DEADLY IMPASSE (Jack Calder Crime Series #5)

by Seumas Gallacher

  The familiar hum of a professional operation enveloped the place. Jack counted more than a dozen personnel spread through three rooms. The central unit was a broad semicircle of computer screens, manned by one man and a woman, neither of whom looked older than their early twenties. He wasn’t deceived by the youthful faces, knowing only experienced field operatives staffed the Agency’s foreign posts.

  The steady scroll of figures on the spread of screens monitoring base line information was a nerd’s paradise. The last time Jack had seen a similar set up was in the DEA’s operations room on the El Paso/Texas border a few years earlier. Palmer led him through to the smallest of the annexes. The only man in the room stood up from his desk.

  “This is Ellis, our station chief. This is Jack.”

  A short, chubby man, the chief shook hands with a gorilla grip. With greying hair, thinning on top, this guy had years more experience than anybody in the place, arguably apart from Jack himself.

  “Hello, Jack. My pleasure, make yourself comfortable,” said Ellis waving to the chairs in front of his desk. “Coffee?”

  “Never say no to coffee,” replied Jack.

  Palmer and he sat down as Ellis stuck his head into the main room and asked for coffee before returning to his seat. The Scotsman noted the shoulder holster with its gun resting on the desk.

  “Marcel gave us the brief on what you guys are after,” said the station head. “We’ve been tracking this snake, Corrado, for months. Technically, and legally, we’re outside our jurisdiction to make any move against him. He’s clever inasmuch as he never ships directly into the States. Trying to engage the local police to take action is pointless. Too much money changes hands at that level. But he’s also a bit careless in another way.”

  “How so?” said Jack.

  Before he could get an answer, a tray of mugs and a freshly-brewed, over-sized pot of coffee appeared. The chief thanked the bearer and poured for all of them.

  “Maybe he’s not so much careless, but kinda too sure of himself,” continued Ellis. “For the past year, he’s shipped his stuff out of the country around the same time every month. The screens you see in the main office include details of when his cocaine sources ship to him, usually into Guatemala. From Guatemala they’d normally bring them into Honduras by helicopter. Two days later, they fly it into Mexico by light plane. Like clockwork. Your little escapade at his Hotel Pedrosa means they won’t be coming in from Guatemala by chopper any more, but it hasn’t stopped them bringing their shit into Tegus on schedule. Our information says the suppliers merely switched the intermediary shipping point. This month’s cargo landed here yesterday morning.”

  The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the half-open door.

  “You have another guest, gentlemen,” said a lady operative, stepping aside to let the newcomer in.

  “Hello, Rico,” said Palmer. He greeted the Mexican with a bear hug. Ellis left his seat to embrace him in the same way.”

  “Hi guys. Hello Jack,” said the Mexican.

  “You know each other?” asked Jack with a broad smile, stepping into a welcome hug with the man he’d last seen in the parking lot outside the San Salvador airport.

  This lad gets everywhere.

  “Anybody who’s been with the DEA for more than ten years knows Rico Sanchez,” said Ellis, pouring him some coffee. “He’s an honorary agent by now.”

  Jack shook his head, still smiling.

  Rico sipped at his coffee.

  “The guys here called yesterday to tell me Corrado’s stuff was on the ground already,” said Rico. “I’d nothing else to do waiting for you and the others, so I went out to his place and had another scout around.”

  “On your own?” said Jack.

  “Sometimes it’s easier that way, amigo. It was an interesting evening.”

  “Gentlemen, your lads are arriving in under an hour, interrupted Palmer. “I think we should go collect them and come back to hear about Rico’s night time entertainment.”

  “Sure,” said Jack. “By the way, were you able to source the items on our shopping list?”

  “Part of our standing inventory,” replied Ellis. “No self-respecting DEA office would be without them. You can check them out later. Best not keep your men waiting at the airport.”

  Rico and Jack left with Palmer.

