Termination Order: A Team Reaper Thriller

by Brent Towns

  “Copy, Reaper Two,” Kane acknowledged. “One of them wouldn’t be our Hammer, would it?”

  “Negative.”

  Kane sighed. Nothing could be that easy. “Copy. We’re moving now.”

  He and Axe edged to the front corner of the building. They stopped, and Reaper studied the five people across the other side of the street. He eased himself back and said, “Reaper Two, copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “Are those five the only ones there?”

  “Roger.”

  “Bravo? You copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “Request permission to use lethal force on the tangos out front of the target building.”

  “Negative, Reaper One. ROEs are that you only fire if fired upon.”

  Axe bit back a curse.

  “Copy, Bravo. Sticking to ROEs.”

  “What now?” Axe asked.

  “I guess we go and ask nicely,” Kane told him. “Reaper Two, any change in personnel?”

  “Negative, Reaper One.”

  “Copy. Reaper One and Four are moving.”

  Kane lowered his MP5 and held it in a non-threatening manner. Axe did the same. However, the weapons could be brought into action quickly when required. Then he stepped around the corner and started toward the old furniture factory.

  “What the fuck?” Mateo hissed when he saw the two men approaching the small group. “Eh, Ignacio, get a look at this.”

  All of them, two women and three men, were dressed in jeans and singlet tops, exposing various tattoos.

  The one called Ignacio turned to stare. His eyes widened in surprise. He started to bring up his MAC-11 but the two men were faster, and their MP5s were trained on them before Ignacio could get the thing aimed.

  “Drop the fucking weapons!” Kane snarled. “Do it! Put them down!”

  With a snarl, Ignacio kept the MAC-11 rising. Reaper squeezed the trigger on the MP5 twice. Both 9mm rounds hammered into the gangbanger’s chest and put him down. To his right, another one tried to get a shot off, but a 7.62 slug whistled out of the night and hammered into his upper chest.

  Axe’s suppressed weapon settled on the center mass of Mateo. He shook his head. “Don’t.”

  Mateo thought better of it and dropped the MAC-11 to the ground. Beside him, a young woman held a semi-automatic handgun waist high. Kane stared into her cold eyes and said to her in a calm voice, “I’ll give you three heartbeats to drop the gun, or you’ll end up like your friend.”

  Uncertainty etched her face as she looked down at the fallen man. She dropped the handgun at her feet. Reaper nodded. “Wise choice.”

  The young lady next to her stood wide-eyed, used to being on the other side of death. Glancing at Axe, Kane said, “Zip ties.”

  Axe passed them over. Kane said to Mateo, “Get on your knees. Turn around.”

  Mateo screwed his face up. “You a dead man, puta.”

  “If you don’t do what he says, Pablo, you won’t be around to fucking find out,” Axe hissed.

  They managed to get the three remaining gang members bundled up and make gags from the singlet of one of the dead men. Reaper stared into the eyes of Mateo and asked, “Where can I find The Hammer?”

  Mateo spit at him.

  The balled right fist traveled no more than a foot before it crashed into the gang member’s face. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to his side, out cold. Kane turned his attention to the women. “El Martillo?”

  One remained stoic, but the other’s eyes gave her away. She glanced at the building. Kane said into his mic, “Reaper Two, copy?”

  “Copy.”

  “We’re going inside. You are cleared hot.”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  Kane stared hard at the women. “I have a friend who is going to watch over you. If you move or try to escape, she will put a bullet in your heads.”

  Kane and Axe moved to the door and opened it. They slipped inside and immediately were seen by one of those within.

  The old factory had been cleaned out and was now just one big room with old furniture and such scattered around it. At its center stood a large drum with flames shooting from the top of it.

  “Central fucking heating,” Axe whispered.

  The El Diablos were gathered in small groups. Kane estimated from one sweep of his eyes that there were maybe twenty present.

  “Who the fuck are you?” a voice snarled.

  Everyone inside the factory shifted their gaze to the two men. The pumping music ceased, and weapons started to appear. Before the shit hit the fan, Kane said, “I’m here to see The Hammer.”

  A tattooed man stepped forward. “What you want with him, cabrón? Tell us quick before we kill you.”

  “Are you him?”

  “No.”

  “Then, where is he?”

  The man shrugged.

  Axe’s whisper filled Kane’s ear. “Reaper, the bed.”

  He shifted his gaze and saw a metal-framed double bed against the far wall. It was covered with stained blankets and pillows. But there was also something else. A woman. Dirty, disheveled, face puffy and bloody from beatings she’d received. Then he saw the chains, and that changed everything.

  “Bravo,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “We’ve got a woman chained to a bed. Looks like our friends here have been abusing her for a good while. Request permission to step it up a bit.”

  There was a pause from Thurston’s end.

  “What did you say, hijo de puta?”

  “Boss? I need an answer.”

  The gangbanger took a threatening step forward.

  Dead air.

  “Now would be good.”

  Thurston’s voice filled his ear. “OK, do it.”

  The MP5 in Reaper’s hands spat once, stopping the man in his tracks. A look of disbelief appeared on his face, and he looked down at the dark stain starting to spread across his white singlet. “Ay caramba.”

