Echoes of a Distant Summer

by Guy Johnson

  Lincoln interjected, “You’re offering us money to come with you? We’re not mercenaries! Five million dollars can’t buy our lives!”

  “I know it can’t!” Jackson retorted. “I’m in a tough situation right now. If I had time I’d use the total resources that I had at my disposal and I’d probably spend fifteen to twenty million dollars hiring the best professionals and equipment I could find to mount this assault. But I don’t have time. So the money that I would pay strangers, I’m offering to the people I love. It will serve as a form of insurance for your families should the worst happen.”

  “You really have access to that kind of money?” Dan asked. “That’s fifteen million dollars sitting around this table!”

  Jackson confirmed with a nod of his head, “Twenty million, counting Wesley’s family. Yes! I have it!”

  Lincoln was also studying Jackson and when he spoke he pushed his words as if they were pawns on a chessboard. “There is no doubt, five million dollars would change the quality of our lives. But if I go with you, it won’t be for the money. It’ll be because of our relationship and I trust that you have a good plan.”

  Jackson nodded. “Understood.”

  Lincoln continued, “You told us the bulk of your grandfather’s estate was in those lost certificates. Does your offer depend upon finding these certificates?”

  Dan concluded, “Suppose no one finds the certificates?”

  “The answer to your questions, gentlemen, is that your families will be taken care of whether we come back or not. My grandfather has enough property and other assets to pay this agreement in full whether the certificates are ever found or not. I will draw up a letter indicating these amounts as the legal debt that I owe each of you. I’ll get the appropriate language from my attorney and get it notarized tonight. You’ll have your notarized statements before we take off.”

  Lincoln pushed back from the table. “I need to talk with Sandra. Can I get back to you in an hour?” Jackson nodded.

  “I don’t need to talk to Anu. She’d never agree anyway,” Dan said with a shrug, then a grim smile spread across his face. He stuck his thumb up and said, “Five million dollars buys a lot of gumption. I’m definitely in. And there ain’t no discussion on that.”

  “Thank you! Your participation means the world to me!”

  Lincoln stood up and said to Jackson, “We’re going to be placing our lives in your hands tomorrow morning. I’m hoping that your intelligence work is accurate.”

  Jackson stood up as well. “The best that money can buy.”

  When Pres and Jackson returned to the house, they sat discussing the logistics of the raid with Carlos.

  Carlos explained, “The plane will be here at two-thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll leave for Ensenada around six in the morning. We don’t have a definite takeoff time yet, but everyone should be at Moffit by four. We’ll meet up with the Ramirez brothers when we arrive. Tell people to wear black and just to bring one change of clothes and toiletries. Weapons, flak jackets, and everything else will be provided. We’ll go over the plan of attack and everybody’s assignment while we’re in the air. We’ll go over it again when we arrive and make whatever changes are necessary.”

  The phone rang. It was Lincoln confirming his participation.

  Pres concluded, “I guess we’re a go. Okay, we’ll be there by four. See you tomorrow morning.”

  Jackson and Carlos were left in the dining room looking over Carlos’s hand-drawn layout of San Vicente’s mansion. Jackson asked, “How do we keep the police out of this? From what you’ve told me San Vicente is pretty well connected in Tijuana.”

  Carlos smiled. “One of my cousins, Tomás Zacatecas, works in Tijuana in a police outfit called Grupo Beta. He’s going to help us.”

  “Grupo Beta? What’s that?”

  “They primarily spend time protecting illegal immigrants from getting raped and robbed by thugs and other police agencies; sometimes they even have shoot-outs with other police. He’s one of the good guys and he hates San Vicente. He’ll put out the word that San Vicente is going to war with Gaxiola; that’ll keep the federales and the police out of it for a while. Unless they get paid up front, they don’t generally get involved in drug dealers’ wars.”

  “How much time will that give us?”

  “Max? Maybe an hour from the time we fire the first shots. And we only have that much time because San Vicente’s mansion is pretty far out of Tijuana and almost everybody will be celebrating the holiday. Get that map of Mexico off the shelf. I want to go over with you our possible escape routes and the weapons we’ll need.”

