The Suicide King (The Grave Diggers Book 2)

by Chris Fritschi

  “Master Sergeant, Jack Tate,” said Hewett, “this is our field asset, Brigadier General Guilermo Rojas, formerly of the Colombian Army.”

  Tate stood in complete shock. He was standing only inches from The Suicide King. Tate barely had the presence of mind to not blurt out his name in front of the colonel. Rojas entered the room and fixed Tate with hard, brown eyes. His mouth was a chiseled groove that never smiled as he sized up Tate. Time slowed as both men looked at each other.

  The moment shattered by Rojas’ gravel voice. “A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Major,” said Rojas, unsmiling.

  Tate’s thoughts whirled in his head. Does he know I know who he is? Does the colonel know he’s the Suicide King? Have I walked into a trap?

  Tate was still reeling as the colonel continued. “This is the general’s aide, Lieutenant Castillo,” said Hewett.

  Just behind the general was a round faced lieutenant gawking at Tate. His initial confusion vanished as he recognized the lieutenant as the same soldier that had ambushed Tate and his team in the village with the abandoned gas station.

  Tate clawed through his worries and distrust and focused his mind. He began to piece together the reality of the situation and realized if it wasn’t so deadly it would have been comical. The lieutenant’s surprise could only mean they didn’t know the person who attacked their drug supply and Tate were the same person, but that would change very soon. Tate now recognized that Hewett didn’t know Rojas was the Suicide King.

  Both Tate and Rojas were running clandestine operations behind Hewett’s back. Shortly, Rojas would know who Tate was then both of them would possess the other’s secret. Each could use that information as a weapon by telling Hewett, but it would be a case of mutually assured destruction because the moment either of them told Hewett the other would be forced to do the same. No amount of denial would from either of them would convince Hewett to believe them. To be safe and maintain his cover in The Ring Hewett would have Tate and Rojas killed.

  With his eyes fixed on Tate, the lieutenant leaned over to whisper in the general’s ear, but Rojas stopped him with an annoyed wave.

  “I’ve relayed your intel about the Suicide King to the general,” said Hewett, “unless you have anything new.”

  “No sir,” said Tate. “All we know is this guy’s alias and, for reasons unknown, he’s sent poisoned drugs to one of our outposts.”

  “With such meager information and disappointing progress, it’s fortunate that you requested my help, Colonel,” said Rojas. “No offense, Sergeant Major. I’m sure you’ve done what you could.”

  “None taken, sir,” said Tate. “Colonel Hewett tells me you’re operating a militia inside Colombia to stabilize…”

  “The men I lead are soldiers,” corrected Rojas. “As skilled and well trained as any American.”

  Colonel Hewett threw Tate a disapproving glare, but Tate spoke up before Hewett could interject. “My apologies, general,” said Tate. No offense meant.”

  General Rojas looked at Tate for a long moment, frowning. “None taken,” said Rojas.

  “As I was saying,” grumbled Rojas, “after Colonel Hewett explained the situation I sent out my elite guerrilla fighters to find what they could about the Suicide King. They intercepted and interrogated some local peasants who were hiding in the hills. One of them was an escapee who had been forced into slave labor at the drug plant for the Suicide King.”

  “You know where the drug lab is?” asked Tate

  “Of course,” said Rojas, putting his hand out to the lieutenant. His aide pulled a map from his briefcase and put it in the general’s hand. Rojas unfolded the map and put it on the table. “There,” said Rojas, pointing to the map.

  The general was pointing to a location almost two hundred miles north of the island Tate and Kaiden had just reconned. Tate willed his eyes not to look at the true location of the drug lab on the map. Instead he leaned in to look at the area the general was indicating with his finger.

  “That is the Suicide King’s drug operation,” said Rojas. “At least for the moment, Colonel. I will write up the combat plan and my men will destroy that target.”

  “General,” said Hewett, “I’d like my unit to be part of the operation.”

