by Rafael Hines
Kevin was looking down at the floor, lost in thought and replaying the sequence of events in his mind.
Saved by a gust of wind blowing off his hat?
Then his brother puts the hat on and takes the bullet?
How many times have they tried and failed to kill this man?
They don’t call him El Gato Negro for nothin’.
The legend lives on and as the saying goes, “You come at the king, you best not miss.”
Kevin looked up when Benji marched in with Christmas at his side. Both men walked directly up to the Don and bowed formally.
“I know who’s responsible Don Valdez,” Christmas said.
“Wait,” Gonzalo said. He waved his hand dismissively and the room cleared out. Only the Valdez brothers, the Pro KEDSS team, and a few trusted associates remained.
“First, your warning shot. How did you know?
“The assassin missed with his first shot. It ricocheted off the patio right in front of me and Ed.”
“But you weren’t behind me and my brother were you?”
“No Don Valdez. We were behind Felix. He was the first target.”
Gonzalo turned his back on Christmas and faced the burning tree once more. “You said you know who is responsible. Is that the shooter or the man who hired him?”
“Both. The shooter is an Albanian named Constantine Bellusci. He goes by Connie.”
“How do you know this?”
“There are very few men that could make that shot or even try. He’s one of them and he’s the only one with size sixteen feet. I’ve tracked him before. It’s him. He’s a very expensive and very, very good gun for hire. Maybe even the best,” Christmas said.
“And now he works for Aziz Khan,” Gonzalo added.
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Why?”
“He has his own code and picks his clients carefully. He’s been approached by the Saudis, the Iranians and a few other Middle Eastern extremist groups. They all offered him a ton of oil money to carry out hits and he turned them down every time.”
“Very well. I defer to your expert opinion on this Connie Bellusci.” Gonzalo turned back around staring hard at the soldier in front of him. Christmas held his gaze, waiting for his boss’ brilliant mind to process the information.
“That can only mean that I have seriously underestimated the threat from Michael Meecham.”
“Yes, it’s got to be Meecham. But with all due respect sir, there is no way anyone could anticipate that a Deputy Director of Homeland Security would hire an assassin to settle a personal score. He’s one of those wild cards that blindsides the best of us on the battlefield. You can’t anticipate a guy like Meecham, but once he’s in your gun sights you empty the clip in his ass,” Christmas said. “It will be my honor to gut him for you Don Valdez.”
“Thank you Christmas. We will speak again later. In private.”
“I’m at your service.”
At that moment Felix came limping into the room.
“He’s alive Tio.”
“How? The wound was terrible.”
“The Doctor said Uncle Sesa’s head was turning away at the moment he was hit. We all moved when Christmas fired the warning shot. That and the metal band on your hat saved him. The bullet didn’t penetrate, it only gouged deep into the skin and creased his skull. That’s the good news. The bad news is that he’s still critical. They said they expect his brain to swell from the impact and there’s no way to know how much damage there is until he regains consciousness.”
Gonzalo carefully examined the bloody straw hat and the hole in the heavy metal band that his father Juan had installed years ago for a day just like today. He thought it might give him an edge and save him from the certain death of a head shot. Juan had been killed by multiple shots to his chest and stomach so the metal band couldn’t save him, but at least for now, it had saved the life of his son Sesa.
“My brother has always been strong. If any man can survive such a wound it is him. But whether he lives or dies, we go on as planned.”
“One more thing Tio.”
“What?”
“They don’t know it’s Sesa. Everyone at the hospital assumed it was you. Antonio took his wallet and then gave them your name,” Felix said.
Good thinking Antonio. The fact that his nephew could think clearly and make strategic decisions after seeing his own father shot truly impressed Gonzalo.
“Excellent,” Gonzalo said. “We follow Antonio’s lead. Put the word out that I am not expected to live much longer. No one goes to work. Stop collecting money from the street. Make our enemies think we’re weak. Let the sharks circle close.”
“And then kill them all.” Fiero hissed.
“Sí hermano. Todos.”
“What about John?” Macho asked. “Do we tell him?”
“After they take the ship. He’s a professional. He’ll understand. We can’t have him distracted before he goes on a mission,” Gonzalo said.
“Bueno,” Macho said in agreement.
“Okay, get to work. I’m going to shower and change. Don’t disturb me for twenty minutes unless it’s with news about Sesa. I want an update from each of you when I get back.”
“Yes Don Valdez,” they all said to his back as he exited the room.
Felix looked to his father Carlos who was also covered in Sesa’s blood.
“Go with him Felix. He needs you now,” Carlos said.
Felix nodded his head and limped quickly away to catch up to Gonzalo. Macho broke the silence after he left. “Like Zalo said, we go on. Whatever happens, we go on,” Macho said.
“Yes we do… we always do,” said Fiero.
