by Jaq Wright
“Okay spymaster,” Mitzi said at last, “who was that, where are we, and what are we doing?”
“That was the U.S. Consul to Antigua and Barbuda, who works for the East Caribbean Embassy in Barbados. This is his secure communications room, and this,” he waved the phone, “is a secure scrambled satellite phone. I'm calling Langley.” Which he proceeded to do, holding up a finger at a fuming Mitzi who was trying to get his attention. “Just listen, I'll explain more later.”
It took a few minutes, but after giving the duty officer his code and sending his left thumbprint, he was connected to the Deputy Director of Operations. “This better be good, Hansen,” the DDO started, “where are you and what have you got?”
Cameron started at the top and gave him the whole story, the body, Frank, Peters, the phony police boat, and finally got to Isla Sofia and Ojo del Diablo. The DDO perked up. “Is this island definitely privately held, not part of any of our sovereign neighborly neighbors?”
“I have no way of verifying that, Director.”
“Okay, stay put. I'll contact you when I have something.”
“Okay, give,” Mitzi was nearly apoplectic. “What is going on?”
“Ojo del Diablo is a Mexican drug cartel. I've known for years that it is actually controlled by Juan Carlos Perez.”
“Juan Carlos Perez, the Mexican telecom billionaire?” Mitzi was confused. “He's like a poster boy for the successful self-made Latin American businessman.”
“Well, to be honest, many people at the Agency think the whole connection to Perez is dubious. Based mostly on the work of one agent who was working undercover in the organization. His cover was blown, and he failed to get any actionable evidence. But the DDO is a believer, and an anti-drug raid is the perfect excuse – we have reasonable cause to believe that a U.S. citizen was kidnapped and taken there, and 'there' is not part of any country, so minimal opportunity for blowback. The DDO is going to re-task satellites to get more information, verify the status of the island and so forth.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Just like the man said. Stay put. I'm getting some sleep.” He went into the left bedroom and stretched out on the bed, falling asleep instantly. Completely back in operative mode. And it felt great.
Mitzi wanted more information, but could tell that was not happening tonight, so she took the other room and tried to sleep. Less successfully.
◆◆◆
When Alyssa re-approached the bungalow, it was evident that no one was there. She called the Compound and explained to Santiago what she knew. Which was, basically, nothing. He looked at the time, weighing whether el jefe would want to know “nothing.” He decided that all he risked by reporting was a tongue-lashing, but if el jefe felt less than informed, he might lose trust. Which, here on Isla Sofia, was the same as death.
He knocked on el jefe's door, and when he heard the bark, went in. Perez listened quietly, staring out the window, the light of the thin crescent moon glinting off of the waves below.
“I think it is time to move the project out of this facility,” he said after a pause. He picked up a phone from the desk and punched in a long number. “We are leaving. How long to get the Cortez to Isla Sofia?” he asked. He listened, nodded. “Yes, the entire complement. That should be fine.” He hung up and turned to Santiago.
“They are just approaching Caracas, where there is some cargo which must be unloaded, so the Cortez will be here on Saturday in the early afternoon. Ready the Turtuga Marina to go immediately, I will leave now with Blaylock and the data. Load the subjects and all the research equipment into the containers as we discussed. The Cortez will take everything to Veracruz. The drug operations stay.”
Thirty minutes later, Santiago stood on the dock. Perez motored his wheelchair up the ramp onto the yacht. Blaylock followed him, towing a large roller bag. As the hands stowed the gang plank, Perez wheeled around. “Finish up here, and meet me in Basseterre. If anyone comes looking, I want this to look like any other drug facility. Nothing must be left to connect any of this to me. Everyone left here is completely expendable.”
The Turtuga Marina slid into the night, its wake glowing a phosphorescent green.
Chapter 5
Friday, October 7
Isla Sofia
As soon as it was light, Santiago had the four containers brought up from the dock and placed at the far end of the parking lot behind the loading dock at the east end of the old resort hotel. Two were blue, one red, and one yellow.