  ****

  Despite the considerable extra weight of Donnie Mullen and Malky McGuire in the Ford, the ride back to the offices with Palmer was no more stable than Jack’s first trip into town. By early evening, the group occupied the planning room in the DEA premises. The communal percolator found a new temporary home on the campaign table along with welcome plates of biscuits and sandwiches.

  Palmer and Ellis joined the ISP squad for the pre-op briefing.

  The station chief opened the meeting.

  “Everything we have here is at your disposal, gentlemen. Including manpower in the field from this office if you need it. Technically we’re only on a constant ‘watch and tell’ command, but we can be invisibly deployed, if you get my drift.”

  “Understood and appreciated, Ellis, thanks,” said Jack. “Rico, can you bring us up to date with your recon last night?”

  “Getting access to the property is easy,” Rico began. “Corrado clearly thinks he’s secure there. There’s no security trip wires or lighting along his perimeter walls.”

  “How can you be sure?” asked Donnie.

  “Because I climbed up and over it and back out again. I could have made it into his building if I’d really wanted to. Minimal guards. I saw two at the front gate area, armed of course, but it’s a big area inside. He’s got the helicopter on the pad at the back right now and a Cessna on the airstrip. It’s on the far side of the place.”

  “Guards on them?” asked Jack.

  ‘Yes. One guy on the chopper watch. Three or four guys were loading the Cessna with packages. It took them a while. My quick and dirty calculation says there must have been over 300 kilos on board, but when they finished, again only one man was left on guard. They must reckon inside the compound they don’t need any more than that.”

  “How many o’ them’re inside the buildin’s?” said Malky.

  “I think we can help you on that,” said Ellis. “We try to track the movements of these guys as much as we can. I guess there’s no more than a dozen at any time on the property.”

  “That’s useful,” said Jack. “Rico, you think we can get a few of us over the wall without any trouble.”

  “Almost guaranteed. He hasn’t even thought of clearing away the bushes and undergrowth around the walls. A posse of kids could get in there unseen. By the way, his back exit transport, believe it or not, is a couple of rubber dinghies. The river flows past the rear of the property.”

  Malky stood to refill the coffee mugs but the pot ran empty after the second pour.

  “Give it to me,” said Palmer. “The really important things around here like coffee refills need a professional handler.”

  While the coffee was on re-order, Jack started to jot down his notes on the scribbling pad and asked the others to do the same. For the ensuing two hours, with the mugs replenished, the program for the evening unfolded.

  The DEA men watched as first Malky, then Donnie, followed by Rico, and lastly by Jack, went through the attack elements from start to finish.

  “Any questions?” said Jack.

  “Can I give you my two cents worth?” said Ellis, stretching his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Everybody’s input is welcome,” said Jack. “Go ahead.”

  “Seems to me you guys always work the pairs system,” the DEA chief said. “Looking at the last phase of your plan, you might want a couple of extra pairs of eyes. Palmer and myself would enjoy coming along for the fun.”

  “On one condition,” said Jack, with a straight face. “If you guys can rustle up some more coffee, I can’t see how we could refuse to have you along,” said Jack.


  “Done!” said Palmer. “The professional strikes again.”

  “So, let’s have another run of the sequence with you two included,” said Jack.

  Ellis and Palmer had repeated the comprehensive details of the amended plan in the same manner as the ISP men earlier.

  “Can we check the equipment now?” asked Malky.

  “Sure. It’s back in my room,” said Ellis.

  The six returned to his annex. The station chief opened an inset door behind his desk, which hid a steel barrier. Beyond the barrier, what originally had been part of the chief’s office, had been converted into a safe area.

  “Now I know why yours looked like the smallest room in the place,” said Jack, laughing.

  “It was the biggest when we moved in, but y’know…’

  The room extension held racks with various tin boxes, marked with their respective contents. They ranged from weaponry, explosive material, ammunition, and night-scopes, to grenades and protective clothing.

  Malky whistled.

  “Are yeez plannin’ on startin’ yer own revolution?”

