers, and didn’t push the issue.

  “Good, we’ll need all the firepower we can get,” said Darren.

  “I spoke to General Ortega a little while ago. We discussed the arrest of Salazar.”

  “And?”

  The general’s comment, and this is a quote, in perfect English, by the way: “Fuck him.”

  “So no arrest?”

  “I’m instructing the team to treat this as an assault on an enemy target. They’re terrorists and mass murderers. There shouldn’t be much left to arrest. The Mexican Special Forces will get full credit for the op. We were never there.”

  “Roger that,” said Darren. “We’re never anywhere.” He smiled.

  Director Holstrum continued to watch the two small dots on his electronic map continue to separate. When he calculated that they were three kilometers away from each other, and Apo was halfway to Arista, he got his interpreter on the phone and called Apo’s number, which was bounced off a Syrian tower again.

  Apo’s phone vibrated on his belt as Mustafa drove the old truck behind the SUV. He picked up the phone and answered in Arabic.

  The CIA interpreter was in another room and was relaying messages from Holstrum, who couldn’t be heard on the call, so there were gaps in the call. More or less, it just sounded like a lousy connection, not unlikely when calling from an ISIS war zone.

  “Greetings from command,” said the voice.

  “We are almost at Arista to continue our mission, God willing. We have one vehicle in front of us escorting us to the pier. We’re following in a truck with the package. Everything appears in working order,” replied Apo.

  The interpreter repeated it back to Holstrum quickly in English. Holstrum was beaming, and replied quickly.

  “Excellent news. We will have a friend to greet your escort. Keep a safe distance. Special delivery will arrive for Sinaloas very shortly.”

  Apo understood. “Very well. I will keep a sharp eye. We will speak again.” He hung up.

  “A sharp eye for what?” asked the nervous Mustafa, who had heard Apo’s half of the conversation. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is perfect. Just stay back a little farther. The package is very heavy. If they stop short, we’ll hit them. This truck is old and its brakes are shit.”

  “It drives okay . . .”

  “I said stay a safe distance,” snapped Apo. Mustafa complied and the truck slowed down.

  ***

  Holstrum pointed to Darren Davis. “Make the call to Roz.”

  Roz was the call sign of the pilot on the Viper. Actually a US Navy pilot, she had been tasked with the Coast Guard for this mission because the cutter was the closest ship that had a landing pad. She had flown from another task force within range.

  Darren called the pilot, Nicole Rozman, on her radio inside the cockpit. “Company Overwatch to Voodoo One, come in, over.”

  “This is Voodoo
One. Good copy.”

  “Sending you uplink to target. Two vehicles. Friendly vehicle will be lit up, in the rear position. It’s a truck. Escort should be in front and won’t light your GPS. You are cleared to eliminate target. Out.”

  “Good copy, Overwatch. We are five minutes to target, coming in hot. Friendly now appearing on my computer. Out.”

  She repeated the instructions to her gunner sitting in front of her, and Kevin “TK” Black, who had already heard it once, reaffirmed the target and the friendly. She dropped down slightly in altitude and raced the engines to full thrust, hitting two hundred knots.

  “Time to target, less than five mikes.”

  Back in Langley, the director called into his team aboard the Mexican Black Hawks.

  McCoy handed the radio to Moose when the call came in.

  “Postman One,” said Moose.

  “This is Company Overwatch. Viper inbound to eliminate Apo’s escort. He will have to take care of whoever’s with him by himself, and we’ll pick him up after-action. You are green light to Operation Mailman. ROE are clear: kill everything you see inside that compound. There are no friendlies inside. We have confirmed Apo’s location. Repeat. No friendlies inside. Out.”

  Moose handed the radio to McCoy and gave his men a thumbs-up. “We are green light. Apo is not in the location and there are no friendlies inside the compound. Assume all targets inside are threats and you are cleared to fire. That sound correct to you, general?”

  “Affirmative. We will soften the target first, and you and my men will be placed inside the walls. The capture of Salazar or his men is not important to Mexico.” General Ortega spoke to his own radioman in Spanish, who made the call to the other pilots. The birds banked right and fanned out in attack formation, a slight V, with the general’s bird second from center on the right. Everyone could feel the Black Hawks increase speed as they started to drop in altitude. The attack was on.

  Ripper leaned forward and smacked Jon in his vest. “We’re meat eaters! Get some!”

  Jon held up his grenade launcher and gritted his teeth. “I’ll make an impression.”

  “You hear that, people? It’s on! Almost time to rock and roll. Black Hawks make a gun run and then we unass this bird inside their perimeter. All targets are hostile.”

  “Oooo-Rrraaaah!” shouted Hodges, the only United States Marine aboard. He had kept the sniper rifle in its cover and pulled his close-quarters MP5. He would be joining in a rapid assault, not providing sniper cover.

  The pilot’s voice came over their headsets. “Time to target, sixty seconds.”

  The team members began taking safeties off and chambering rounds. “Oh it’s on, motherfuckers!” shouted McCoy to no one in particular. They were all too pumped up to remain quiet.

  The pilot turned off all inside lights in the helicopter. Only the panel of the cockpit emitted any light, which was invisible from outside the bird. They picked up speed and dropped even lower.

  CHAPTER 61

  Contact

  “Mustafa, do you know the name of the boat that’s coming to get us?”

  “They didn’t tell you?” he asked, surprised. “It’s called El Pescador Feliz. A fishing boat.”

  “Excellent. When we get closer I’ll call our commanders at home and tell them to contact the ship for pick-up.”

  Mustafa smiled. He was almost finished with his mission. A correct thought.

  ***

  “I have visual on the target,” said TK to Roz in his headset. He was wearing a head-up display helmet that was attached to the triple Gatling gun’s aiming system. He didn’t need to use a joystick; he merely had to move his head and look at the target, then press the trigger.