  The general looked at Tate; bluntly sizing him up as if Tate were on inspection and disproved of what he saw. “The jungle is an unforgiving world, Colonel,” said Rojas. “My men have years of experience in this terrain. They are highly trained, good fighters, and fit. No doubt your unit is competent at eradicating packs of derelict Vix, but my intel says that this position will be heavily defended. This is no place for unseasoned soldiers. At best they will be in the way. At worst they’ll get themselves killed.”

  The only sign of Colonel Hewett’s anger was the brittle formality in addressing the general. “Sir,” said Hewett, “with respect, I’m confident my unit can handle themselves. If the general would allow me…”

  Rojas turned to his aide. “Preparar mi helicóptero.”

  “Si, general,” said the lieutenant, snapping off a salute and headed out the door.

  “I’ve made my decision, Colonel,” said Rojas. “My men will attack and destroy this Suicide King’s poison lab. You’ll be notified after the operation is completed. That is all.”

  Rojas collected his things and paused at the door with an expectant look at the colonel. Taking the hint, Hewett opened the door for the general. Tate couldn’t believe what was happening. Rojas had tasked himself with executing this mission on a position Tate knew was not the real drug lab. Tate suspected Rojas would burn down a few buildings, scatter some bodies and send Hewett photographs confirming the mission a success. Hewett would consider the matter closed and Tate’s hands would be tied.

  Colonel Hewett and Tate followed the general to his helicopter. Every step the general took to the chopper shut the door more on Tate’s chances to get on the general’s mission. Tate’s mind raced for something to say, or do, that would change the general’s mind. But nothing came to him and he watched in frustration as the general was pulling himself into the helicopter. Before the general was inside his lieutenant stopped him and said something in his ear. The general’s eyes went wide in surprise and he and his lieutenant looked at Tate.

  The cards are on the table now, thought Tate. He knows who I am. Standing out in the open flight pad under the scrutiny of the general, Tate felt jittery and exposed as if he were in the crosshairs of a sniper.

  The general spoke with his aide for a moment longer, then they climbed down from the helicopter and approached Colonel Hewett and Tate.

  “I’ve reconsidered my decision,” said Rojas. “In the spirit of cooperation, I believe Sergeant Major Tate and his unit should be part of the mission.”

  “Uh, yes sir,” said Hewett. “I appreciate your confidence in my team, sir.”

  “You will receive my combat plans within the week,” said Rojas. “Make sure your unit is prepared to depart when you receive my orders, Sergeant Major.”

  “We won’t keep you waiting, sir,” said Tate. “I’m looking forward to taking the Suicide King out of action.”

  “Be careful, Sergeant Major,” said Rojas coolly. “He may prove to be deadlier than you think.”

  “Thank you for the warning, general,” said Tate. He looked Rojas in the eyes as he saluted. “I’ll make sure my team’s ready for anything.”

  “We will see,” said Rojas. Returning the salute, the general turned and headed for the helicopter. The lieutenant glanced at Tate with a smirk then followed behind the general. As soon as he climbed in the helicopter rose quickly. The rotor blades bit into the air as the helicopter pitched forward and the general was quickly lost to sight.

  Colonel Hewett spent a few minutes discussing the typical preparations for Tate’s upcoming operation and then it was over. The colonel boarded his own helicopter and was gone. It had hardly disappeared behind the tall trees when Tate discovered Kaiden at his side.

  �
�So that’s the Suicide King?”

  “Geez Kaiden,” said Tate. “How’d you know that?”

  “I recognized the lieutenant from the ambush,” said Kaiden. “If we had eliminated the prisoners that lieutenant wouldn’t be here to identify you. Now the Suicide King knows who you are.”

  “If I had let you kill the prisoners,” said Tate, “we wouldn’t know who the Suicide King was.”

  “I feel you’re trying to make a point here,” said Kaiden.

  “You know what I’m saying. I was right,” said Tate, “admit it.”

  Kaiden grinned then changed the subject. “What happens next?”

  “Oh, I imagine,” said Tate, “the general is already thinking up how he’s going to kill all of us during the course of his bogus mission. He’ll tell Hewett about our brave, but rapid demise with an ‘I told you so’ thrown in.”

  “I’ll miss you,” grinned Kaiden.

  “You’re not going?” asked Tate.