  “You’d be surprised at what we’re sometimes asked to be prepared for,” said Palmer. “Help yourselves. None of this stuff is attributable to Uncle Sam. If we forget to bring it back, no harm done.”

  The various assault requirements were checked in the usual meticulous way, first by the man using each piece, then double-checked by his assigned mission buddy. By nightfall, a takeaway dinner beckoned, a mountain of tacos, burgers and fries, which Malky relished as much as did his new American pals.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Ford left the car park at two in the morning. No-one had slept. The amount of coffee consumed during the day bolstered the natural adrenalin boost that piggybacks a combat mission. Palmer assumed the driving duties. The only difference to the daytime trips was the lack of traffic on the roads. The potholes played the usual havoc with the suspension springs. The journey of twenty kilometres took more than fifty minutes. Palmer drove past the front gates of the property. No lights. No external guards. He carried on for ten minutes and stopped the vehicle. A three-point turn took them back the way they had just come. Rico tapped twice on Palmer’s shoulder, a signal to slow and make a right turn alongside Corrado’s perimeter wall. Palmer switched off the van lights and fixed his night vision goggles. The others followed suit. The roadway led into a dirt track, but no worse to negotiate than the regular streets in the city.

  “Stop here,” said the Mexican, halfway along.

  “First two,” said Jack.

  Malky and Rico exited and walked the ten metres to the wall. Palmer and Donnie watched their backs as the front pair easily scaled it and disappeared over the top, carrying their canvas bags.

  “Next.”

  Ellis and Jack stood guard as the second two repeated the process before they did the same. Jack, Malky and Donnie had the transmitting microphones. All six had receiver earpieces, well-tested before leaving the downtown office.

  “Phase one, proceed,” said Jack quietly into his mouthpiece.

  Rico and Malky veered off to the right, toward the back of the buildings and the helicopter pad. Palmer and Donnie headed cross-field in the direction of the air strip and the Cessna. Jack and Ellis tracked sharp left inside the wall, their approach to the guards at the front gate.

  Inside the main building, dim lights showed on the ground floor, while one curtained window upstairs had the yellow glow of illumination. The right hand dwelling, next to the helicopter pad, was in complete darkness. On the other side, one light shone in the lower level.

  As they neared the chopper, Malky and Rico split and came toward it in a pincer movement. The night goggles picked out the guard, slouching on a wooden chair. His AK47 rested against the helicopter. Rico stepped around the machine and from the tail rotor moved toward the man.

  “Hey, amigo,” he said in a half whisper.

  The guard turned toward the voice, reaching for his rifle at the same time. The movement coincided with Malky’s attack from behind his back. The Irishman’s stranglehold on the man’s neck stifled any sound as Rico also reached him. The guard lost consciousness before a dagger slice across his throat took his life.

  The Semtex package affixed easily against the fuel tank at the rear of the cockpit. The pair retraced their steps and continued a longer detour to the rear of the property, where Rico led his partner to the spot parallel to the bend in the river. If anybody attempted to leave this way, the pair would be waiting for them.

  An equally fatal movement from the second duo on the guard at the Cessna on the airstrip coincided with the demise of the helicopter guard.

  Donnie clustered three explosive charges in the back of the plane alongside the waterproof-wrapped drug cargo before he and Palmer retreated to the side to wait for the third couple to join them.

  Ellis and Jack worked cautiously to within ten metres of the gate. The two guards sat together talking quietly. Jack nodded and signalled a trigger movement with his fingers. Too much distance to cross to be certain of hand-to-hand takeout without noise. A quick recheck ensured they only had two on duty to deal with before the silenced pistols did their work.

  “Malky, how do you read? Over.”

  “Chopper done. On the way to the river. Over.” came the reply.

  “Donnie, how do you read? Over.”

  “Cessna done. Over.”

  “Phase two, standby to proceed,” said Jack, “Let me know when you’re in place, Malky. Over.”