  Jackson retrieved the map and said forcefully, “This is different from eighteen years ago. There’ll be no stopping this time until I’ve rescued Elizabeth and I’ve killed them all!” It was no longer his grandfather’s world in which he had become entangled, it was now his own. The men he was fighting were his enemies and the responsibility for success lay firmly on his shoulders. As he bent over the map and focused his attention on Carlos’s discussion there was no doubt in his mind that the name Tremain would once again instill fear.

  Wednesday, June 26, 1964

  The rain began as they left the lodge and it fell as if a hole had opened in the heavens. Sheets of water traveled across a darkened landscape like waves rushing an unknown coast. The rain drummed on the canvas top of the jeep with the roar of a drum corps playing an eternal funeral march. Visibility was extremely poor, but all Jackson had to do was follow the taillights of the vehicle in front of him. There were periods of straight highway, but for the most part the road was tortuous as it curved around the foothills of Durango. They drove without a break for two hours. It was six-thirty in the evening and the rain had ceased by the time they drove down into a small valley which contained an isolated dirt airstrip. As he got out of the jeep, Jackson wondered whether Maria was still alive.

  A twenty-passenger plane waited at the end of the airstrip next to a small hangar. Five men were already on the plane waiting when they boarded. No sooner than they had fastened their seat belts, the plane was airborne. Jackson was introduced around. The only man that he had known previously was Esteban Muñoz. He was one of the men who had taught Jackson how to ride and take care of horses when Jackson was ten years old. Esteban greeted him warmly and acknowledged that Jackson had grown into a strong young man. Jackson nodded in response, but said nothing. The seriousness of the situation inhibited light discussion. The flight lasted three hours. The plane landed at another airstrip identical to the first, except there was no hangar. Jackson rubbed his legs to get the blood circulating and exited the plane behind Carlos. Night had now fallen and with it came a cold and gusting wind. Jackson was unprepared for the chill and force of the gusts. It nearly blew his straw hat, with El Indio’s feather, off his head.

  “Give me the feather,” said Carlos, leading Jackson around the plane’s wing toward the luggage bay. “I’ll put it away for you, so you’ll be able to take it home with you. The hat you can lose.”

  A large, metal-paneled truck pulled up to the edge of the runway. Jackson helped Carlos carry a heavy box that had BAZOOKA stenciled on its lid. He teamed with Carlos until all of the plane’s baggage had been loaded into the side compartments of the truck. Jackson noticed that they unloaded considerably more equipment from the plane than they had taken on. He had seen boxes containing short-barreled trench mortars and automatic rifles being loaded into the truck along with numerous wooden boxes of ammunition.

  Jackson was watching the lights of the plane as it taxied and lifted off into the overcast night sky when his grandfather clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a sheepskin coat and a bandolier of shotgun shells. His grandfather gestured to the bandolier and said, “That’s for your ‘pig’ gun.” The old man turned and walked away before his grandson could respond. Jackson watched as his grandfather continued to bark out orders and direct traffic.

  There was no doubt in Jackson’s mind now, he was participating
in a war. He had little time to ponder this thought, for the call was given to climb aboard. He followed Carlos into the back of the truck and pushed past a heavy woolen curtain into the bright atmosphere of fluorescent lights. The truck’s interior had been converted to a control center. There was a bank of shortwave radio equipment sitting on a counter at the far end of the compartment and fold-down padded benches were situated along the sides.

  Carlos waved Jackson to a seat and went to stand beside El Negro, who was sitting next to Hernando at the radio. Hernando was wearing earphones and flipping switches on the bank of radio equipment. Jackson felt a surge and a slow rocking as the truck turned and got under way. Culio sat down next to him and indicated that he should fasten his seat belt. The ride was rough until they reached a highway then it was easygoing. After they had been driving about half an hour, foil-wrapped packages of soft-shell tacos were handed out along with big bottles of Fanta soda. Jackson gobbled his tacos down. He had forgotten how hungry he was. There was no taste to the food, it merely satisfied his hunger. He could not savor it.

