Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  The man sized up Nolan and recognized a fighting man. He turned away and looked at the invitations proffered by Gracia. Finally, he nodded.

  “You can go.”

  Nolan gave him a sneer as he put the UAZ into gear and drove on.

  “That was excellent,” Gracia said in an approving tone. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a one hundred percent macho bastard Colombian, one who beats his wife and whores on a Saturday night.”

  “Now there’s a thought,” Nolan grinned.

  She playfully punched him on the arm. “Don’t try it, Chief Nolan. I’m not some dumpy stay at home wife willing to take it for the sake of the family. I’d slit your throat.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I think you would, girl. Except that we’re not married, and I don’t go whoring.”

  “Never?” she sounded astonished.

  “No, never, if I’m in a relationship, I believe in loyalty to your partner.”

  “Isn’t that the way your Navy Seals operates?”

  “Yeah, exactly like that. When you’re a Seal, you don’t moonlight with the enemy.”

  She gave him a serious stare. “You are a good man, Chief Nolan. When this is over, I would like to know you better.”

  He thought of his dead wife, Grace. Then he thought of Detective Carol Summers back in San Diego. Did they have a relationship? No, not really, nothing permanent, and no commitments. And if he had to choose, what would he do? He looked at the beautiful, mysterious and exotic girl on the seat next to him and felt warmth he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Not since Grace. Real warmth, and a true meeting of souls. He nodded at Gracia.

  “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

  They drove on for the next few miles in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. She jerked him out of his trance.

  “The ranch is coming up. It’s about half a mile ahead, so you’d better start slowing and remember you’re my fiery, macho Colombian husband. Your name is Pepe Montez, Commander Pepe Montez.”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  The ranch was a small estate, bearing little resemblance to a working farm. The central group of buildings was in a square piece of ground, surrounded by a continuous wall of about eight feet high and built of stone. It was topped by razor wire, laced in coils. At the corners were guard towers, all of them manned, and all of them equipped with what looked like a light machine gun. At the barrier, a man stood in the center of the road, holding up his hand for them to stop. Around him were a half dozen Salazar soldiers, armed with assault rifles. The man in the road had a pistol in a holster. He leaned in the window and held out his hand.

  “I am Manuel Rivera, security chief. Your invitations?”

  Nolan gave Gracia a casual nod.

  “Show them to him.”

  He read them carefully. “Pepe Montez and Gracia Montez. You will need to step out of the car to be searched.”

  Wordlessly, Nolan got out and stood waiting, a careless look on his face, as if it was all too boring and completely beneath him. The man with the pistol approached him.

  “Mr. Montez, I…”

  “Commander Montez, of the FARC,” Nolan corrected him.

  “I am sorry, Commander Montez. Are you carrying any weapons?”

  Nolan sneered. “What kind of a question is that? Did I not tell you I am a FARC commander? Do you think we fight our wars with fountain pens? Of course I am armed.”

  He reached down to his waistband and slowly pulled out a Makarov nine-millimeter automatic pistol, another gift from the Soviets.

  “Here, and make sure you look after it. I do not want one of your thieves stealing my weapon. “

  “Assuredly, Commander. If you don’t mind, the metal detector?”

  Nolan nodded, and he ran the wand over his body.

  “That’s fine, Sir. I have to check your woman.”

  The Chief glared at him. “Anyone touches my wife, he’s dead.”

  “But, Sir, I have my orders. I must do my job.”

  “Look at her, you fool. Do you think she is carrying a weapon? Where the fuck would she carry it, do you think she has a machine gun in her cunt? Or maybe jammed between her tits?”

  Gracia was wearing a very short, very tight shift dress. It clung to her curves and accentuated her beauty, as well as making it clear she couldn’t be concealing a gun.

  “Commander,” the man flustered. “If I could just check the lady’s purse, then that would be fine. Please, I must do this.”

  Nolan waved him forward. “But I warn you, keep your stinking hands off her. Any man touches her, and I’ll cut his balls off!”

