“Agreed, give him a call,” said Donnie. “Mac’s put a cut-through phone number to route to him.”
May-Ling reached for the telephone.
****
In Jack’s absence, Malky spent a lot of time wandering through the migrants' camp, trying not to stop long enough to be noticed by any group of families or other sets of eyes. For a big man, he was adept at moving around without attracting undue attention. The mix of humanity in the tents ranged from those with nothing but the clothes they wore from wherever they had come, to others with what could only be described as designer products. Regardless of background, none could avoid the increasing squalor caused by cramped accommodation and painfully inadequate sanitation.
The Irishman’s thoughts ran back to SAS operations in Third World settings across the globe, where localised and political warfare frequently bred similar dire living conditions. But at least the locals there usually had something to defend. Homes. Fields. Crops. Whatever. However frugal. These refugees had nothing except the hope of a fresh start somewhere else, anywhere else, other than here. Arguments and petty fighting erupted regularly. Human beings are not accustomed to being penned up livestock, with constant anxiety and growing despair.
Closer to the medical marquees, Malky watched the impunity with which the gang infiltrators moved among their targets. He kept his distance. He also kept the faces in his mind. Some of them turned up each day. Unseen by the Irishman, despite his caution, in the middle distance a watching pair of eyes noted his movements.
****
Jack arrived back in the compound quarters late in the evening. His partner and Benji Rafael waved him over to the table. The doctor beckoned to the server to bring another coffee mug.
“Hi guys,” said Jack. “We had a good session with our man in Aubagne.”
“The timin’ couldn’t be better,” said Malky. “Things are gettin’ worse here.”
“Oh?” Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Tell him, Benji.”
Malky poured coffee for Jack.
“Tell me what?”
“Yesterday, two of my paramedical staff were assaulted leaving the hospital,” said Rafael. “They recognised the mother of one of the patients being harangued by these bastards, and stepped in to try to help. My people are doctors, not seasoned fighters, Jack. They took a bit of a beating. One of them is female. Their injuries aren’t life-threatening, but you can guess how shaken they are, as are a lot of the others in my team. This can’t go on.”
“And it won’t, Benji,” Jack rasped. “Trust me, this’ll be over soon. In a couple of days, some friends of ours will be paying a short visit, but I want your team to be going about their business as normal. This won’t involve them.”
Malky cracked his knuckles.
“Good job,” he said. “I’ve got a few itchin’s to scratch soon, if ye get me drift. I’ve been watchin’ these slobs doin’ what they do, an’ I can only hold back so long.”
“Patience, Malky,” said Jack. “Benji, I’d like you to gather your staff and let me talk to them. I think they deserve to know this is being resolved. They don’t need to know the details, just a reassurance there’s not long to wait. Can we do that?”
“Sure. The shift change is in about twenty minutes. Maybe you could talk to each half before and after the duty switch?”
“Perfect.”
The ingoing change-over team of medics gave Jack full attention as he delivered his message to them.
“You have my promise these infiltrators will not be troubling you by this time next week. However, for the next few days, please don’t try to intervene with them if you see any more of their nonsense outside the hospital.”
Seated at the nearest table, the lady who had been attacked smiled, her facial bruises still raw. At the next table, the doctor who had been with her also bore the marks of his assault.
“You guys and ladies are among the bravest people I know. It’s time we cut you a break.”
The spontaneous applause caught Jack by surprise. As the team rose to proceed to the hospital, he spoke to Malky.
“Am I getting old, or do most of these look like kids?”
“Man, we got old a long time ago. But remember what they taught us in our first coupla years? If ye’re good enough, ye’re old enough. This squad’s old enough.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack gave the same message to the team coming off duty. Like the others, they looked like a youth brigade, but a tired brigade. During the shift change, his words had already been circulated, and the applause was repeated, making him feel unusually self-conscious.
CHAPTER 15
Cash payment always worked well at rundown backwater hotels such as El Verone in Guatemala City. Cash payment in advance worked even better. Rico surrendered a small wad of dollar notes to the receptionist, who also served in the tiny restaurant. The man’s other duties included unofficial tourist guide and transport arranger. On the first evening, it came as no surprise to the Mexican to see him serving behind the bar. Accompanying him, a buxom, middle-aged woman helped to look after whatever passing trade dropped in for beers and tapas. The offer of a drink for the pair on Rico’s tab was not refused, even when repeated a couple of times during the course of the night. In the flow of friendly conversation, it became clear the couple owned the hotel. The exchanges moved easily to the reason for Rico’s visit.
“I deal in a bit of this and a bit of that,” he replied to the host’s question. The man gave him a knowing look.
“Yes, many people around here deal in a bit of this and a bit of the other.”
The coded response was the opening Rico required. No explicit reference to illegal activities, but both men were talking the same commercial language. The owner asked his wife to go check on a table across the room.
When she was out of earshot he asked Rico, “Is there anything I can maybe help you with?”
“Nothing specific, to be honest. I came to Guatemala to find out if there’s anything going where a man with some past experience in trading certain merchandise might be able to find good paid work. I’ve heard there’s a lot of opportunities here.”