Gonzalo walked mechanically up the stairs, then down the hallway, through his office, and into his bedroom with Felix in tow. Felix of all people knew how close Gonzalo was to his brother Sesa. He was there for silent support and there to help if needed. Felix sat down in a chair against the wall and watched his uncle carefully strip naked and then enter his private bathroom. Gonzalo closed the door behind him. He turned the hot water in the shower on full blast and then stood at the sink staring at himself in the mirror. He held on tight to the edge of the counter while his body shook uncontrollably from rage and anguish. He continued to cry for his brother long after the steam had fogged away his reflection.
Chapter 33
Lightning Gods
The Arabian Ocean
200 nautical miles off the coast of Yemen
The helicopter dropped John and Bunny off at LaGuardia Airport in Queens, where they met up with General Palmer and Team Razor. They all boarded a private jet owned and operated by a CIA front company that flew them directly to Germany. Landing on an isolated runway at the massive U.S. Air Force base in Hamburg, the jet taxied next to a big C-130 Hercules cargo plane. All four of the C-130’s massive propellers were spinning and its wheels were turning before the door closed. The team spent a total of three minutes on the ground.
There had been little time to rest on the trip across the Atlantic. Every moment was spent on mission prep and review. Now that they were on the last leg of the journey they did equipment and weapons checks before shutting it down for a team nap. Only General Marcus Palmer and his aide, Colonel Steve Masters, stayed up. They weren’t jumping with the team.
“What’s your honest opinion Steve?”
Masters took another look at the satellite photos taken earlier in the day. Though they were covered with tarps, the silhouettes of mounted machine guns could be seen fore and aft and eight armed men were grouped together on the open deck of the cargo ship.
“Surprise is the key to this Op General, and I believe we’ll have it. Their security detail is spread out randomly in some of these pics and then they’re often all huddled together amidships for meals and gambling. The heavy guns aren’t manned at all. They’re not expecting trouble, least of all a night attack by an airborne Special Ops team.”
“I still wish we had more back
up in place,” Palmer said. “One bad guy staring up at the moon is all it will to take to eliminate the surprise factor. Then the team’ll be at an extreme disadvantage. They’ll be exposed and out in the open.”
“I wish we could bring more forces to bear too sir, but we can’t risk an international incident and Aziz has to believe that Gonzalo Valdez hijacked his weapons. Otherwise we’d just sink the damn ship and be done with it,” Masters said.
“I know… you’re right Steve. There’s no other way.”
“General, we’ve been together a long time and put together Black Ops missions that faced longer odds. What’s really bothering you here, sir?”
“Honestly, I just don’t want to lose any of these guys. I’ve been sending soldiers into battle for more than twenty-five years. I’ve seen a lot of good men die along the way. Far too many. Through it all I’ve always kept my perspective. Mission first. I’ve never been reckless with a man’s life, but mission success was mandatory. Now, maybe for the first time in my military career, I can’t be objective. I love these men and I don’t want to lose them. That’s God’s honest truth.”
“I know how you feel sir. There’s always been something real special about Team Razor. And after losing Tommy and the other sergeants last week I don’t want these guys in harm’s way either.”
“But that’s their job, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir, it sure is.”
“Well then let’s make damn sure we’ve done everything we can do to help them from here. Let’s go over it all one more time Steve.”
“Yes sir!”
John lay on his back with his eyes closed on a steel framed cot that folded down from the wall of the plane. He could feel the engines and every bounce of the C-130 through the thin plastic covered foam pad under him, which was a perfect conductor for vibrations and turbulence. He’d slept in mud holes with bugs and rats climbing over him so it wasn’t the shabby mattress that woke him up. It was his dreams that made him uneasy.
He’d had vivid dreams all his life. Dreams that always seemed so real. Too real. After his parents were killed the dreams became nightmares. Eventually the horrors faded, but the dreams were a constant and in them his mother often appeared with a message. On nights before he went into battle he would see her directing him to go a certain way or whispering a warning. Today she said one thing over and over again in Spanish. “Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door.”
He didn’t understand it and it scared the shit out of him, but he didn’t dismiss it either. John knew from experience that his dreams could save his life as they had many times in the past. Was it really his mother protecting him by showing him which way to go or which path to avoid on his next Op, or was it simply his own intuition combined with hours of mission prep guiding him along? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. All he knew was that so far his dreams had given him an edge and helped him survive. And if it really was his mother speaking to him in his sleep so much the better. He hoped it was.
John never told anyone about the dreams, not even Maria. He wasn’t sure if anyone would understand, let alone believe him.
“Sergeant Bishop, did you hear my order to move your team?”
“Yes sir.”
“So you willfully disobeyed a direct order?”
“I did, sir.”
“And why would you do that sergeant?”
“My mother, sir.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes sir, my mother told me not to sir.”
“She’s here?”
“Not exactly, sir. She’s been dead for more than twenty years, but she comes to me in my dreams and gives me advice about combat tactics. That’s why I disobeyed your direct orders and thereby saved my team from walking into an ambush, sir. My mommy warned me not to go that way.”
It sounds so ridiculous even when I think it, there’s no way I’m ever sayin’ it out loud to anyone. They’d put me in a psych ward for sure. Sorry Ma, this stays between us.