  Dropping to his knees, he slumped forward. Kane raised his voice. “I’m looking for El Martillo.”

  There was movement to his right and the man they sought stepped forward. “I am El Martillo.”

  Kane nodded. “Step over here.”

  The man remained still, holding his ground.

  “Now, motherfucker,” Axe growled.

  Martillo’s eyes flashed his anger threatening to spill over. No one spoke to him this way. Let alone come into his territory and kill one of his own the way these two had done.

  “How did you get past my men?” he asked.

  “Put it this way,” Kane explained, “two of them won’t wake up tomorrow, one will have a headache, and the two ladies will be fine unless they do something stupid. Now get the fuck over here.”

  The shot-caller moved forward stiffly. He stopped just short of Kane, his jaw set firm, chin out in an act of defiance. Reaper reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. He placed it in front of Martillo’s face and asked him, “Who is this guy you’re with?”

  Martillo shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Take a good look at the dick beside him. Isn’t that you? I think it might be.” Kane lifted the MP5 so that the suppressor was pushed up under the shot-caller’s chin. “Answer the damn question.”

  The shot-caller shrugged.

  Kane lowered the MP5 and shot him in the leg.

  The Hammer fell.

  A cry of pain escaped his lips, and he lay there clutching at his shattered leg. Thurston’s voice filled Kane’s comms. “Reaper? What just happened?”

  “Our man just fell over, Bravo. Nothing major.”

  The crowd started to move, and Axe snapped his MP5 into line with the nearest one. “Don’t even think about it, fuck face. Not unless you want to end up worse than your friend here.”

  The man’s top lip curled. “You are a dead man.”

  “Shut the hole in your face.”

  Kane leaned down. He showed Marti
llo the picture again. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Bazyli,” Martillo hissed. “Bazyli Marek.”

  “Kane, you need to get out of there. It’s taking too long.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He stays at the Sunset Plaza.”

  “Bravo, you get that?”

  “Copy.”

  “How do you know him?” Kane asked.

  “His father supplies us with Ecstasy.”

  “He’s European?”

  “Yes. Poland.”

  “Shit,” Kane swore and stood up. “All right, everybody take a couple of steps back. Axe, get the girl.”

  Once she was free, they began backing towards the exit. “Just so you know, I have someone outside with a bigger gun than the ones we’re using. If any of you poke your heads outside before we leave, she’ll blow it off.”

  “You are fucking dead, asshole,” Martillo shouted after them. “I’ll kill you, your family, your family’s family, even your fucking dog!”

  Kane paused. If there was one thing he’d learned as a recon marine, it was never to leave a dangerous enemy on your backtrail. He raised the MP5 and shot Martillo in the head.

  West Coast Motel

  East Los Angeles

  Their exfil was uneventful. The El Diablos were too shocked at the cold killing of their shot-caller to do anything. On the way back to the motel, they dropped the young woman off at the nearest hospital.

  Now, back at the motel, they weren’t even out of their tactical gear, and Thurston was tearing strips off the team leader.

  “What the fuck was that?” she hissed at him.

  “That was me getting the job done,” Kane growled back.

  “No! No, it wasn’t. That was fucking tantamount to cold-blooded killing.”

  “Bullshit!” Kane shot back. “The killing was justified. They had a young woman there that they were raping at will. They sell drugs, and god knows what else and would have tried to kill us when we left. The prick’s final mistake was threatening me.”

  “Still no cause for what you did,” Thurston snapped.

  Reaper just stared at her.

  “When we get back to El Paso, you are going to see someone. Get your head straight. I think that stint undercover with the gang fucked it up.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. This isn’t a fucking democracy, Kane. I’m the boss. You do it, or you’re out.”

  He stared at her defiantly. Then something broke through his anger which told him she was right. But instead of acknowledging it, he turned and walked away.

  “Where are you going, Kane?”

  As he walked out the door, he said, “Nowhere.”

  Hamp’s Bar and Grill

  East Los Angeles

  Kane took a long pull of his beer and sat it back on the bar. He’d cooled down some since leaving the motel, but there was still turmoil within the usually cool warrior’s exterior.

  He looked about. Even though it was early morning, the bar was still busy. Along the counter from him sat a drunk in a suit. Next to the suit was a hooker doing her best to separate the man from his money. No doubt she utilized the alley next to the bar. Many of the tables had someone seated at them. Behind the bar, three women dressed in jeans and too-small singlet tops supplied those on the other side with whatever they required.

  Kane finished his beer and thought about getting another.

  “Can I buy you one, Reaper?”

  “Shit,” Kane muttered, and he turned to face Iona. “What the fuck do you want?”

  She was dressed in a pantsuit and looked immaculate. No one would have figured by the look of her that it was four in the morning. She smiled at him, and he noticed the bulge inside her coat where her personal sidearm was sequestered.

  “Well?”

  “I was hoping we might talk.”

  “Where’s your boss?”

  “He’s around.”

  Kane studied her ice-blue eyes. “Not here though.”

  “No.”

  He waved at the woman behind the bar.

