by Matt Rogers
‘No,’ King said. ‘That’s been dealt with.’
‘I’ll be honest, I doubted that I would be talking to you right now.’
‘I know. I could tell from the way you signed off the last call. You thought you’d spoken your last words to a maniac.’
‘I won’t deny that…’
He trailed off, deep in thought about something.
‘What is it?’ King said after a few beats of silence.
‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ Lars said. ‘It’s unbelievable. I don’t want to jump the gun too early, but we might have something here. We might have a new division.’
‘You thought of a name yet?’
‘Not yet. Black ops don’t worry too much about official procedures.’
‘Call it Black Force.’
Lars paused. ‘That sounds ridiculous.’
‘If it’s not official, then who cares what we call it,’ King said, smirking. ‘I feel like it’ll stick.’
‘Black Force…’ Lars said. ‘Not bad. Maybe.’
‘Now stop masturbating over what we’ve achieved and get your ass to Guatemala,’ King said. ‘And bring a fucking doctor, if you can. My nose is a real mess.’
‘Broken?’
‘Badly.’
‘Be there soon. Make sure you’re at this airfield you’re speaking about at two in the afternoon local time. We’ll find it when we’re in the air.’
‘Got it.’
‘And well done, you crazy bastard.’
King hung up, handing the phone back to the Guatemalan man who had emerged from his hut to inquire about the phone. The man nodded his respect and took the Garmin device back, sliding it into his pocket. He treated it like a precious artefact, to be protected at all costs.
‘Was that the people you work for?’ the man said.
King nodded. ‘They’ll be landing at the airfield you mentioned later this afternoon.’
The man sucked in air sharply through clenched teeth. ‘I do not think that is a good idea, sir.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The settlers who currently own the airstrip will not appreciate an unannounced arrival.’
King raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll make them listen.’
‘I do not think this is smart, sir. They might retaliate against the villagers once you are gone.’
King nodded. ‘Maybe the high road, then.’
‘The high road sounds like a good idea.’
54
As the sun passed its peak in the sky and began to descend towards the opposite horizon, signalling that the time had ticked past midday, King gestured to the man — who had introduced himself as Oscar — that it was time to head to the airfield.
It was unfathomable that the region had been riddled by a storm less than twelve hours ago. Most of the rainwater had run down the sloping ground, trailing away into parts unknown. The rest had evaporated in the scorching heat. King winced with discomfort as his damp clothes were soaked with sweat almost immediately. Even moving in this climate spelled disaster for keeping clean.
Oscar had no car, so they set off on foot for the airfield. The man knew exactly where he was headed, nodding to passersby with warm smiles as they strode through the village to its outskirts. There was no sign of the bodies from the night before. King had spent the morning recuperating in Oscar’s hut, and he hadn’t seen what happened to them.
‘Where are the dead?’ he said softly as they reached the village limits and pressed into the jungle.
‘Dragged away to somewhere unseen. The villagers will hand them over to the police when they decide to make their way over here. Who knows how long that will take…’
‘They weren’t shocked by what happened?’
Oscar shrugged. ‘A side effect of living so close to the border. Drugs are everything out here. Death is not rare. We see it all the time. That said, it does not usually happen in the middle of our neighbourhood. Usually we just stumble across the bodies on the outskirts of our territory. And there are a lot of them.’
‘Sounds grim.’
‘That is the price we pay for living here.’
‘You ever thought about moving? Your English is exceptional. I’m sure you have plenty of opportunities if you went looking.’
‘The world is too scary,’ Oscar said, smirking at the irony. ‘I like my life. It’s stable and simple. I like gardening. Maybe my boy will have more nerve than me.’
‘I think you have a hell of a lot of nerve, Oscar.’
‘Thank you, Mr…?’
‘King.’
‘Cool name.’
‘I don’t mind it myself, either.’
‘Your nose looks horrendous,’ Oscar noted, staring at King’s face.
‘I’m trying to keep my mind off it.’
‘Of course you are. It looks like there’s a balloon on your face!’
King grunted in frustration and kept his eyes squarely on the road ahead. He pressed down the waves of throbbing and mind-numbing pain that rolled over him as he inadvertently focused on the injury. ‘How much further?’
‘Not far.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Almost two.’
King nodded in satisfaction. If he and Lars’ estimates were correct, the two should be reunited shortly.
‘How are you going to handle the settlers?’ Oscar said.
King tapped the back of his pants, checking that the bundle of rolled-up quetzals were still firmly in place. They were still probably soaking wet, but in the end cash was cash. ‘I’ll think of something.’
The settlers turned out to be two Latino-looking men covered in tattoos from head to toe, openly carrying Kalashnikov assault rifles and striding across the tarmac to meet the newcomers. They had exited a small bungalow on the other side of a cracked runway that had seemingly been dumped in the middle of the jungle, just large enough to allow a sizeable aircraft to land and take off.
Sparse, but efficient.
