Overwatch: A Thriller

by Matthew Betley

  But even as Commander Vargas moved to issue his orders, Logan thought he heard movement from a distant part of the house upstairs.

  We need to move.

  Without further delay, Logan strode around the countertop to the right, as Commander Vargas did the same from the left.

  The hunt’s on now.

  As the men entered the hallway, a thunderous explosion shook the entire villa. Logan looked at Commander Vargas. “God, I hope we did that.”

  Not realizing that the assault had just turned into a ferocious engagement for Bravo Team, Logan turned back toward the hallway, deeper into the villa, praying their luck would hold out.

  * * *

  BRAVO TEAM

  In John Quick’s professional opinion, the initial breach had been as uneventful as a forced entry with explosives could be. The simultaneous detonations must’ve confused the security forces, since no one intercepted Bravo Team as it infiltrated the compound. All had gone smoothly—at least until they’d reached the garage.

  From various overhead imagery and surveillance footage from the Orbiter UAV, they knew the steel-frame garage was as large as the villa, stretching two hundred feet in length and half as wide. It resembled a hangar, with a cavernous open-air second story that occupied the left half. The single-level right side was littered with oversized pickup trucks and SUVs.

  As Bravo Team stacked up outside the single-door rear entrance, John thought he heard movement inside. He gave Lieutenant Commander Concepción a hand signal to halt and listen. The team leader paused, but when he heard nothing, he ordered the entry and led the team himself.

  As Lieutenant Commander Concepción turned the handle on the door and swung it inward, he stepped through the opening into a dimly lit interior. A second FES member had followed him when a barrage of automatic weapons fire suddenly erupted and struck the Bravo Team commander.

  The FES operator behind him leapt backward and launched himself out of the garage as bullets tore into the doorframe where he’d been standing only moments before. He landed on his back and scrambled to the side of the entrance, breathing heavily. He still looked relatively composed for such a close call, or at least John thought so.

  These guys are tough.

  Lieutenant Commander Concepción wasn’t nearly as lucky. John looked down to see the FES leader’s body lying on its side, his head a foot away from the entrance. His eyes were open but saw nothing.

  The team was stacked against both sides of the doorway, pinned down from the inside. John knew there was no way they were gaining entry to the garage from this location. They needed to find another way.

  We need a diversion.

  As bullets peppered the entrance, an idea formed. He looked across the open doorway and saw the FES team’s second in command, Lieutenant Jorge Garcia. John waited until the Bravo Team members unleashed their salvo, and then he dashed across the opening to the FES lieutenant. He spoke quickly, the FES member now in charge listening intently.

  “Lieutenant, there’s no way we’re going to make it inside this doorway. We have to find another way, but we need a diversion. Right now, they think we’re still going to try and force our way inside from here. You need to keep two men here to hold this position and make them think we’re pinned down. Then you and I can take the rest of the men and circle around the left side of the building to work our way inside from the front. If we can flank them without being detected, we can take them out and secure the garage, eliminating any chance of escape they might have with the vehicles inside. Once we have the garage, we move to our second objective,” he finished, referring to the building attached to the villa.

  John stopped talking as the lieutenant quickly weighed his options, finally nodded, and said, “Good idea. Let’s do it.”

  Without a further moment’s hesitation, Garcia stepped around the man in front of him, tapped the shoulder of the FES member returning fire through the doorway and issued instructions into his ear.

  John watched him point to the HRT member across the open door and issue his orders with several hand signals, which made his intent clear. The HRT member nodded, dropped an empty magazine onto the ground, reloaded, and returned to the firefight.

  The lieutenant returned to John and said, “Let’s go. You want to lead the way or would you like one of my men to?” There was no condescension or sarcasm in the request. John knew the FES lieutenant was showing him respect by allowing him to make the call, since it was his idea.

  “I’ll do it.” He moved around the left side of the garage, the lieutenant and the rest of Bravo Team close behind him.