  They checked the purse and came up empty. Two men were rummaging through the UAZ, and both shook their heads. Nothing. Another had an angled mirror on a pole to check underneath, and again, he came up with nothing. Then Rivera picked up the one thing they’d missed; it was too obvious.

  “What is this?”

  Nolan gave him a hard look. “Are you serious, hombre? What the fuck do you think it is? Or have I come to the wrong place, and there is to be no wedding here?”

  Rivera weighed the package in his hand, clearly thoughtful. “What is in it?”

  “It is a portable, 3D television system, the very latest. There is also a large collection of 3D DVDS, and they are not Disney cartoons either.”

  He looked at Nolan and weighed the package again. He looked thoughtful, and already Nolan was deciding which of the guards to take first to get his hands on an assault rifle. Then Rivera nodded.

  “That’s fine. Enjoy the celebrations, Commander. Senora Montez,” he nodded to Gracia and looked around as another vehicle approached.

  “That was close,” Gracia breathed. “I was about to grab one of the assault rifles.”

  “The short guy standing just behind you.”

  “How did you know?”

  He smiled. “Because that’s the guy I would have gone for.”

  They drove further inside the ranch compound and parked at the side of the huge, central dwelling. It was much more than a house, more than a ranch house. It was astonishing to find such a building on the outskirts of a Colombian village.

  “It looks like…

  “Yes, they had it built as a joke. It’s a copy of the White House in Washington.”

  The climbed out of the UAZ, almost bumping into a man quickly walking past, and he stared at them with suspicious eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  They gave him their names and he relaxed.

  “You are very welcome to my brother’s wedding. My name is Victor Salazar.”

  Chapter Nine

  For several long seconds, the two men stared at each other.

  “How does your campaign progress, Commandante Montez?”

  Salazar watched him carefully, and Nolan felt tense. For some reason, a lot rode on his answer. He was about to when Gracia came around his side of the UAZ and almost fell into his arms, draping herself over him. The Colombian’s eyes narrowed.

  “Who’s your friend, my husband? Oh, it’s Mr. Salazar. We met once before, at a conference between the cartels and our regional leaders in Medellin, at the Hotel Drago.”

  He relaxed and nodded. “Of course, I remember, yes, we cemented our new agreement to supply you with sufficient cocaine to buy weapons, in return for FARC protection from the Colombian Army.”

  “An agreement that I do not believe you have entirely kept to, Senor Salazar.”

  The man’s eyes flashed with anger. “What do you mean? Every ounce of cocaine we promised has been given, not a single shipment has failed to reach you.”

  “Yes, I know that. But when the Hondurans continually increase the price of their weapons, it means we must pay much more to get what we need. In the spirit of the agreement, you should increase your shipments. Guns do not come cheap.”

  Salazar looked even angrier. “I do not like your attitude, Commandante Montez. If the weapons cost more, that is nothing to do with me.”

  Nolan
shrugged. “If you wish to leave your security to the clowns I saw at the gate, that’s up to you. But believe me, they wouldn’t last five minutes if the Army attacks.”

  “They are good men! Every single one I recruited and trained them myself.”

  “But they are not professional soldiers, Mr. Salazar. The FARC is the only barrier to the Narcotics police and the Army trampling all over your operation. If you want to do it yourself, that’s fine. We shall finance our weapons elsewhere.”

  Salazar sneered. “Who would give your army money to buy weapons, Commandante?”

  Nolan shrugged again. “There are many countries who would be prepared to help us.”

  “Name one!”

  “The United States, for one. Of course, the price would be to destroy the traffickers, people like yourself.”

  “You dare to threaten me in my home?”

  “You asked me a question, Mr. Salazar. Did you want a dishonest answer, and an answer that may lead to the destruction of your business?”