A refill for Rico’s beer glass arrived at his elbow.
“On the house, my friend. I’m Pablo. My wife is Eva. I’m glad to know you.”
“I’m Mario,” Rico lied, using his standard alias. “I work freelance for various people. I’m sure you’d recognise their names. But we don’t talk out of school, do we?”
“Agreed. I’m sort of freelance myself, if you understand?”
“Completely. On commission basis?”
“Only commission basis. In return for information.”
“I think we can do business, Pablo. But your glass is empty, and so is Eva’s. Let’s fix them first.”
The rest of the evening drifted into early morning as the conversation unearthed the details Rico needed. Pablo was a mine of information, much of it simple gossip. The more important snippets lodged in Rico’s head.
The bed was a welcome refuge some hours later as the dawn began to light up the horizon.
****
The old grey Ford had seen better days, a feature making it the perfect vehicle. It fitted in anonymously with the other traffic. Pablo’s name registered with the hire company was an added plus. A full tank of gas and a packed lunch, courtesy of Eva, completed Rico’s requirements for the day. In his back pocket a couple of folded sheets of the hotel’s notepaper bore rough maps and directions for his intended surveillance. His host’s familiarity with the terrain and region was worth the added dollars. He had respectfully declined the hotelier’s offer to come with him. Discretion is always easier to maintain when working solo. He also carried his travel bag with him. His passport and spare currency strapped in his inside waist belt was a safer place than the hotel room. Trust was a limited commodity in the Mexican’s business.
The route up into the highlands ran through farm country, much of it cultivated, some of it
neglected so badly it was difficult to discern any pathways a metre or two from the roadway. Such habitation that Rico did observe was surrounded by crop-production land. After an hour, he stopped the car and inspected the drawings Pablo had given him. The fork in the road leading toward Hotel Pedrosa once had a signpost with the distance to the property. Its absence was no accident. The current owners had no desire to direct nor welcome uninvited guests. The hotelier had estimated the distance from the turnoff at no more than two kilometres. Halfway there, Rico steered the Ford off the road and onto a dirt clearing leading into some forestation. Parked inside a few metres away from the edge of the highway, the vehicle was invisible from the road. From the travel bag, camouflage pants and jacket replaced his denims. He checked the machine pistol and tucked it into the trouser belt, covering it with the jacket flap. The rest of the approach to Hotel Pedrosa needed care, on foot. The direct access via the road risked exposure if any other vehicle came to or from the property. He walked into the edge of the woods and began to move in the direction of his target. The decision proved timely as the noise of an engine increased, coming toward him. A low half-truck broached the corner ahead of him and passed within metres of where he crouched. He noted the figures of three men in the cabin, and several medium-sized boxes in the rear. The truck faded in the distance and turned another corner in the road Rico had come from. He listened until the engine hum disappeared before proceeding. A few minutes later the heavy thud-thud-thud of helicopter blades caused him to stop again. The chopper’s landing trajectory coursed downward ahead of Rico’s position, indicating how close he was to Hotel Pedrosa. The final approach to the property was no less dense in undergrowth. Through the trees and heavy bushes, the yellow painted walls were visible two hundred metres from where he watched as the helicopter disappeared behind the building. The muffled sound of the engines slowed to a whine and then fell silent, telling him the landing area must be a pad close to the hotel.
For another three hours, his watch and observe operation was filled with a slow, wide, circular series of stops, with none closer than fifty metres from the hotel. His mental notes took in the empty swimming pool, with two armed men sitting on stools next to a small folding table. One of the tarpaulin coverings inside the pool area had been drawn back, probably to withdraw the boxes he’d seen on the truck. The packages on view were tightly wrapped in a familiar white plastic binding. Drugs in transit. At the rear of the building the helicopter sat on the pad, with more men ferrying packages in through the front door of the hotel. In total, Rico sighted no more than half a dozen people, but guessed several more were occupied inside. While he watched, the transit of the packages complete, the pilot and another man boarded and lifted off, heading back toward Guatemala City. They would have reached the capital fully two hours before Rico drew up at El Verone. Reconnaissance successful, a good supper from Eva’s kitchen provided a welcome treat for his stomach.
CHAPTER 16
Yves Rainier and his party arrived as planned in a trio of Land Rovers at staggered intervals after dark. A small convoy of three may have alerted any unwelcome observer at the medics’ compound. The hut designated for Jack and Malky’s use took up the end of the semicircle of dwellings. The arrival of one vehicle at a time was least likely to draw attention. The general introduced each successive pair of legionnaires as they gathered in the prefab. Malky ferried in pots of coffee until the entire party was together. Half a dozen men plus Rainier added to Jack and Malky made a lethal combat unit.
When all were present, Yves stood up to speak. The instant silence and attention were impressive. These men were professional fighters.
“Gentlemen,” he addressed the company. “Our hosts have no names and neither do any of us on this mission. You understand the measure of the undertaking. When we finish what’s in front of us, we retire from this area, not even to return to this compound. Understood?”
Concerted nods showed agreement.