  Always coming up with the good ideas, aren’t you, John?

  John knew that if there were anyone inside the garage with any type of military training, someone would likely realize the entrance to the garage was susceptible to a frontal assault. John just hoped that whoever was making the decisions inside would be delayed by the ongoing gunfight for at least another thirty seconds, which was all John and the Bravo Team members needed.

  He reached the corner of the building and stopped just long enough to peer around the edge, concealed by the lingering darkness.

  Nothing. So far, so good.

  He jogged quickly along the side of the building.

  Please let it be a direct shot to the front bay doors.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled, and leaned around the corner. From his vantage point, John had a direct view of both the attached building, which looked like a large guest house, and the villa. The good news was that there were no security reinforcements coming from either building. The bad news was that lights were turning on in several windows.

  We only have a minute or two before they step up their defense. So much for the element of surprise, he thought wryly.

  He turned to Lieutenant Garcia and said, “No forces in sight; however, we only have a minute or two. Lights coming on all over the place. As soon as I turn this corner, I’m keeping my weapon trained on the bay doors. I need you and the other team members to cover the entrances to the villa and that building. Stay close to me. Once we get to the open doors, I’m going in as quietly as I can, and I need you right behind me. Ready?”

  Lieutenant Garcia nodded and once again turned and relayed his orders. He looked back at John and said, “Ready.”

  Even though the run to the first bay door lasted only seconds, to John it seemed like an eternity. He was completely exposed to both buildings on his left.

  Move it, old man!

  He was fit for forty-two—more so than most twenty-year-olds—but he knew Father Time was gaining ground on him. It wasn’t that he’d lost a step: his hand-to-hand encounters in the last few days had proven that. Rather, it was that recovering from those fights seemed to take a lot longer than it used to. As a result, he realized he’d have to rely upon his wisdom and experience. As he ran for the door, he hoped both would serve him well in the next few moments.

  He crossed the last few feet to the door as the sounds of the gunfight inside the garage grew louder. He heard multiple men shouting at one another in Spanish. He sensed, rather than heard, the rest of Bravo Team halt behind him.

  He glanced around the corner, and with just a glimpse of the interior, his trained eye immediately calculated all options. He knew what he was going to do.

  This is going to wake the neighbors.

  He turned to the lieutenant, who wore a questioning look as to why John hadn’t gone into the garage. He explained his plan and turned back to the door to execute it.

  I hope the guys in the back have some cover.

  He dropped his pack off his back, rifled through it, and found what he was looking for—the M18A1 Claymore mine. He pulled out the mine, the command wire, and the plastic trigger. He armed the mine and unrolled approximately twenty feet of wire. He looked back to see that the Bravo Team members had withdrawn per the lieutenant’s instructions but continued to cover the front of the villa and the attached building.

  As soon as the
mine was ready, he stepped around the corner and saw six security personnel, arranged in a semicircle behind three large SUVs, still firing toward the open doorway. He bent down and firmly planted the mine in the gravel near the frame of the bay door. He looked up just in time to see an HRT member almost 150 feet away.

  Even at this distance, John knew the FBI agent had seen him plant the mine. He pointed and moved both hands apart, indicating that he and the other team member should move away from the doorway and take cover.

  Without waiting for a response, John ran back to the rest of Bravo Team, the Claymore’s wire dangling from his right hand. All of them were in the prone position and had their weapons trained on the villa.

  John dropped down to the ground on his stomach, grabbed the plastic trigger in both hands—memories from Fallujah briefly surfacing in the dark corridors of his mind—and compressed the detonating lever.

  KABOOM!

  The resulting explosion sent steel balls ricocheting through the garage in a wave of death and destruction. All six security members were killed by the flying steel that caromed crazily inside the structure. John felt the entire building shake with fury as the lethal balls punctured its skin.