‘Who is this, Oscar?’ one of the men barked.
They were either affiliated with one of the cartels in the region, or they simply acted as a slave to the highest bidder, importing raw product from the Andes and distributing it to the production facilities out this way for a marked-up price.
Hopefully dollar signs would sway them either way.
If not, he would be more than ready to add another two tally marks to the total body count.
But he didn’t imagine that would bode well for Oscar’s wellbeing, so he kept his mouth shut and played along.
‘A friend of mine,’ Oscar said. ‘He has a plane heading here to pick him up. I would like you to allow them to land on your runway.’
‘And why the fuck would we do that?’
‘As a professional courtesy, I would hope.’
‘Fuck, no,’ the second man said, spitting a glob of chewing tobacco on the grass at their feet. ‘This location is for business-only. We don’t cut that shit. No favours. We pay you good money to keep the place clean, bitch.’
King reached behind him, searching for his back pocket in an attempt to calm the situation down.
He should have thought harder about what that might look like.
The two Kalashnikov barrels swung in his direction, and for a brief moment he looked death in the face.
‘Easy, boys,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m getting you some money.’
The first man cackled, loud enough to echo off the surrounding trees. ‘American! What are you doing out here, gringo?’
‘I got lost,’ King said. ‘Now let me pay you and go about my business, okay?’
‘How much?’
King handed over the entire wad of bills — enough money to keep the men going for a month, minimum. They tried not to let their excitement show, masking it with disinterest, but King could tell they were excited by the way they split the bills between them and tucked them into the deep pockets of their cargo shorts with shaking hands.
‘Whatever, gringo,’ the first guy
said. ‘Just make it quick. How long until your man’s here?’
‘Any moment now,’ King said.
The second guy widened his eyes. ‘Any moment?! The fuck would you have done if we said no? Landed anyway?’
‘Let’s not go there. Just be happy everything worked out this way.’
Neither of them knew how to react to the vaguely-disguised threat. Their pockets full of King’s cash, they shifted uncomfortably and cast dark looks in his direction.
He didn’t care.
Hateful glares hurt a whole lot less than a fistfight.
The rumbling of an approaching aircraft materialised only a few minutes later, time which King spent uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot in an awkward waiting game.
The private jet dipped below the tree line a moment after that.
It was a white Gulfstream G550, worth tens of millions of dollars and complete with potholed windows and close to a hundred-foot wingspan. Oscar and the two settlers stared with gaping mouths at the plane as it touched down on the uneven surface of the runway with pinpoint precision.
King imagined they had never seen anything like it. They were no doubt used to rattling single-seater biplanes touching down, unloading a mountain of bunched-up coca leaves, and taking off back into the scorching Guatemalan sky in a brazen attempt to avoid detection.
This was a different class of aircraft.
One of the settlers turned to King. ‘Think I’m gonna need more money, gringo. You seem to have enough of it.’
King shot him a look that would have made anyone else weak at the knees. ‘That’s all you’re getting. Shut up and know your place. One more word and I’ll do something about it.’
The pair’s confrontational nature flared up, then settled not long after that. One of the men abandoned the tough-guy demeanour, and his friend followed suit. King nodded to each of them in turn, as if to say good call.
He turned to Oscar. The man extended a hand, scarred and chipped from years of hard labour. King shook it.
‘Thanks for pulling me out of the storm,’ he said.
‘Thank you for… you know,’ Oscar said, his eyes filled with warmth.
King nodded.
He knew.
He turned away from the trio and hurried over to the Gulfstream, which had come to a halt at the very precipice of the runway’s far edge. Another few hundred feet and the nose would have crushed against the tree line. It had been an uncomfortably tight landing.
The stairs were already descending towards the tarmac. King leapt up onto them, taking them three at a time. Before any of the passengers within had time to exit the aircraft and greet him on the tarmac, he had ducked into the luxurious interior and locked eyes with the two men inside the Gulfstream.
Lars Crawford. And an elderly man who appeared to be a doctor.
Before either of them had a chance to say anything, King said, ‘Wheels up. Let’s get the fuck out of Guatemala.’
55
The air-conditioned interior of the Gulfstream coupled with the supple leather of the rotating seat combined to form the most pleasurable experience of King’s life.
For the first time in the last two days, he stopped sweating. He took a shower in the G550’s private bathroom, washing away the dirt and grease and blood and perspiration caked thick over his skin. It seemed the rainwater from the previous night hadn’t taken care of it after all. He scrubbed himself down with an exfoliating sponge, lathering it up with soap to work his body clean.
Feeling a hundred times better than when he’d first stepped foot on the aircraft, he stepped back out into the cabin dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans that Lars had provided.
The doctor set to work on his nose, first dabbing it with antiseptic to prevent infection.
‘This next part’s going to hurt like hell,’ the man said, wincing prematurely as he did so.
‘Try me,’ King said.