John was smiling when he sat up after his internal chat session. He went to the head, relieved himself and washed his hands and face before walking over to General Palmer and Colonel Masters. Bunny woke up next and then all of Team Razor seemed to put their boots on the floor at the same time, every man instantly alert and focused. They all joined the group at the planning table and started examining photos.
“Steve, let’s do a final mission review before they suit up,” General Palmer said.
“Yes sir,” Colonel Masters said, moving in front of a large white board that was bolted down to the floor. “Gentlemen, this is the Al Badir. She’s a Chinese made and Yemeni owned and operated cargo ship. She’s currently carrying ten thousand tons of weapons and explosives heading for Afghan front line terrorists. She has a light crew of seven including the Captain and you will treat them as enemy combatants. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” they all said.
“Good. There’s an additional eight man armed security team protecting the cargo for this haul which means there’s a total of fifteen hostiles on board. Your mission is to eliminate the opposition, detain any survivors before they can call for help, and then secure the weapons cache for pick up.”
“Let’s start with the ship herself. The Al Badir’s a Handysize which means she’s a midsize model in the world of cargo vessels. Approximately two hundred-twenty meters long and thirty-four wide. Her max speed is fourteen knots and they’ve been running full out in daylight, but slowing her down to a steady nine knots at night. Even at nine knots you’re aiming for a small moving target on a big black ocean so you’re all going to need to bring your A game to hit the mark.”
“Is she running with her lights on?” asked Bunny.
“She is and that’s going to help hide your silhouettes when you get close. Using your night vision and lighting up the ship with the laser guidance system will lead you in, but the biggest challenge is the gear on the deck. Take a look here,” Masters said pointing to a three foot by five foot enlarged color photo of the Al Badir.
“She’s a smuggler and therefore designed to carry anything and offload it quickly. They even added some cranes so they can anchor offshore and transfer any illegal cargo to small fishing boats before going into port.”
“Doesn’t give us much of a landing zone,” John said.
“No it doesn’t Johnny. As you can see, there are four containers stacked near the bow and two more at the stern leaving a good portion of the main deck open. The only way for you all to get down on the deck is to come in from the rear making sure you don’t hit the cranes. Once you clear the booms you’ll have to drop down quickly onto the main deck. Be careful on your approach. The ship’s going to appear to be almost stationary until you get right up on her. If you come in too fast you’re going to bust an ankle or a leg when you touch down.”
“I thought this over Colonel. I did a HALO onto a ship in daylight and barely made it,” said Maceo. “All six of us trying to hit the same spot on a small moving LZ just isn’t going to work. Even if we all make it onboard we’re going to be stacked up on top of each other. How are we going to take these guys out if we’re all tangled up in chute lines?”
Masters looked over at General Palmer who was digesting Maceo’s assessment of the situation.
“I’ve been looking at these photos and thinking about this mission for the past three days. Bottom line, I don’t like it. The only way to avoid landing in a big pile is for each of you to deploy your chutes at different altitudes and if you go in using that staggered approach it means splitting our forces and reducing firepower. Gentleman, unless we come up with something better I’m pulling the plug on this Op. Any suggestions?” Palmer asked.
“I agree sir. We need to modify our plan,” John said. “The only way to do this right is to double up.”
“Tandem,” Mace added, nodding his head in agreement.
“A tandem jump?” Palmer asked.
“Yes sir. Three chutes in
stead of six reduces our profile on the way in and we’ll have three shooters who won’t have to worry about steering,” John explained.
“Bear?”
“We’ve all done tandem HALO jumps in training. I like it sir. I believe we can take out the tower and the armed guards before our feet hit the deck.”
“Colonel, finish the presentation and then let’s run some calculations with the Jump Master for the increased rate of descent based on the extra weight on each chute.”
“Yes sir,” said Colonel Masters. “As I mentioned, she’s Chinese made, which helps us on this Op. Most cargo vessels are designed with the tower bridge aft… that means in the back by the propellers for you non-seamen. The Chinese built this one with the bridge tower fore, or closer to the bow of the ship. This means that whoever is on night watch manning the controls will be facing forward and therefore won’t see you landing on the deck behind him. With or without the element of surprise, the bridge tower needs to be taken out before any radio transmissions can be sent. Find your targets on the way in, if possible, and if not make sure you hose it down to prevent anyone from making a distress call.”
“Colonel, me and Mace will hit the tower hard on the way in. Once we land the two of us will assault the bridge on foot to neutralize any survivors and the comm gear. At that point we’ll hold the high ground to assist the rest of the team if needed,” Bear said. “How many guys should we expect up there on night watch?”
“With only a seven man crew, I’ll bet there’s only two. This is a ship flying a don’t-fuck-with-me flag, meaning Yemeni. But they are sailing through pirate infested waters. The good news again for us is that Somali pirates don’t attack ships from Yemen, since they receive so much financing directly from the government or from terror groups based there. In addition, the pirates usually attack in daylight so the guards and the crew should be more relaxed at night,” Colonel Masters said.