  As John had hoped, the flying steel also punctured the several-hundred-gallon fuel tank John had spotted on the right side of the garage. The secondary explosion made the detonation of the anti-personnel mine sound and feel like a firecracker.

  THUD-whoosh!

  With a thunderous roar that rattled John’s teeth, an enormous fireball blew through the garage. The tin roof was torn into pieces that were flung in all directions, raining sheet metal and wood all around them. The explosion illuminated the entire compound in a bright-yellow glow as the thunder echoed off the surrounding hills.

  With his ears ringing, he turned back to the FES lieutenant. Even as hardened as the young man appeared to be, the look of amazement on his face made John smile. “I think that did the trick,” John said. Lieutenant Garcia still just stared at him. “Now for part two.”

  Giving the young man another moment to relay instructions to the team, John stood up, grabbed his M4, and put it in the ready position. He sprinted across the gravel driveway toward the second building as the rest of the team assumed positions next to him. They moved in-line toward the second objective, with approximately five feet of separation from one to the next.

  Let’s see what’s behind door number two.

  * * *

  ALPHA TEAM

  Other than the two men in the kitchen, Alpha Team had yet to encounter any members of the cartel’s security force. They’d followed two curved staircases that led from the foyer, with its black-and-white marble floor, up to a landing in the middle of one enormous hallway that ran the length of the entire second floor of the villa. The place resembled a small hotel rather than someone’s home.

  Logan led the team along the right half of the wide hallway as Special Agent Foster took the other part of Alpha Team down the left. Logan moved as quietly as he could down the lengthy corridor. Fortunately, the plush carpet provided plenty of sound suppression—he was virtually silent. Commander Vargas and four Alpha Team members, all from Vargas’s FES unit, followed.

  Where the hell is El Fuego’s security?

  At the far end of the corridor stood a large, ornate set of dark wooden doors that occupied the entire width of the hallway.

  El Fuego’s room, I’m sure. Subtle.

  They had already cleared the first two of the four other large rooms that branched off the hall, both empty. Now they moved down the hallway and positioned themselves outside the next two doors. Logan initiated the count. One . . . two . . . He never reached three.

  A salvo of automatic weapons fire burst through the door in front of Commander Vargas, sending splinters flying through the hallway. The Alpha Team members instinctively lowered themselves into a crouching position in case the shooter within decided to spray bullets through the wall as well as the door. Commander Vargas grabbed a flash-bang grenade off his vest, pulled the pin, and held it for what seemed to Logan like an eternity.

  The shooting stopped, and Logan heard a man’s voice shouting in Spanish, followed by the sound of something metallic falling to a hardwood floor inside.

  Bastard’s reloading . . .

  Commander Vargas must’ve had the same thought. Rather than wait for the shooter to finish, he grabbed the door handle, cracked the door open, and tossed the grenade into the center of the room. Logan quickly put his hands to his ears for protection. The rest of Alpha Team was already prepared. A moment later, the flash-bang detonated.

  Boom!

  The confined space of the guest bedroom amplified the explosion as the flash of light shot out the crack in the doorway.

  Logan heard a man scream from inside.

  Too bad for you, asshole, he thought as Commander Vargas entered the room, his weapon up and searching for the target.

  For some reason, the shooter—wearing nothing but a white tee shirt and blue boxer shorts—having been blinded and deafened, still tried to stand and raise the AK-47 he held in his right hand.

  Logan saw Commander Vargas, obviously aware of the rules of engagement, lower his UMP and fire two rounds in rapid succession into each of the man’s legs.

  Pop-pop! Pop-pop!

  The bullets shattered the man’s right kneecap and his left shin, eliciting a howl of pain that turned into a high-pitched shriek. He dropped the AK-47 and began to writhe on the bedroom floor in agony.

  Logan watched as Commander Vargas kicked the assault rifle away from the downed man, grabbed him by his black hair, and screamed, “Cómo se llama usted!”