  Four figures in black fanned out thirty metres from the frontage spanning the three buildings, one to the left, one to the right, and two in the centre.

  Several minutes of silence were broken by Malky’s Irish brogue, singing softly into his mike.

  “Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away…”

  The melody tailed off as he continued, “Tonight’s disco set is brought to yeez by the County Antrim Riverdance Company. We’ll light up yer party for yeez.”

  “Thank you for that, the worst Disc Jockey in Central America,” said Jack, supressing a ridiculous desire to laugh out loud. “Phase three. Time for the fireworks. Standby in three. Three, two, one.”

  Jack pressed the switch on the timers attached to the explosives.

  The surprisingly muffled simultaneous concert of the two aircraft blowing apart created double air compression as the effects of the blasts hit the waiting attackers. The sound wouldn’t carry much beyond the perimeter walls of the property, but were loud enough to awaken anyone sleeping inside the buildings.

  “Phase four, proceed,” said Jack.

  A barrage of rocket-propelled grenades bombarded the windows of each of the three dwellings. Smoke streamed freely as sporadic fires spread inside. The noise of the grenades mixed with screams and shouting from only two of the buildings, the residents of the third killed outright with the onslaught. In minutes, isolated return fire from men spilling out of the main building and the one next to the helicopter was silenced with lethal sprays of M16 bullets.

  One minute gone.

  Silence.

  Two minutes gone.

  Silence.

  Three minutes gone.

  Still silence.

  Then Malky’s voice, “Movement on the water. Repeat, movement on the water. Standby.”

  On the earphones the others waited and listened.

  Then Malky shouting into the mike.

  “Get down, Rico!”

  The noise of a huge blast battered the ears even without the earpieces.

  “Fuck!” Malky screamed.

  Jack’s blood ran cold.

  “Man down! Man Down! Fuck! Man Down!”

  What the hell?

  “Donnie, you and Palmer stay here, keep the front covered in case any of these bastards come out this way. Ellis, come with me. Malky we’re on the way to you? Is it safe to move? Over.”

  “Holy fuckin’ hell, Jack. Rico’s gone. He’s gone, man. And I think our other fucker
’s outa here. Safe to move. Safe to move. Over.”

  “Hang on buddy. On the way. Over.”

  The time to get to Malky and Rico was an eternity to Jack. In reality, only minutes elapsed until he and Ellis arrived at the river bend.

  Malky crouched over the limp body of his mission partner. The sightless eyes of a dead man stared at Jack.

  God, how many times in his SAS career had he seen that look?

  The devastation of a hit from plastic explosives leaves a horrific impact on a person’s body. Rico had taken the force from five metres away. Killed instantly, if that was supposed to be a blessing then so be it.

  Being killed is never a fucking blessing.

  For all his seasoned training and experience, the only constant bogey for Jack Calder was the sight of a dead comrade. That and the gratuitous killing of defenceless innocent women and children whose only crime was being in the wrong war zone at the wrong time.

  This was no recognized war zone. This was personal. Again.

  His look to Malky said ‘What? How?”

  “Rico got it right,” said Malky. “The dinghies were the escape valve. Simple but right.

  What we didn’t get right was the first dinghy to come at us was empty. Empty of people, that is. When it got nearer I sensed somethin’ was wrong. A booby trap. I shouted at Rico to get down. I fell flat as it exploded. He didn’t, poor bastard. By the time I looked over, it was obvious he was gone, but I saw the tail end of a second dinghy disappearin’ round the bend with two men aboard. One of them was Corrado, Jack.”

  “Wait here with him, Malky,” said his partner. “We’ll bring the van round. We’ve got some business to finish first.”

  Ellis and Jack regrouped with Donnie and Palmer.

  “Rico’s dead,” said Jack. “Let’s finish this and get the hell out of here. No more movement from inside?” asked Jack.

  “None. I don’t think anybody in their right mind would still be in there if they could get out,” said Donnie, nodding at the buildings, all which were on fire.