  “Reducing speed. You’re cleared to fire. Just remember we have friendlies behind lead vehicle in that truck.”

  “Roger that.”

  TK lined up the SUV in his right eye with the HUD system in his helmet. When he pressed the trigger and held it down, four hundred rounds hit the SUV in less than a few seconds, each incendiary round instantly taking the vehicle apart, sending metal and body parts in every direction.

  ***

  As the vehicle in front of him exploded into pieces, Mustafa slammed on the brakes and screamed.

  Apo grabbed the dashboard and held on as Mustafa fought to control the truck. They veered off the road and came to a stop in the soft earth. The Viper picked up speed and kept flying, heading due north at full speed.

  “What was that?” screamed Mustafa.

  Apo opened his door and got out. “Quickly! Come around back!”

  Mustafa didn’t question him; he opened his door and ran to the rear of the truck. As he came around the corner, Apo throat-punched him and dropped him like a rock. Before Mustafa hit the ground on his knees, Apo had his head and, in a split second, broke the man’s neck. It was all over in an instant. Apo ran to the driver’s side, hopped back in, and started driving toward the coast. He pulled his phone, which rang in Langley.

  “It’s me!” he barked into the phone, swerving around the burning wreckage.

  “I have you loud and clear. Was watching by satellite. Looks like a good kill. You okay?”

  “Roger that. Good shooting, whoever that was. I’m heading south. We have any assets near Arista?”

  “Negative. Not at this time. Stay out of sight until the team finishes their operation, and we’ll send you a taxi. Did you see the package?”

  “Yes. Our friends were correct. It’s an EMP. Definitely not ours.”

  “Okay, understood. Do you think it’s on a timer or armed at this point?”

  “Negative. I only saw it briefly, but there wasn’t anything that looked like it was activated. I think it’s manually detonated and needed to be closer to the US to deploy. The ship is a fishing vessel, El Pescador Feliz.”

  “Confirmed, El Pescador Feliz. We have a Coast Guard cutter in your AO. Will advise. Stay alert, stay alive. We’ll send help ASAP. Out!”

  Apo hung up and kept driving as fast as he dared on the dark dirt road. “Fuckin’ A,” he said to no one in particular. Bad guys dead, and he had the package and all of his limbs. It was a good day so far.

  ***

  A few kilometers to the north, the squadron of Black Hawks raced over the surface of the Mexican farmland, headed straight for the lights of the Sinaloa drug lord’s estate. The door gunners double-checked their M60 machine guns and leaned out against their harnesses.

  As the helicopters reached the estate, a few of Salazar’s guards began shouting and alerting the others. Salazar, no stranger to the Mexican Marines, had RPGs in his house and was screaming at his men to do something about the incoming helicopters. When the door gunners on all five gunships opened up, the guards below began coming apart in pieces along with the roof of the house. The Black Hawks slowed down and poured fire on the house and cars and anyone that moved in the compound. The birds dropped a few inches over the ground and hovered, and the troops began unloading.

  Between the team, the Mexican Special Forces, and the MOP, they had a platoon-sized element of well-trained warriors. Duane and Carl were still wearing private pilot’s uniforms, but had been given Kevlar to wear over their white shirts. The Mexicans had also supplied them with Kevlar helmets. Still, with their blue slacks and dress shoes, they looked pretty ridiculous next to the other assault troops.

  For the first sixty seconds of the assault, it was simply a fusillade of machine gun fire from the M60s. When the soldiers hit the ground, the birds took off and began circling slowly, looking for targets on the ground far enough away from the troops that there wouldn’t be any friendly fire incidents. For the most part, the gunners took apart the house until the assaulting troops got closer to the front door.

  Inside, Joaquin Salazar and his bodyguards were panicking. Typically, the federales would arrive in large numbers and shoot and threaten, but he’d never heard of an all-out attack. His house was being destroyed by gunfire and now he could see movement o
utside with incoming fire through the windows. If not for the walls being made of stone and stucco, they’d probably all be dead already.

  “Do something!” he was screaming at his men. One of them was on his phone screaming for help from other Sinaloa soldiers, scattered all over the region. Another one appeared with an RPG and stumbled through the house as rounds came through the roof. The clay shingles were literally exploding into dust, and the bullets were coming through and bouncing all over the marble floors and granite countertops, ricocheting everywhere.

  The man with the RPG snaked his way through the house to the front window, which had been blown open. From where he was, he could see several of the helicopters. He shouldered the weapon and took aim out the window.

  “Got him!” said Ripper, seeing the tip of the RPG extend out the window. He began firing at the target, his night-vision scope making the man appear super bright against the remaining faint lights of the house. Ripper fired several controlled bursts as the man tried to fire. The Sinaloa managed to get the shot off before Ripper killed him, but it went wild, firing off into the field outside the compound and hitting nothing but dirt.

  The other soldiers, seeing the RPG round come out of the house, hit the deck and began to slow their assault. Their enemy had heavier weapons than expected, and they moved more cautiously. Jon moved up along a line of shrubbery and got close to the front of the house.

  “Fire in the hole!” he yelled, and began firing his M203 at the front door and any window he could see. The grenades began exploding inside the house, taking out almost all of the Sinaloa guards inside. Only Joaquin and his two bodyguards were alive, because they had stayed closer to the rear of the house. Unlike El Gato, Salazar didn’t have a fancy escape tunnel. At his elevation, a tunnel would flood during the wet season. All he had was a back door that led to a rear yard and not much chance of escape.

  The guards grabbed their boss by the arms and pulled him along as they raced through the house, holding their free hands above their heads to shield themselves from falling debris and incoming M60 rounds. When they reached the back door, one of the bodyguards grabbed his phone that was ringing.