  The man was in no condition to resist, but he couldn’t hear after being deafened by the grenade. Vargas screamed at him again and pointed at the middle of his chest. The wounded man finally understood and muttered “Eduardo Montanero” between sobs.

  Commander Vargas looked at Logan, who shook his head to confirm it wasn’t their target’s voice.

  On to the next room, Logan thought.

  Commander Vargas rolled the wounded shooter onto his stomach, ignoring the man’s pleas for medical assistance. He zip-tied his hands behind his back and exited the room, closing the door behind him, the man’s screams now diminished by the wooden door.

  He looked at Logan as he said, “He’ll live. The cleanup team can deal with him. He’s not our priority.”

  Logan appreciated the level of cold calculation in Commander Vargas’s decision, nodded, and turned back to the last door. Once again, he initiated the silent countdown. One . . . two . . . three . . . go! He reached for the handle of the door with his right hand and began to turn it.

  Before he could push the door inward, a man’s deep voice boomed throughout the hallway, “Hijos de puta! Me buscas?!”

  Logan didn’t understand Spanish, but he turned to the sound of the man’s voice originating from the end of the corridor. What he saw turned his blood to ice.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  Standing in the doorway of the master bedroom was an overweight, dark-skinned Mexican man of average height. He wore an open, dark-red satin bathrobe, his thick black chest hair sticking out in tufts where the front gaped open. His outfit was completed by a pair of navy-blue pajama pants and what looked to Logan like a pair of yellow fluffy slippers. The man had a short-cropped beard and a thick mane of black, wavy hair jutting out in all directions. The look on his face was one of unadulterated outrage.

  Uh-oh. El Fuego looks pissed, Logan thought.

  Alpha Team momentarily gawked at the cartel leader as the scene suddenly transformed from shockingly comical to imminently dangerous when they saw what he held. The object that had drawn all of Alpha Team’s attention was the large, round, hose-shaped nozzle pointed in their direction. Immediately behind the nozzle was a small foregrip, now held in El Fuego’s left hand. The weapon also had a second pistol grip, which he held in his right hand. The oddly shaped weapon wa
s connected to a dark hose that snaked its way to a tank worn on his back.

  Logan’s mental threat-weapons database recognized the US Army M9A1-7 flamethrower from the Vietnam War era, its nozzle glowing with a small blue flame. Before Logan had time to formulate another thought, El Fuego let out an unintelligible roar and pulled the trigger.

  The hallway was filled with a tremendous whoosh! as liquid flame rocketed toward Logan and the rest of Alpha Team like an angry serpent intent on consuming them all.

  * * *

  BRAVO TEAM

  The building they’d thought was attached to the villa based on satellite imagery in fact stood alone. A covered walkway with an aluminum roof was all that connected it to the main house. Upon closer scrutiny, it wasn’t a guesthouse at all but only disguised as one.

  In reality, it was a concrete, rectangular structure with no windows, painted a faded cream color to match the main villa. A large ventilation system ran the length of the entire structure, and multiple chimneys jutted from the rooftop. John knew it was significantly more ventilation than a building its size required.

  What the hell is going on inside?

  The sounds of gunfire continued from deep within the main house. In the back of his mind, John hoped that Logan and Alpha Team had captured the target. Regardless, he had a big problem of his own to solve.

  John and Lieutenant Garcia huddled under the walkway, standing off to the side of a stainless steel metal door professionally installed into the side of the building. A single handle was the only fixture, and it didn’t budge when John tried it. The ten-digit key combination lock adjacent to the door only complicated matters. The door was several inches thick, and John knew nothing short of several well-placed charges would remove it from its frame.

  John was calculating their options when they suddenly heard a series of beeps from the combination lock.

  Someone was coming out.

  Fortunately, only he and Lieutenant Garcia would be seen by whoever was opening the door. The rest of Bravo Team was providing security between the two buildings and were spread out against the walls.