“All of the medical equipment and supplies and the computer equipment need to go into the blue containers,” he instructed. “Yellow needs to be set up for the subjects. They can be put in tonight so everything is ready for tomorrow.”
“What about Red?” asked the crew foreman.
“Extra space if we run out. Nothing must remain of the research equipment.”
The twenty men set to work. The biggest challenge was the MRI machine. It was massive, and the only way to remove it quickly was to tear a hole in the side of the building. It filled most of the first blue container. That accomplished, everything else proceeded apace.
While the crew continued to work, Santiago checked his guards in the hallway leading to the other wing. “Remember, NO ONE comes into this wing.” The guards all nodded. They had no idea what went on in the east wing, but knew that too many questions led to dead soldiers. He continued into the central part of the hotel, which was completely devoted to the cutting and packaging of cocaine and other illicit products. Out in the old courtyard were the barracks, where the rest of the men were loafing about, just another day in the life of a foot soldier.
◆◆◆
By mid morning, Mitzi was raw. “We have to DO something! How can you just sit there? This is killing me.”
Cameron looked up from his novel, a grimy old Ken Follett he had found in a pile of worn paperbacks. “Because there is nothing to do until we hear back.”
“Can't we go out? Talk to some more people? At least call Langley for an update. Or how about giving me more of the story on Perez.”
Cameron sighed and picked up the sat phone. After going through the same rigmarole he got to the DDO's assistant. “Hansen here. Any news?” He nodded. “How about permission to brief Agent Lenz fully. She's with the ATU in New York. Yes, call me back.” He hung up.
“Your FBI status is good and bad,” he explained. “Helpful due to your high clearance level. But except on actual joint operations, and sometimes even then, my bosses don't really trust the FBI to do the right thing.”
“You mean we like to obey the laws.”
“See, it's comments like that which lead to all our problems.”
By noon, the crackers and cheese were gone, and they had started to consider making some real food. The phone chirped. Cameron picked it up. “Hansen. Well, that's something. Thanks.”
“What?”
“Nothing yet on the target, but I have been authorized to brief you.”
“Great, so tell me about Perez,” Mitzi started.
Cameron held up his hand. “The first thing you need to know is there is somewhat of an, er, personal aspect to this.” He pointed at his leg. “I'm sure you've noted the limp?” Mitzi rolled her eyes and nodded. “My last field operation, six years ago, involved Perez. I'm the guy. My cover was blown, and I was pulled into analytic work. Picked up my limp in the process.”
“That's something you won't forget.”
“Perez was wounded as well. My shot hit him in the spine, left him paraplegic. Something HE undoubtedly has also not forgotten. Which is why we are staying here, incommunicado. Can't take the chance that he finds out I'm asking questions about his operations. Could lead to complications.”
“So, he knew who you were?”
“I was in Ojo del Diablo, undercover. He did not know my real name, but a photo would definitely be a problem, and Alyssa could have easily taken one. I thought I had turned his mistress, but when I pulled out a gun,
she must have had a fit of loyalty. She barreled into me, which spoiled my aim and knocked me off a balcony. Shattered my ankle. It may also have saved my life, as it turned out, since the truck I landed on happened to be the surveillance van. They pulled me in and we were gone before his goons had time to react. That was when we first discovered that “el jefe” was Perez. And even now it is really only my word. I've managed to build up a pretty good circumstantial case against him, and the DDO seems to buy it. What do you know about him?”
“Isn't he a communications magnate in central America? Worth into the several billions?”
“Yes, MexiVox – phones, computing, plus real estate and shipping. All of that very public, very legit. Except that a surprising number of his contracts turn out to have been one-person bids, all his competitors just seem to mysteriously withdraw themselves from consideration. He also owns a shocking number of politicians, judges, and the like. I'm pretty sure that his underground income from drugs and other criminal activities dwarfs his legitimate holdings, but we are missing a few vital connecting pieces. We have not known his location now for over a year. He has been somewhat reclusive since the “para-sailing accident” that led to his paralysis, and he dropped out of view after a brief appearance at a para-athletic competition last summer when he demonstrated a rudimentary exoskeleton, sort of like the one we saw in Rio.”