He spoke to Jack and Malky.
“I think you should know each of these men here is no ordinary soldier. Every man has volunteered. Every man is an officer. Every man has lost at least one friend to the treachery of the individuals we seek this evening.”
The idiom floated into Jack’s mind from his deceased former chief, Jules.
This is personal, highly personal.
“We are honoured to be joined with you,” said Jack. “And I believe you also understand our term, when we say for this operation we go black.”
Again the assorted grunts displayed no disapproval.
‘We go black’ meant ‘we take no prisoners’.
“Here’s the terrain map and the layout of their camp,” Jack continued, spreading the drawing across the folding table.
Malky described the gang’s encampment and the last reviewed placements of their trailer vehicles.
“I’ve had a wee look twice from a distance,” said the Irishman. “I think they’re prob’ly just short o’ a coupla dozen men in total. There’s plenty o’ them armed, but from the way they carry themselves, they’re as lax as hell. If we hit them fast enough it should be done in minutes, if we don’t, they’ve enough guns to cause some trouble. They sent more people on to the water last night. Their pattern is no’ to repeat on successive evenin’s. Usually every third night at most.”
Jack took up the theme.
“Which means we expect them all to be in camp tonight. We approach simultaneously in four attack vehicles,” he began. “We stay in a disciplined convoy line to prevent any chance of friendly crossfire screw ups. If any human opposition is visible, you take them out. No quarter given. As agreed with your commander, the most effective method to flush them from their vans is stun grenades through the windows. You have the identified targets per your attack teams. We mop up anybody who steps outside. Then we scorch the place. Any questions?”
The room was silent.
“Gentlemen, we move in forty-five minutes,” said Jack.
“Thank you, mon ami,” said Yves. He walked forward and embraced Jack and then Malky. Each of his men stood in turn and repeated the gesture.
****
The fierce heat of the Libyan day tempered into the evening. The early nocturnal landward breeze onto the Mediterranean coastal waters augured welcome respite from the relentless afternoon sun. Scarlip took a cigarette from its packet and offered the remainder to the two men with him. The nearest man dug into his shirt pocket and produced a lighter. He lit Scarlip’s first before his own and passed the lighter to the last man. The three stood at the edge of the encampment beside the large truck with two dinghies still aboard.
“How many do we have for tomorrow night?” asked Scarlip.
“Fifty-eight so far,” said the companion with the lighter. “And up to another sixty for next week.”
“Good. The stream into the refugee camp is endless. How are our men inside faring with the hospital people? I heard there was a little fracas the other day.”
“Nothing to worry about, boss. Just a couple of the staff stuck their noses in where they didn’t belong. It was over in minutes. However, Felix was in there this week and picked up on something. Tell him, Felix.”
The third man scratched his chin and dragged on his cigarette.
“I’m not sure if it’s anything to trouble us, boss, but two or three times this week I saw a big guy, dressed in black, mingling around the place. He wasn’t talking to anybody, but he didn’t look like the refugee type.”
“Police?”
“No, we know all the cops here. They keep their distance. This guy was different, just different, that’s all.”
“Maybe I’ll come into the camp with you in the next day or two and have a look at him if he’s still there,” said Scarlip. “Perhaps he’s competition?”
“Could be,” said Felix. “I need a piss. I’ll be back in a minute. He flicked the cigarette butt away into the sand and walked toward the back of the high dunes away from the truck.
F
elix relieved himself and was closing his zipper when the crash of gunfire trespassed the night air. Instinct drove him to the ground and his former legionnaire training kicked in. He used his elbows and knees to speed crawl as far away from the truck area as possible. The action saved his life. Inside the encampment his comrades didn’t fare so well.
The attacking convoy accelerated the last fifty metres to line abreast of the traffickers’ camp. Instantaneous salvoes strafed the site. Each team pairing knew the allotted mobile home windows to target while a constant stream of firepower did its work. A flare into the centre of the area gave a surreal lighting effect. Several of the gang attempted to escape the effect of the stun grenades and were mown down in seconds.
We go black.
Jack and Malky in the Jeep as lead vehicle anchored the line of Land Rovers. A few blind shots fired in retaliation from some of their quarry found no success and were swiftly silenced.
The same instinctive reflexes that saved Felix’s life triggered immediate response from Scarlip and the remaining smoker. At the first sound of gunfire, both men scrambled into the dinghy-laden truck. The boss gunned it into reverse and swung round in a semicircle before accelerating away from the end of the campsite, forty metres from Jack and Malky’s Jeep. The truck swerved onto the road and sped away from the carnage.
“After it,” yelled Jack. Malky hit the pedals and accelerated in pursuit. The truck vanished around the first corner.
“Easy,” said Jack, “If they’ve any brains, they’ll stop and wait for us to drive into their sights. Stop at the corner.”
Malky slammed on the brakes before the bend in the road. Jack jumped out, AK47 in hand, and ran at a crouch to the elbow in the road. From his vantage point, there was no sign of the truck. He signalled Malky to come forward and jumped aboard.
DEADLY IMPASSE (Jack Calder Crime Series #5) Page 7