  The pins and needles of anxiety began to prick Jackson’s consciousness. He wondered how he would react to killing a human, whether he would experience a guilt greater than any he had previously known. And sometimes, in moments of confusion, he let his thoughts drift to Maria. He had tried not thinking about her, to stifle his concern for her, but his will was not equal to the task. The fear that she was already dead was strong and he could not rid himself of its clammy logic.

  The truck pulled off the road and Jackson’s grandfather led a briefing on the attack. The plan involved a direct assault on the Jaguar’s home base, located in an isolated area fifty miles outside of Linares. El Negro stated that the Jaguar had sent a party of at least twenty of his top men in the attack on the hunting lodge, and according to the radio transmission from the spies that Carlos had planted, the party had just returned within the hour. The report indicated that there were many injured among the survivors, which meant that the number of trained men left to guard the base would be significantly reduced.

  King declared that the element of surprise was on their side because the Jaguar didn’t expect any assault until the next morning, but that there wasn’t much time because reinforcements had been sent for from Linares and surrounding towns. The additional men were expected to arrive in the next three hours. Jackson listened as his grandfather, El Indio, and Carlos discussed the strategy of the attack and gave out assignments. He did not hear his name mentioned. He was both relieved and concerned. He was not sure how he would react under fire, but he didn’t want to be left out of the action. Wooden crates were hauled out of the side compartments and carried into the truck. Carlos broke them open with a crowbar. Machine pistols with silencers and extra magazines were distributed. Out of another crate bulletproof vests were issued. From a third crate military-issue, thick-barreled M16s were handed out. The truck was abuzz with activity as men strapped on their vests and checked out their weapons.

  King walked over and sat next to his grandson.

  “This is a pretty fancy rig, Grandfather,” Jackson said nervously, gesturing around to the truck’s compartment.

  “Yeah, we got a couple of these trucks. It’s a good way to command an operation. We keep in touch by shortwave. Carlos brought this idea from one of his security seminars.” King looked around at the rest of the men checking their guns and asked, “We’re about ready to hit it. You ready for this?” He stared at Jackson’s face.

  Jackson took a deep breath and exhaled. “I think so.”

  “Thinkin’ ain’t enough, boy! There can’t be no hesitation! This is life and death! Is you ready?”

  “I’ve never killed anyone before, Grandfather. I don’t know.”

  “Killin’ folk is the easiest part. Just squeeze the trigger. It’s how you react to them tryin’ to kill you that matters. People is different from pigs. They find a way to fight back.”

  “I’m not coming with you because I want to kill, Grandfather. I’m coming along because I want to rescue Maria. I want to take her back to the States with me.”

  His grandfather chuckled with surprise. “That girl is smarter than I thought! Got yo’ nose open in four days! Many a man done lost his life over a triangle of hair. It be a hell of a thing to lose yo’ life just for some pussy. You sho’ this is what you want? You prepared to kill to get her back?”

  Jackson stared at his grandfather’s dark, glittering eyes and retorted in clipped tones, “She’s not just some pussy to me and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get her back.”

  “Then we’s in business, ain’t we? You come with me and El Indio, but let me tell you straight up, Grandson. Here’s what’s necessary: Kill everyone you see, otherwise you gon’ put yo’self or somebody else in danger. If we want to leave here alive and uninjured, there can’t be no hesitation or mercy. This is for keeps! You ready?”

  “I’ll do what is necessary, Grandfather,” Jackson replied in a flat, toneless voice.

  “I’ll take you at yo’ word. Let’s shake on it.” His grandfather stood up and held out his hand. Jackson rose and took his grandfather’s hand. The old man turned and called to Carlos, “Toss me one of them vests for my grandson, and he needs an M16 too.”

  Jackson put the bulky vest on underneath his sheepskin coat and waited for his orders. El Indio came over and knelt in front of him. By the light of a flashlight, he drew a diagram in the dirt and explained Jackson’s assignment. After everyone was briefed, they loaded back in the truck and rode to the point of disembarkation.