  Nolan could feel Gracia holding her breath. He’d gone as far as he could with the pissing contest. Had he gone too far? It was a risk he had to take. They stood glaring at each other in silence, and Nolan could almost feel Gracia’s hand inching towards the knife under her skirt. Then Salazar smiled and laughed.

  “Bueno, Commandante Montez. What you say is true. It would be stupid to deny it. Yes, the United States would pay very well to have my business interests destroyed. You make your point well, and I shall contact the regional headquarters tomorrow and offer to match the shipments to the price of the guns. It is as well you spoke, so there are no misunderstandings. I like a man who is honest. They are very scarce in my business.”

  He held out his hand, and Nolan shook it. Then he held out his hand to Gracia, but she looked at Nolan and waited. He gave her a curt nod, and she took Salazar’s hand.

  “Commandante, you and your beautiful wife will want to freshen up before the main event. Please, let me show you into the house, and I will have my servants take you to a guest room. It is the very least I can do for my FARC friends. Tonight will be a special night, a very special night.”

  “I’m please to hear it, Senor Salazar.”

  “Please, call me Victor.”

  “Then call me Pepe.”

  “Very good, Pepe. As I said, it will be a very special night.”

  “Weddings always are, Victor. A time to cement alliances.”

  Salazar nodded. “That is true, but tonight, we have some extra entertainment, something very special, and a chance to give the fucking Americans a bloody nose.”

  “Victor, my wife! Your language, I know she is a soldier, but still…”

  Salazar spread his hands in apology. “Of course, I meant no insult. As I said, we have something special lined up.”

  “Yes, and what is that?”

  “A surprise, my friend, but one you will appreciate. Come, I will find you a guest room.”

  He led them through the porticoed main entrance and into the huge house. Inside, it was also a faithful replica of the White House, except that everything was too gaudy, too flashy, the taste of a cheap thug rather than an educated statesman. Victor waved his hand at a passage that led off the main entrance vestibule.

  “That is where I conduct my business. In the West Wing,” he laughed heartily.

  A servant approached and hovered nearby. He beckoned him to come forward.

  “Angel, take these two people to the guest room, and make sure they have the best we are able to offer. Show them were everything is and leave them to rest.” He looked back at Nolan and Gracia. “The celebrations start in three hours, at seven. I will send a servant to wake you in case you are sleeping. Give your gift to Angel. He will carry it for you.”

  “Thank you, Victor. Your kindness is a sign of your valued friendship.”

  Salazar beamed his thanks and went off to continue supervising the approaching celebrations. Nolan and Gracia followed Angel up the wide, sweeping marble staircase and along a passage to a spacious bedroom. The servant showed them into the room and put the wedding present on the dressing table. The windows were wide and decorated with heavy damask drapes. The furnishings were of the very finest and most expensive, including the mock antique four-poster bed. Sadly, the taste of the person who had put the furnishings together was singularly lacking, and both Nolan and Gracia pulled faces at the garish ensemble.

  “The bathroom is over there,” he pointed. “There is a mini-bar and, of course, if you require any food, just pick up the phone and call.”

  They thanked him and he left.

  “Hey, don’t you think Salazar was…”

  Nolan stopped her, putting his finger to his lips. He pointed to the ceiling, to the huge light fitting in the center, and she got the message.

  “Charming,” she finished. “A nice man, and someone that can help us in the FARC a great deal.”

  “That is so,” he agreed. “Now go and prepare the shower for me. I need to freshen up.”

  Her eyes widened at his brusque order, but she grinned.

  “Yes, my husband, whatever you say.”

  As she passed him, she put her lips close to his ear. “You played that a bit close to the mark. I thought that pissing contest was going to end in tears.”

  “You told me to play the macho Colombian.”

  She laughed out loud and whispered a reply. “Not that well, my husband.”