  “Another, cowboy?”

  “Make it two,” he said, indicating Iona. “One for the lady.”

  “Sure.”

  Once she was gone, Kane stared at the CIA agent and asked, “What do you want …no. What the fuck is your name?”

  “Do I sense a hint of hostility in your voice, Kane?”

  “You burned me. What else do you expect?”

  “I was hoping we could get past that. It wasn’t anything personal,” she explained. “And my name is Nicole.”

  “Really?” he asked with skepticism.

  “Yes, really.”

  The woman returned with the beers, and Nicole tossed a fifty on the bar. “Keep the change.”

  After a long pull on his beer, Kane stared her hard in the eye and said, “Talk.”

  “I’m kind of curious why you and the others are in Los Angeles?”

  Alarm bells rang as soon as she mentioned it. “You’ve been keeping tabs on us?”

  Nicole shrugged.

  “Why?”

  “Just following orders. I must say, that little op you guys pulled tonight was pretty ballsy. Going after El Martillo like that.”

  “You were there?”

  Nicole nodded.

  Kane glanced around the bar. Although he’d not noticed before, he did now. Three of them. Spread out around the room. All male. From the looks, all ex-military. Reaper reached behind his back and took out the M17 and rested it on his lap for Nicole to see.

  “Easy, Rambo. They don’t do a thing without my say so.”

  “Enough of the bullshit, Nicole. Tell me what you want.”

  She sighed. “I’m just the messenger. You are to tell your boss to back away from whatever it is you think you’re doing and go back to Texas.”

  Anger rose within Kane. He ground his teeth together and then said in a low voice, “We’re looking for the asshole responsible for the death of Axe’s sister.”

  “Yes. And you’ve fixed that little problem. Now go home.”

  “You mean The Hammer?”

  “I do.”

  “He might have handed over the drugs, but he wasn’t the one responsible. The one we’re looking for put drugs in her drink.”

  Nicole nodded. “Let that be the end of it.”

  “Why? Who is Bazyli Marek?”

  Recognition flared in her eyes.

  “Yes,” Kane said. “We know his name. Who is he?”

  “Someone you need to leave alone,” she said. Her voice was low with an edge. She climbed to her feet, and Kane’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

  Nicole’s eyes glanced over his shoulder, and Kane turned to see her help on their feet. Each man had his hand inside his jacket, ready to take out whatever handgun was hidden there. Kane turned back to her and said, “Tell your boss to go fuck himself. And the next time he wants to deliver a message, come himself, and I’ll be glad to ram it back down his throat.”

  “He is not someone you want to mess with, Kane. He’s dangerous.”

  “So am I.”

  Nicole shook her hand free and stared at him one last time. Then as she turned away, he heard her say, “You were warned.”

  He watched her leave and then finished his beer. Then, swore savagely. “Fuck!”

  The window on the black SUV whirred down as Nicole approached. Inside the vehicle, Newcomb waited patiently. “Well?”

  Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re going to be a bigger problem than you figured.”

  “Did he say what he wanted the kid for?”

  “You’ll never believe this. The stupid little fuck spiked the drink of the other one’s sister. She died, and now they’re after him. They know his name, Mark.”

  “That is a problem,” he sighed. “OK, I’ll deal with it.”

  “How?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “If you go after them,
Mark, be careful. You’ve seen first-hand how they operate.”

  “I won’t have to go after them,” he said with a smile. “They’ll come to me.”

  West Coast Motel

  East Los Angeles

  “I can’t believe that asshole is monitoring us,” Thurston growled. “Hang on, yes I can. Son of a bitch.”

  “What do we do?” Cara asked.

  “We can’t stop now,” Axe said. “We’re almost there. We know where he is; all we have to do is sweep him up.”

  Kane said, “I agree with Axe. Are we going to let them scare us off? Besides, it’s still illegal for them to be working on U.S. soil.”

  “We wait,” Thurston said. “I want to see what Slick finds for us.”

  “By then it might be too late,” Cara said. “We should at least get eyes on him somehow. Then if the opportunity arises, we can grab him. After all, it falls under our purview. There are drugs involved.”

  “All right,” Thurston agreed. “But don’t move on him until I give the word.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And be careful.”

  The Pentagon

  Washington DC

  “Jones,” the deep voice said as it answered the phone. His size matched his voice. Across the desk from him sat his morning appointment, Rear-Admiral Alexander Joseph who headed up NAVSPECWARCOM (United States Naval Special Warfare Command). He was in his fifties, gray hair, solid build, with a lined face and straight nose. His blue eyes almost matched the color of the sky.

  “It’s Thurston, General. Do you have a moment?”

  “All the time in the world for you, Mary. Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker. Alex Joseph is in the room with me. He’s popped in for a visit.”

  He clicked a button and Joseph heard Thurston say, “Morning, Admiral.”

  “Morning, Mary. How’s that band of no-goods you’re in command of?”

  “It’s kind of right interesting about now, sir.”

  Jones frowned. “What’s up, Mary?”

  “The same problem as before, sir.”

  Jones nodded. “Speak plain, Mary. I’d say Joe has had some experience with our friend.”