by Gary Ponzo
President Merrick sat in the backseat of the Mercedes sedan with a Cameno cartel guerilla on each side of him and their pistols digging into his ribs. Pablo Moreno had told him on the phone he would be taken to see his brother. He knew there was a ninety percent chance his brother was already dead. He also knew there was a ninety percent chance he himself would soon be dead. That was okay with him. If Merrick had to attend the funeral of another brother, he wasn’t going to be alive much longer anyway. He knew he wouldn’t be able to live with such a burden. In some morbid way, all he really wanted was to see his brother’s body one more time. Just touch his skin. Say good-bye.
The Mercedes had slowed down a side street and pulled up a bumpy driveway into an open two-car garage. Now the Camenos were pulling him from the arm and forcing him into the backseat of a second car in the garage. A beige Nissan Tiida hatchback which blended well with every other car on the road. Small and ordinary. One of the most popular cars in Colombia.
There was a driver already in the Nissan waiting for them, engine running. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap low on his head to avoid detection. As soon as they made the switch, the driver of the first car remained in the garage and waited for them to back out before closing the door behind them.
The car pulled out of the driveway and accelerated quickly down the side street. One of the Camenos in the backseat began barking out orders to the driver in Spanish. Merrick understood one of the words. “Pausado.” Slow down.
The car slowed as they moved onto a busier street heading away from President Santoro’s residence.
“How far are we going?” Merrick asked.
The one to his right dug his pistol into Merrick’s side a little harder. “Shut up,” he said in a slight accent.
With the tinted windows and different make of car, Merrick knew he was on his own now. There would be no Secret Service agents en route to save him. With just a four-minute head start, they would be far enough away to avoid any detection. Bogota was a large city, over seven million people. Merrick never felt more alone in his life among those millions.
A phone rang and the Cameno next to him put a cell phone to his ear. After a few harsh words, he handed the phone to Merrick.
“Yes,” Merrick answered.
“Do you wish to see your brother alive?” Pablo Moreno said with a soft, sinister voice.
Merrick had been through enough diplomatic and interrogation training seminars to know exactly how to deal with such a luring question.
“Fuck you,” Merrick spat into the phone.
“That is not a good way to start this journey, Mr. President.”
“How far away are we?” Merrick said.
“Not far,” Moreno said, smooth, almost too smooth. As if he were trying too hard. “All you need to do is transfer the money into my account and you’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”
“Ha. That’s funny, Pablo. I see my brother alive and you’ll get your money just as promised.”
“Mr. President, I am not a bluffing sort of man. Please have the money wired and you will not only see your brother, but you will both be released into the nearby woods. You will be within a mile of a well-traveled road where you can flag down someone to help you get back home safely.”
“You’re a very concerned citizen, aren’t you,” Merrick said, his sarcasm getting thicker as he recognized the same building for the third time. The driver was simply driving in circles.
“I am a practical man. Give me what I want and you will receive what you so desperately want.”
There it was. Moreno was picking up on the desperation in Merrick’s tone, knowing exactly how far he’d come to participate in this deadly game.
“The answer is no,” Merrick said. “Go ahead and have me killed right now.”
“As you wish, Mr. President.”
* * *
When they watched the replay in Walt’s office, it became apparent how the Secret Service followed the wrong black sedan. As soon as it left the grounds, it maneuvered wildly through traffic accelerating at twice the normal speed and hitting cars and street signs with impunity.
Walt’s fist was tightly wound around his cell phone, while watching the scene repeat again. There were three black sedans which left President Santoro’s complex within minutes of each other. The Colombian guards inspected the vehicles before they exited, but that was part of the problem. They were Santoro’s men who were in on the plan from the beginning.
“Can you zoom in any more?” Walt asked Stevie.
“Every time I do we lose clarity. Right now I can tell these are three black sedans which all left the complex at the same time President Merrick left. But watch when I zoom.”
The picture became so blurry the cars began to blend in with the ground and the trees. Walt returned his attention to the current image. If those people were decoys, then the entire operation was a premeditated scam. Which meant Santoro and Moreno had time to devise a plan to fool the security team and capture the president without any protection.
Stevie seemed to do some calculating in his head. “Nick’s less than ten minutes from Bogota,” Stevie said with a little excitement now growing in his voice. “We can split up the helicopter team into two or three groups and have them canvas the route where we last saw the cars traveling. It’s possible they’ve got a safe house somewhere within the city. They knew we’d have aerial coverage so they must’ve known the exiting highways would make them easier targets.”
“Okay,” Walt said, not quite convinced this was a panacea. At least he had the wisdom to recommend Nick’s team go through Bogota before leaving the country.
Stevie must’ve sensed the ambivalence in Walt’s tone. He turned to Walt and said, “A minute ago the president was dead. Now I’d say we have a five percent chance of finding him before he’s killed. That’s not bad.”
Walt looked down at his phone and realized there was an incoming call. He picked it up and had a sad smile on his face when he said, “Hey Nick."