  He ran the cold shower long enough to get the dust and dirt of the past couple of days off his skin. Gracia had brought along her makeup, and when he was finished, she started to re-apply the foundation cream to his skin to darken him sufficiently to pass as Pepe Montez. They made desultory conversation, knowing how dangerous it was to make any kind of a remark that was out of character to the people they were supposed to be. As her hands worked over his face, Nolan felt himself becoming uncomfortably warm.

  “Hey, you want to ease off on that, Gracia.”

  “Why is that, my husband?”

  She was a woman, and she looked down at his groin and grinned. “I see. That looks very interesting,” she whispered in his ear. “Do you find me very attractive, my husband?”

  “You know I do,” he whispered back.

  “And you want to do something about it?”

  “We’re supposed to be working,” he objected. But it wasn’t the only reason.

  The decision was taken out of his hands. She held him gently and pushed him down on the sumptuous bed, all the while kissing and fondling him. It was too much, and he kissed her back, and his hands started exploring her body. The sex was urgent, almost rough in its intensity. They were two people in a situation of maximum danger, and both knew that there was every chance they wouldn’t get out of the place alive. The human urge to procreate when facing death overcame them, and their lovemaking was a chaotic act of despair, of arousal, and of raw human emotion.

  “Mm, that was good, my husband. You are truly a sexual athlete,” she murmured, loud enough for the microphones in the room to pick it up. She nudged him to make a suitable macho reply.

  “Of course,” he said, as offhandedly as he could. But he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “That was good, Gracia. You truly are a wonderful girl.”

  “And lover?” she cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Not bad, for a wife,” he quipped. She playfully cuffed him on the shoulder, and he gripped her to him. For long minutes they held each other, luxuriating in the warmth of their closeness. Then he released her.

  “It’s time to make a start.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She’d removed the commo system unnoticed, and it was now hidden inside her purse. She handed it to him, and he went back into the bathroom and ran both taps on the bath, then flushed the lavatory. There was enough noise to drown out any eavesdropping. He pushed the earpiece into place and made contact.

  “Bravo One, this is Four.”

  They’d agreed, as normal, to k
eep the same designations all through the mission.

  “This is One, reading you strength three, good enough.” It was Talley’s voice, and he’d answered immediately.

  “Copy that. We’re in. I’ll call you in two hours.”

  “Any problems, Four?”

  He thought of Gracia. That could be a complication, sure.

  “None. Out.”

  He turned off the taps and left the bathroom. Gracia had touched in her makeup, and she looked glorious, smoldering with sex appeal.

  Christ, she’s some woman.

  He nodded at the door and mouthed, “Let’s go. We need to find the Admiral. We’ll leave the wedding present where it is.”

  The party was already in full swing. Drunken Colombians mingled with stern faced wives and giggling whores, shipped in for the occasion. At the side of the huge house were several warehouses and workshops, and further along a helipad with a Rolls Royce engine Bell 407 executive helo sat on the tarmac; nothing but the best for these cocaine traffickers. There was so much noise from shouting, drunken people and a band enthusiastically playing Latin American music from a stage that had been erected at the end of a formal garden, there was no need to whisper.

  “What are we looking for?” Gracia asked.

  “Somewhere secure. Somewhere they could hold him out of sight of the wedding guests.”

  “That could be anywhere,” she protested.

  “Maybe, but I guess they’ll keep him close enough to keep an eye on him. He won’t be far from here.”

  “In the White House?”

  “No, that’s not very likely. They’d need somewhere like a secure basement to hold him.” A sudden thought seared into his brain.

  Something secure like the White House Situation Room. Is it built that close to the original in Washington? It could be. He explained his idea to Gracia.

  “So we need to go back inside and look around?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. But we’ll need to make it look good. We’d better have a drink, a good few drinks. It’s the perfect excuse if we both look pretty far gone.”

  They walked around the area that had been cordoned off for the party, taking drinks from waiters that flocked around like seagulls in a public square; except that every one of the white jacketed men looked much more hard and tough than the average waiter. The only exception was the girls who served drinks, and they had obviously been hired more for their bust sizes than any fighting abilities.