  “I have this thing about knowingly walking into a bullet,” said Kaiden. “But seriously, Jack, you’re playing a dangerous game. The Suicide King’s controlling everything from the place, day and time to the movements of every soldier on the ground. He’ll have the kill zone ready days in advance and on the day of the mission he’ll maneuver you into ground zero, and then…” Kaiden slashed her finger across her throat. “You’re one of the best Delta operators I know,” Kaiden glanced at Tate’s paunch, “or were, but you’re being lead to the slaughter.

  “I didn’t say it would be easy,” said Tate.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  NOW OR NEVER

  For the past two days Tate had been racking his brain for a plan to not only survive the inevitable trap the Suicide King was leading him into, but to reverse the roles, killing him and forever eliminate the threat. Time was running out and the growing pressure was making sleep hard to find. His late-night hours were reflected by the piles of notes littering his desk as he created one scenario after another. Plans, maneuvers, and even tactics borrowed from the Chinese Thirty-Six Stratagems; pager after page a physical manifestation of Tate’s military knowledge.

  Tate jolted awake as someone banged on his front door. His head came off the desk too quickly and he was rewarded with a pounding headache. His front door banged again and his head angrily thudded in protest.

  “Stop that,” barked Tate, instantly regretting his shout as his headache smacked him. “I’m coming.”

  Tate balled up his free hand into a fist as he opened the door wishing the world would turn its back for just one moment so he could slug whoever was behind the door without consequence. He didn’t change his mind when he saw it was Kaiden.

  Not waiting for an invitation, Kaiden walked into his quarters and put her laptop on his desk. “Look at this,” she said after she opened her laptop.

  Tate shuffled over and squinted at the screen as his eyes adjusted to the bright image. He instantly recognized the island being used by the Suicide King. A three dimensional, top-down image overlaid the satellite map. Icons and track lines crisscrossed parts of the map making it a confusing jumble.

  “What am I looking at,” said Tate.

  “Here,” said Kaiden and she zoomed into the image of the docks. “This is over the past twenty-four hours.”

  Kaiden played back the footage at high speed. The loading cranes sped alongside the ship as freight trucks brought them CONEX boxes from a warehouse. Kaiden then switched the URV’s filter to thermal. The cranes and trucks were replaced with small blooms of heat.

  “Wait for it,” said Kaiden. Then after a short pause, “There it is.”

  The rear of the cargo ship changed from a deep blue to a whitish yellow.

  “They started the ship’s engines,” said Tate. “The Suicide King knows he’s on our radar. It’s a sure thing that he’s moved up his timetable. In a few days Rojas will report he killed the Suicide King and everyone involved will think it’s over.”

  “But it’s only just beginning,” said Kaiden.

  “By then that ship will have reached North America,” said Tate. “The coke will do its work and Vix will start springing up inside cities. America will be fighting for survival.”

  “They’ll believe the Suicide King’s dead,” said Kaiden, “and nobody’ll go looking for him. Nobody will think they’ll be more shipments.”

  “But there will be,” said Tate. “Show me the activity around that warehouse.”

  Kaiden filtered the reconnaissance history to the warehouse. Trace lines and icons, assigned by the URV, appeared on the screen.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” said Tate, his headache forgotten. He zoomed the image to show several people sitting in the back of a flatbed truck outside the warehouse. “Those aren’t soldiers. They’re laborers.” Tate ran the recorded footage and saw the people get off the truck as other people came out of the warehouse and get on the truck. Two armed men stood by as the truck pulled away and the armed men herded the people inside. “They were changing the factory shift,” said Tate.

  “They’re going to be making more poisoned coke,” said Kaiden, “after the ship’s left. The Suicide King’s going for one attack. He’s going to keep sending his poison into the cities until… what?”

  “His revenge is satisfied,” said Tate.

  “Jack,” said Kaiden gravely.