“Oh yes, I remember that. Pretty much failed completely, as I recall.”
“Yes, I'm sure he was not happy with the press.” Cameron grinned crookedly. “Did me good to see him, really. I had finally gotten to the point where I was able to run fairly well again, and his pathetic attempt to walk made me feel like I had at least gotten the best of the deal.”
“Okay, but how does this relate to the body my father found or his disappearance?”
“Well, obviously there is some sort of spinal research happening, but from the CIA standpoint, this is an opportunity to hit a drug compound and possibly link it to Perez. I hope they are going to let us take it.”
At about five, the secure phone rang. It was the Deputy Director himself, and Cameron put him on speaker.
“We're in business. Expect a team to pick you up at 0200 on the southeast side of where Marble Hill Road turns east to become Weatherall's Road. You will rendezvous six kilometers east of Isla Sofia and plan on landfall at 0330. Leave Dr. Lenz in the safe room.” The line went dead.
“I'm coming,” Mitzi spoke with authority.
“You will stay here. If you play nice, I may be able to get you over there afterwards. And if you even ask again, that will NOT be playing nice. I'm getting some sleep.” He hit the intercom, told the Consul to be ready to drive him somewhere at 0130, and signed off. He headed into the left-hand room again and closed the door, leaving Mitzi staring. He's like a completely different man, she thought. She considered banging on the door, but after analyzing for a few moments, she decided she would do exactly as requested.
◆◆◆
It was well after dusk when the foreman reported to Santiago. “Everything is done except moving the subjects.”
“Show me.”
Blue 1 was completely full, and some of the medical equipment had been put into Blue 2 with the computers. Yellow looked like a hospital ward room, with everything except beds and patients.
“Looks good. And you are sure that the others don't know anything about this?”
“One hundred per cent. Only my men.”
“Perfect. Have the nurses help you move the subjects into Yellow, then assemble everyone at the loading dock for further instructions.”
◆◆◆
Santiago sat on the loading dock and watched as the six subjects were rolled into Yellow on their beds, which were secured into position so that the pitch of the ship tomorrow would not be problematic. The men closed and locked the doors of Blue 1, Blue 2, and Yellow. The subjects were sedated, and the two nurses locked in with them were completely reliable.
The twenty workers gathered below him. “Excellent work,” Santiago smiled. “I have prepared a surprise.” He pulled out a machine pistol. “All of you into the container.” He waved the gun towards Red. Two of his guards stepped out of the building, similarly armed. The workers, stunned, shuffled into the container. “All the way back, please.” The guards followed them in, guns held at the ready. When everyone was herded to the back, the guards opened fire. They then went back to the hotel and brought down the rest of the medical staff, consisting of an anesthesiologist, a neurosurgeon, and several nurses. Once to the loading dock, they were also shot, and their bodies tossed into Red. The guards looked around. Everything was in order. “Go stack those bodies better,” Santiago instructed. We have several more people to take care of.” The guards obediently went back into Red. Santiago shot them in the back and swung the heavy doors closed. “Everyone left here is completely expendable,” he murmured quietly.
Santiago called the captain of the Cortez. “Everything is ready. Four containers. The two blue and the red should be dumped in deep water. Deliver the yellow one to Veracruz as we discussed. What is your estimated arrival time?” He looked at his watch. Barely ten o'clock. The ship should be to Isla Sofia the next morning before noon.
◆◆◆
The whisper-quiet stealth helicopter picked Cameron up at precisely 0200, and lifted off immediately. As they arced north and then west out to sea, he changed into tactical gear, checked his weapons, and was briefed by the mission commander.