He shouldn’t have said it. The doctor set his bones back into place in excruciating fashion. The pain wobbled his vision, threatening to force him down into the pit of unconsciousness. He gasped and gripped the corners of his seat with white knuckles.
‘Ohhhh…’ he muttered through clenched teeth as the elderly man finally forced the broken septum back to its natural alignment. He taped the nose into place with thick slivers of bandages that acted as pincers, holding the broken mess together until it naturally mended of its own accord.
Reeling from the agony but satisfied that the hardest part was in the past, King leant back against the soft headrest and stomached a wince.
Then he sat up to make eye contact with Lars.
‘How do you feel?’ the man said finally.
It was the first words they had spoken to each other since becoming re-acquainted. Before, King had wordlessly moved through to the bathroom. Lars had seemed to recognise his state and let him be. Now, as they reached cruising altitude above the jungle and levelled out in the air, they had a chance to reflect on what had happened.
‘I’ve been better,’ King said.
‘I mean in terms of what happened down there.’
King shrugged. ‘It went as well as it could have gone, given the circumstances. I’m alive. Ramos is dead. His men are dead. I’m going to pass you some account details when we get back to the States — I want a few grand wired across. It’s the least we can do.’
‘For who?’
‘A guy who helped me when there was no need to do so. What’s the Pentagon saying?’
Lars smirked, trying to hide his excitement but failing. ‘They’re mightily impressed with what you did. Of course, I told them it was my idea to head straight into Guatemala. You can’t get all the credit, can you?’
King laughed. ‘You’re the tactical genius, after all.’
‘I’m still learning how this new role will work,’ Lars said. ‘I want you to know I’m sorry if I made you second-guess yourself. You seemed to know what you’re doing. Maybe the best approach is a hands-off one in future.’
‘In future?’
‘We’ve been fully green-lit. Black Force is operational. I don’t think you could have had a more successful test run in terms of demonstrating your abilities.’
‘Is any of it verified?’
‘We’ve gathered reports of clusters of bodies turning up across Tijuana. They seem to align with your movements. So far, you’re at a hundred-percent hit rate.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘All parties were involved with the cartels in some capacity.’
King furrowed his brow. ‘Of course they were. You think I’d go around shooting up civilians?’
‘In a world as muddied as the one we operate in, the government needs to be sure. You can’t be left unchecked. Make sure your track record is clean for long enough and they’ll let you do your own thing. The amount of discretion we receive needs its boundaries.’
‘I’m not a psychopath,’ King said.
‘I know you’re not. It’s upper management that needs convincing. It’s only procedure.’
King shrugged. ‘Guess that’s understandable.’
‘You look like hell,’ Lars observed.
‘Everyone seems to be saying that lately.’
‘Evidence of a job well done, I’d say.’
‘And yet I can’t help but feel like I achieved nothing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I got a sense of the sheer scale of the cartels. The drug industry — it’s madness. I achieved everything I set out to do, eliminated Ramos and his thugs, and I feel like I didn’t even make a dent in the Tijuana drug war, let alone the bigger picture.’
‘That was never your goal,’ Lars said. ‘Did you honestly expect to solve all the world’s problems in a single operation?’
‘I guess not. I thought it would have more of an impact, though.’
‘What you did will have an impact. Just not in the areas you can statistically measure. More young kids will make it home from
school without getting killed in shootouts. The drug trade is a ruthless business, but Ramos’ little push to take over Tijuana took it to new heights. You set the example of what happens to people who try and increase the bloodshed.’
‘There’s still bloodshed. So much of it that I can’t comprehend it.’
‘And there always will be. That war won’t be won overnight. In fact, I don’t know if it will ever be won. There’ll always be sociopaths and greedy bastards out there willing to do whatever it takes to earn a dollar. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.’
‘So what happens now?’ King said.
He realised that his entire future was riding on the answer. He had no home base, nowhere to settle down and start a family. Just the road and the military and the thrill of the fight. If he could do some good along the way, then so be it.
But more than anything, he wanted this rollercoaster to keep chugging along. He loathed the idea of going back to Delta. Not after what he had just done.
It had been the most stressful, painful, uncomfortable two days of his life…
…and he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
He’d set a goal and destroyed it, eliminating scum of the earth in the process. He thought — perhaps misguidedly — that he’d made the world a slightly better place through his actions.
‘Well, we have a unique opportunity here,’ Lars said. ‘You quietly eliminated an uncontrollable facet of the global drug industry. A single man achieved all that, in a situation that would have proved impossible for a team. If Ramos got the scent of an elite Special Forces unit heading for him, he would have disappeared off the face of the earth. He underestimated you, and that was his downfall. People in high places are talking about you already. There’s enough interest mounting to keep us busy for the rest of our days. If you’re onboard, and you liked the way things ran down there on the ground, then we can line up plenty more operations for you. You’ll be compensated massively, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
King paused. ‘I had no idea about that.’
‘Black operations have a staggering budget. If you’re in, we’ll funnel plenty of that into your personal accounts. For serving your country.’