  The wind whistled as it blew over the dark and broken landscape of the mesa, rustling the leaves and branches of the desert vegetation. The night sky was overcast and grim, hiding the moon and the stars with a dense layer of dark, moisture-filled clouds. Jackson turned up his sheepskin collar against the wind and followed El Indio up the steep incline of a brush- and scrub-covered ridge. In the darkness, he could barely see the ground beneath his feet and caught several branches across the face as he hastened through the underbrush to keep El Indio in sight. The old Indian was a silent silhouette moving quickly through the inky darkness. They reached the crest of the ridge and followed it until it peaked and descended to the mesa.

  A small, darkened guardhouse stood on the edge of the ridge, overlooking a large, walled compound. As he neared the small building, Jackson saw his grandfather drag a man’s body by the feet around the back of it. Jackson shifted the M16 to the crook of his arm and checked its operation quickly. It was a customized weapon fitted with an extra-thick barrel which served as both a silencer and flash protector. Once he satisfied himself that all was in working order, he walked over to where his grandfather and El Indio stood waiting for a signal from Carlos. The compound consisted of a high wall surrounding a jumble of stucco buildings around a larger fortlike structure in the back of the compound. Jackson estimated that the buildings within the compound could easily house more than a hundred people. Three quick flashes of light emanated from the far wall of the compound and were repeated.

  “That’s him!” King declared. “He’s cut the phone wire and disabled the radio antenna!”

  Another light flashed twice and was repeated. This signal originated from the nearer wall of the compound. “That’s Hernando. He’s taken care of the two sentries guarding this side of the wall. We’ve got ten minutes to get over the wall before the outside patrol comes around again. Let’s get to steppin’!”

  They started down the darkened hillside at a trot, occasionally sliding through the brush on the hard clay and laterite of the slope. Jackson kept his automatic rifle in front of him to protect his face from being lashed by branches in the underbrush. At the foot of the ridge there was about a fifty-foot strip of cleared ground to cross before the walls could be reached. Jackson waited behind a low-lying thicket for his grandfather’s signal. When the three quick flashes came from the edge of the wall, all three men ran full throttle across the security zone. Jack
son was the first one to the wall; the two older men were close behind but breathing heavily. A ladder made of rope was thrown over the wall and the men used it to enter the compound. They dropped down into an unlighted alley between buildings.

  Carlos led them through a maze of alleyways until they reached the base of the fortlike main house. They stopped at a small door opening down into a cellar. “This is the way in behind the bar. The passageway up to El Jaguar’s chambers is off the main room. We’ve got machine gun lanes set up at both ends of the street fronting on this building. Once you take care of the bodyguards in the bar, there should be no further resistance.”

  King looked at his watch and asked, “How long do we have before the mortars start fallin’?”

  Carlos answered, “Ten minutes. Then you have twenty minutes to get the Jaguar and get out. We’ll open fire on this building with the bazookas in thirty minutes from now. The truck will be waiting around the back of the compound.”

  “What about Maria?” Jackson demanded.

  Carlos said, “If she’s alive and in this compound, she’ll be in this building. Tigre has a small apartment underneath the Jaguar’s suite.”

  King opened the door and said, “Let’s hit it and quit it! The clock is ticking!” He stepped down into the darkness of the cellar and with the narrow beam of a flashlight led the way to a flight of stairs. Turning off the flashlight and using only the light which issued from under the door at the top of the stairs, he motioned to Jackson to stay behind him and stealthily ascended the steps. At the top of the stairs King pushed the door open a crack. He peered through the crack for a couple of minutes before signaling to El Indio to follow him. The two men squatted down and pushed through the doorway behind the bar.

  Sweat was running down Jackson’s face as he climbed the stairs after his grandfather. The bulletproof vest and the sheepskin coat weighed heavily on his shoulders and obstructed his movements. Conversely, the rifle felt light as a toy in his hands. He pushed open the door and crawled to a kneeling position behind the long, wooden bar. There was no sign of either El Indio or his grandfather. The coarse sound of men laughing and telling bawdy stories in Spanish floated over the bar. Jackson did not know which direction to take around the bar, so he sat still and waited. His heart was pounding and the sweat fell in streams off his brow. He kept swiveling his head in opposite directions, trying to keep both entrances behind the bar in view.