Chapter 34
The helicopter flew low and fast, practically bouncing off the treetops, but it wasn’t nearly fast enough for Matt. He could see Bogota on the horizon, the large city sprawling below the Andes, home to Pablo Moreno, South America’s most vicious cartel leader. A man who had just coerced the president of the United States into leaving the safety of his security staff in the hopes of saving his brother’s life. Matt understood the sentiment. He probably would’ve done the same thing himself.
Now he and Nick examined the urban landscape and searched for a place to drop down and exit the chopper.
“There,” Nick pointed to an open patch of grass just before the asphalt streets took hold of the city. “Drop us off right there, then move north and drop off the others on the streets Stevie designated.” He looked at Kalinikov and Olson. “You two split up and move parallel to each other. The roadblocks are already set up on the main roads, we have to assume they’re still in Bogota somewhere.”
“And if they’re not?” asked Olson.
Nick looked out the window, the helicopter hovering over their landing point. “If not, then we’ll just have to wait for a ransom call.”
Even as he said the words, Matt knew there would be no ransom call. The president would be rescued or dead. There were no other options. And dead was leading in the polls by a landslide.
Nick and Matt jumped out of the chopper and immediately ran from the powerful gusts of wind as the helicopter took off and headed north. They finally slowed as the terrain went from grass to asphalt.
Matt checked the name of the street they were on and pulled out his phone. When it was answered, Matt said, “Hey, Stevie, I’m on Calle 12. Is that where you last saw the black sedan?”
“Yes, Twelfth Street,” Stevie said. “On the replay, we diverted the camera towards the decoy car, that car began to slow down around Carrera 6, just a couple of blocks from where you are right now. I couldn’t tell if the car was about to make a turn onto
a street, or just slowing down for the intersection. I’d check Calle 11 as well.”
“All right,” Matt said, then shut his phone.
Matt gestured to the street south of them and said, “Stevie said the car slowed down at the intersection. Maybe we should split up and cover more territory.”
“Okay,” Nick said, his head swiveling side to side. “I’ll cut over to the next street and head this same direction. We make visual contact at every intersection though.”
“Got it.”
Nick looked at his partner. “Let me know the second you see something.”
“Will do,” Matt said, then took a stick of gum from his pocket and began a slow chew.
The street was narrow and the houses close to the curb. Most of the homes were a little older and run down. The front yards were a mixture of grass and dirt and littered with kids’ toys and soccer balls. As Matt walked down the street, a pair of stray dogs scurried past him, on their toes, their tongues hanging out as they searched for their next meal.
Matt kept a quick pace, but wanted to be sure not to miss anything. A homeless man shuffled along the sidewalk toward him, the guy examining Matt as if deciding whether to try to assault him. The man chose to continue his slow hobble, dragging his feet as he went.
In five minutes, Matt made it to the next intersection and turned to his left to see Nick crossing the road at exactly the same pace. Nick nodded, admonishing him with his expression, letting Matt know he didn’t want his partner taking unnecessary chances.
The next stretch of road was similar to the first, but some commercial buildings were mixed in with the residential. There was a Bistro on the opposite side of the street, a green canopy over the entrance.
Matt was beginning to think this was a waste of manpower when he spotted a small house on his right with three young men standing around on a small porch, two of them holding rifles right out in the open like it was hunting season. The third guy wore jeans and a brown leather jacket with a Lebron James jersey underneath. He began walking down the path on an intersecting course toward Matt.
As Matt approached, the guy pulled his jacket aside to expose a 9mm Glock tucked into his belt. It was a newer model, sleek handle with a rubber grip for more feel.
“This is a toll road,” the guy said with a Spanish accent. “I will need your wallet.” He smiled, exposing a gold tooth and several yellowing teeth.
The entire rescue mission was such a rush job that Matt didn’t have time to acquaint himself with the local customs of Bogota. For all he knew there could be one of these assholes on every corner hustling people for pocket change. It could be a common practice. But Matt didn’t like the coincidence.
“Are you with the Camenos?” Matt said, quickly trying to gauge the guy’s reaction.
The guy’s eyebrows furrowed a bit with a sense of confusion. Matt couldn’t tell if he was surprised by how quickly Matt had made him, or whether the guy was completely baffled by the off-base question.
“I will take your wallet, please,” the guy said, flicking his fingers expectantly.
There was a large church across the street with a bell tower and a giant cross above the entrance. An older priest was out front pretending to be sweeping the sidewalk while he kept an eye on them. Matt wondered how long it had been since he last visited a church. Probably Jennifer Steele’s funeral service. Now he remembered why he hadn’t been back. Matt reached into his back pocket and pulled out his credentials, holding the gold shield high so that everyone on the premises could see it.
Gold Tooth merely smiled which made Matt even more suspicious. Like the guy already knew who he was.
The priest looked on somewhat anxiously.
Gold Tooth pulled aside his jacket to remind Matt what he had. “Go ahead,” the guy said. “Make my day.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Great. So Dirty Harry finally made it to South America.”
The guy said nothing. Just the stupid grin.
Matt returned his credentials to his pocket. “You look just like the guy who killed my girlfriend. That’s not helping your cause.”
Gold Tooth tilted his head toward the porch where his posse stood trying to look dangerous.
Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I have some bad news.” He nodded to the porch and in a whisper said, “Those two are using the wrong gun for this type of operation. They’re holding long-barreled rifles which are slow to swing up into a good position. It’ll take them too long to get that weapon up and aimed properly. Which gives me time to shoot you first, then pop them before the butt of the rifle ever touches their shoulder.”
For the first time, a sense of concern entered the guy’s eyes as he realized he might’ve bitten off more than he could chew, but he was unable to back down in front of his posse. The priest stopped sweeping and stared at the confrontation brewing. Matt wondered if he was about to pull out a gun of his own and create a real problem.
Matt raised his eyebrows at the guy. “Are you ready to put an end to this game?”
Gold Tooth glanced over at the priest.
“Stay out of this, Padre,” Matt yelled.
The older man didn’t move.
As Matt wondered how soon Nick would be there, a touch of confidence began to grow on Gold Tooth’s face.
“Go ahead,” Matt said, slowly pulling aside his jacket to expose his Slimline Glock, with the custom handle. “You draw first.”
The smile faded. Matt was trained to watch the guy’s eyes, his peripheral vision would tell him when the guy went for the gun. The guy waited. Maybe he was waiting for help. Maybe he was scared. Matt wanted this to end quickly before he had time to think about how dangerous this game really was.
“You may be a Bogota badass,” Matt said, “but you wouldn’t survive ten minutes where I come from. You have too much bravado and not enough brains.”
The guy seemed to be in deep thought, like he was trying to remember how Dirty Harry drew his Magnum in the movies.
In the corner of his eye, Matt saw the priest move.
That’s when Gold Tooth went for his gun.
* * *
Nick heard the shots just as he entered the intersection. He pulled his pistol and ran in the exact direction he was afraid to hear gunfire. He turned the corner and sprinted down the sidewalk, the front yards were quiet and the street completely vacant. His legs pumped hard, so hard, his eyes began to tear up. He scanned the street for any sign of movement. Nothing. Gunshots were fired and not one person even glanced out the window to see what happened.
Nick’s heart thumped as he ran full speed down the middle of the street, ready to shoot the first person he saw. The left side of his ribcage began to cramp up. He jumped over to the sidewalk where Matt had been canvassing and saw a body on the ground fifty yards ahead of him. A gush of acid spiked up Nick’s throat as he slowed down to see the victim.
It was a young man dressed in a brown jacket and an oversized Miami Heat jersey. Nick crouched low and swept his eyes around the landscape, his gun already out and pointed. He saw another body lying in an awkward position headfirst down a staircase to a nearby porch. An AK-47 sat on the bottom step.
Nick quickly examined the first guy. His body was crumpled on its side. Nick kicked the guy’s shoulder and the dead man rolled onto his back. He looked up at Nick with one eye wide open and the other eye socket was completely torn to shreds from an inbound 9mm bullet. A thin stream of fresh blood trickled down the side of his face. His right hand was wrapped around a Glock which was still stuck in pants.
Nick was beginning to recognize the pattern, yet Matt was missing. Nick crept up to the steps and found a single bullet wound in the same eye socket of the second victim. As he reached the top of the steps he found a third guy, face down, an AK-47 sticking out from under his stomach. Nick was certain the guy would have a similar eye issues. He noticed the front door was wide open. The strike plate was busted where the dead bolt was once secured.
There was
a noise from the front of the house. Nick ran down the steps and tumbled to the ground rolling onto his stomach, gun pointed straight out. It was the garage door opening. Halfway up Nick could see a pair of legs, then a moment later Matt stood there chewing gum and gesturing to a black Mercedes sedan sitting next to him.
“They were here,” Matt said. “But they’re long gone now.”
Nick had to take a full breath. He stayed face down in the dirt while his heart rate stabilized. When he looked up, Matt had walked down the driveway and was standing over the corpse on the sidewalk. He raised his gun and shot the guy in the other eye. The man’s head bounced off the ground like bowling ball jostling in the gutter.
Nick scrambled to his feet and came over to his partner, trying to see what kind of condition he was in after the firefight.
“You okay?” Nick asked.
Matt was still staring down at the dead body, but at least he was putting his gun away. “He asked me for my wallet. I thought he wanted money, but I think he wanted to see my ID. Make sure he was killing the right guy.”
Nick looked up and down the street and found it completely vacant. “This place is like a zombie movie after they dropped the bomb. We need to get out of here.”
There was a distant expression on Matt’s face and Nick recognized it right away. It was the same expression which stared back at him in the mirror after he’d been involved in a gun fight. His partner was just exposed to an extremely stressful battle and was probably still in shock.
Nick grabbed his partner’s arm. “Hey . . .”
Matt began walking across the street.
“Where are you going?” Nick said.
“I haven’t been to church in a while.”
Nick ran to catch up with him. “Matt, c’mon. You read the intel. Moreno owns this part of town. You think this is a coincidence that we’re the only people out here? They’re all on the phone with him right now giving up our location.”
Matt kept going unabated. Nick stayed with him, trying to get him under control. Matt pulled open the massive wooden door to the church with a piercing squeak which announced their presence to half the block.