“We have eight teams of six timed to be in position at 0315. Satellite recon shows a dock with a couple of small fast-looking boats.” He had a schematic up on his tablet, and was pointing as he talked. “There's a compound with one large building about four stories above ground, heat signature indicating more underground elements, and two smaller buildings west of the main structure. We've identified one tunnel egress at the boat dock, and two on the far side above the beach. The above ground complex is surrounded by a spiked wall. We'll land two teams here at the dock, another at the mouths of each of the other two tunnels. The other four teams will deploy inside the compound, two on the ground, two on the roof. The two low buildings are most likely barracks, there would be room for up to fifty men, and there could be additional soldiers inside the main building. We should be able to quickly neutralize the outside forces, and once we have control of the tunnels and the compound, tear gas down the ventilators should be effective in flushing out any resistance. Assuming there is resistance.”
“Rules of engagement?” Cameron needed clarity.
“The DDO cleared it through the congressional ops committee. We go in cold. If they fire on us, we are authorized to use all necessary force.”
Cameron studied the photos. “What is my assignment?”
“You're with Team One, northern barracks. There would be room between the building and the wall to land, but be prepared to rappel.”
Cameron settled in for the flight, massaging his ankle. The commander returned after checking his other men. “How good is the stealth on this thing?” Cameron asked.
“These pilots are the best. We're just clearing the swells by a few yards. These are Black Hawk UH-60's and should be next to impossible to pick up until the last thousand meters or so. At that point, we will be traveling at a hundred and twenty knots and should cover the remaining distance in about twenty seconds. Annoying that we can't go in guns blazing, but I guess we don't have 'hard evidence.' Not that that had always stopped the Agency in the past.”
“Have you been in on a lot of Agency activity?”
The commander squinted at Cameron. “Now, you know that if I told you, I'd have to kill you.” He laughed and punched him in the arm.
The eight helicopters were at the rendezvous point at 0245, and they proceeded to their assigned points surrounding Isla Sofia.
By 0310 everyone was in position, five thousand meters out, arranged like the spokes of a wheel. “Confirm status,” barked the commander into his com. The replies start
ed to come back. “Ready Three.” “Ready Six.” After getting ready signals from each team leader, he transmitted, “Oscar Mike,” and with a chorus of “Roger”s, they started their run.
At 0317 the Compound's security officer was alerted to simultaneous noise from ALL of the outer surveillance buoys surrounding the Island, four thousand meters out. He checked the radar. Nothing. When the inner buoys likewise transmitted noise simultaneously, fifty seconds later, he hit the alarm despite the negative radar.
Santiago was instantly awake, and raced to the window in time to see men rappelling into the Compound. Earsplitting loud speakers from the helicopters screamed out commands to come out with no weapons, delivered in English and Spanish. There was a brief delay, but then there came the deep pounding of machine gun fire out of the barracks buildings, pinning the assault teams to the ground.
Santiago dialed el jefe, who, as usual, was calm.
“I did not expect this type of assault. Nor this soon. I will divert the Cortez. Destroy as much as you can.” The sat phone went dead.
Santiago ran to the loading dock. The noise outside was deafening, but there was pounding from within Yellow. He was taking small arms fire from the roof, and was grazed along his left chest, a burning pain that throbbed and made every breath painful. There was no possibility of getting to the containers, and he sprinted back into the building.
Out in the courtyard, the helicopters' double 7.62 mm machine guns returned fire, shredding the roofs of the small buildings, which had brick walls to a height of about four feet. The machine gun from the south barracks was silenced, but there was still sporadic small arms fire from within the wreckage. The north barracks gunner continued to fire, and the helicopters banked away.
Cameron's team was exposed, deployed into the open space north of their target building. The man next to Cameron was hit full in the chest, throwing him violently onto his back, where he lay writhing in pain despite the body armor which had absorbed the round. The rest of the team inched their way towards the roofless barracks until the leader was close enough to lob in a grenade. The guns inside stopped momentarily, but then resumed.