  “I know,” said Tate. Weary resolve settled heavily on Tate bleeding away his strength. “We have to try and stop it, no matter the cost.” He pointed at the trace lines of the patrol boats crisscrossing the bay around the docks. “We can’t come in from there.” Tate changed the filter and the island filled with large orange globs. “Holy hell,” said Tate. “There’s thousands of Vix on the island. Even we landed at a location that’s not patrolled we’d never make it to the docks.” Tate put his face in his hands and sighed. “We don’t always have the luxury of picking our fights. Sometimes they’re pushed on us.”

  Tate got up and went his closet, taking out an empty gear bag and combat pack.

  “Do you want me to call Wesson?” asked Kaiden. “Have her assemble the team?”

  “They’re not here,” said Tate with tired sigh as he bent over to open his combat pack. Tate stopped what he was doing. “They’re not here,” he repeated thoughtfully as though he was examining every word. “Kaiden.”

  “These work,” said Kaiden tapping her ear. “Where are they?”

  “I sent them to the scavenger camp,” said Tate, a cold smile spreading across his face.

  Except for the tinny beeps of the laptop the room went quiet for a moment as Kaiden tried to decipher the meaning behind Tate’s expression. Her face lit up with sudden understanding. “To work on the helicopter,” exclaimed Kaiden.

  “The helicopter,” grinned Tate.

  * * *

  “Damn it, Top,” shouted Monkhouse over the whine of the Blackhawk’s General Electric T1200 engine as it pulled the helicopter into the air. “I told you it’s not ready to fly.”

  “But you didn’t say it couldn’t fly,” yelled Tate.

  The scavenger camp had been cleared of the dead bodies and garbage, but otherwise looked the same. Floodlights lit up the inside of the barn and spilled out into the center of the camp. As Tate, Kaiden and Monkhouse approached the open doors of the barn they could see the helicopter.

  “I’m not even an aircraft mechanic,” protested Monkhouse. “I only got the engines on through guesswork. Besides, we don’t even have a pilot.”

  “I can fly,” said Kaiden.

  “Me too,” Fulton chimed in.

  “You, get back to work,” ordered Monkhouse.

  “I can,” protested Fulton. “My pop had one on his farm. I used it all the time for crop dusting and supply runs.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” snapped Monkhouse.

  “Sergeant Monkhouse,” said Tate, undeterred. “Does it work?”

  “Yes,” said Monkhouse. “Maybe. I think I have everything connected righ
t, but you’re not listening. This thing’s got integrated digital avionics, cross-metric stabilizers, layered heads up display and five hundred other bells and whistles that keep this thing in the air that haven’t been tested, or aren’t working.”

  Tate stepped up to Monkhouse and put his face an inch from him. There was no malice in Tate’s expression, but his grey, blue eyes bored into Monkhouse like daggers of ice. “Thousands of people live or die depending on your next words,” said Tate. “Will it fly?”

  The full weight of Tate’s words hit Monkhouse to his core withering the trivial to ash. “Yes,” said Monkhouse barely above a whisper.

  Tate rested his hands on Monkhouse’s shoulders with a friendly squeeze. “That’s all we need. Top off the tanks and get it ready.”

  “I’m on it,” said Monkhouse. “Fulton, you heard the man. Get the chopper hooked up to the APC and tow it out here.” Then in a quieter voice, “and don’t break anything.”

  With a bob of his head Fulton jogged off. Monkhouse went back to the barn muttering under his breath.

  Tate saw Wesson and Rosse struggling with the heave bags Tate had brought. Included was the machine gun they’d captured from the Suicide King’s botched ambush at the gas station. Rosse had the big .50 caliber machine gun over his shoulder and smiling like he’d won the lottery. “How ya think that Suicide King’s gonna like it when we blow holes in his little plan with his own fifty?” grunted Rosse under the weight.

  “Rig that up on the co-pilot side of the helo,” said Tate.

  “Yeah,” said Rosse. “Won’t take long.”

  It wasn’t long before Tate heard the growl of the APC as it hauled on the tow cable. The helicopter rolled out of the barn looking like a large, cybernetic insect. The fuselage was missing panels of skin exposing ropes of wiring and neat rows of narrow metal tubing; a testament to the complexity of this machine.

  “I got the fifty mounted up,” said Rosse.

  “Good work,” said Tate, sizing up the helicopter with growing doubts.