He was Zhong Tao, eldest son of Chen Tao. His fingers drummed on the top of the desk where his father once sat; the office in back of the Golden Moon Restaurant. Zhong had inherited the restaurant and the authority of his father. Chen Tao was killed by the Chameleon over a decade before. Beheaded and left in his own blood; killed along with an Irish business man in revenge for a girl Zhong never knew.
He picked up the phone. “Tommy, get in here.”
Seconds later a tall lanky youthful man walked through the door. His age could have been fifteen or twenty-five. The face of Tommy Huang was crisscrossed with scars, the smallest were but nicks in his skin, the longest ran from the outside corner of his right eye, down his cheek, across his chin and down his neck, ending somewhere under his shirt. Tommy Huang had fought his way from the streets of Hong Kong to the Tongs of Chicago, gaining respect and then power within the Tao Family. There was no task he would shrink back from.
Tommy stopped in front of the desk and assumed a casual parade rest; his hands behind his back. He nodded at Zhong without speaking. Huang rarely spoke. Most of his tongue was missing and he felt it brought shame on his ancestors for the loss.
“Tommy,” said Zhong, “I need you to do something for me. I need you to take my revenge on the man who killed my father.”
Tommy shrugged questioningly at Zhong.
“I can’t do it myself, or I would. The man who killed him is in Mexico, going after an entire Cartel. I know where he will be in 24 hours, and I cannot leave without permission of the council. They will never allow it.”
Tommy raised his hands asking why with his lips.
“We are under pressure from several of the street gangs on the south side, particularly the Dark Lords. The council has directed me to act against their leadership; the woman they call HH and her husband, Darnell. This is no easy task. I have been working on a plan for weeks. It must be you.”
Tommy nodded, waiting for instructions.
Zhong handed him a folder. Inside was a passport and first-class tickets to Mexico City, leaving in 6 hours. There was ten thousand in cash and two phone numbers.
“The first number is for the man who will meet you at the airport. He knows you do not wish to speak, and honors that. When you call, you must whistle only. He will meet you outside the terminal in short-term parking. Look for a blue Crown Victoria with several antenna on the roof and trunk. He is a government security agent who works for me. He will take you to a small airfield on the edge of the city.
“From there, you will be flown into the mountains of northern Mexico, to a village by the name of San Francisco de Conchos. There you will call the second number. A man by the name of Hidalgo will bring you the weapons needed and the transportation to your destination; the mountain stronghold of Los Zapatos, the Cartel that is under attack by the man called the Chameleon.”
Tommy nodded his understanding and tapped his watch.
“Yes, Tommy, timing is critical. You will likely only have one shot at this man.” Zhong leaned forward, “Here is the challenge, Tommy. I don’t even know what he looks like; no one does. You will have to make your call based on who you see to be the man in charge. I want him dead. There is little chance you will be able to provide proof of the kill, but I trust you will do what is needed. If you fail, come back and we will wait for Karma to bring him around to us again.”
Tommy turned on his heel and left the office without being dismissed. He knew what was expected of him. He also knew the stories of the Chameleon. He was viewed with awe by many, as though he were a spirit. Tommy smiled at the thought. Spirits don’t fly planes, he thought to himself. Six hours later he was in the air, bound for Mexico City.
The law of unintended consequences. Lazarus was acting rashly. Putting his name out like he had was, as far as Zhong knew, the first mistake the assassin had ever made. He planned to capitalize on it. He wondered if he was the only one moving that direction. It didn’t matter who killed the Chameleon to Zhong. At least not completely. He hoped Tommy would be the one to find and kill him. It would give him more power and honor among the Tongs. The satisfaction of killing the man who took his father from him was secondary. Zhong was ambitious, and ruthless. He wanted all of Chicago. Killing the “Ghost” would give him that, as would eliminating two of the most powerful members of the Dark Lords. He slept well that night.
~24~
November
5:30 AM – CST
Senora Alvarez was in a very good mood, all things considered. Gunny had called her the day before requesting a special group breakfast at 5:00 am. She didn’t open until 6:00 as a rule, but after hearing the truncated version of Derek’s kidnapping, she was more than willing.
“Senora Alvarez,” drawled Lazarus, still in full Cooper mode, “I don’t reckon I’ve ever had me chorizo as good as this. Mind ya now, I’ve been all over Texas and half of Mexico, and ain’t ever had better.”
Senora Alvarez blushed as she waved his compliment away. “Now, Senor Cooper, you are just saying that to get another one por nada, es verdad?”
Lazarus grinned, “I ain’t sayin’ yer right Senora, but I sure as hell wouldn’t turn one down, free or not I’ll have one more if’n ya please.”
Senora Alvarez waved a wiping cloth at him as though shooing flies. She still went to get him another one, though.
“Gunny,” said Lazarus, “thanks. This was a dang good idea, comin’ here. It seems to be cheerin’ Ms. Alvarez up a bit.”
“I figured it would,” said Gunny. “She thinks the world of Derek. Hearing he was in the van that day was pretty rough on her.”
“You told her about that?” asked Sheffield.
“She already knew. We had to tell her when it happened. This is where he went missing, and this is where we picked up the trail.”
Sheffield nodded.
Senora Alvarez returned with another breakfast taco for Lazarus, and 6 small home-made apple pies with ice cream. She set them down quickly, tears forming in her eyes as she turned away and hustled back to the kitchen.
Gunny watched her go. “Just one more reason Camacho is gonna pay for his bullshit. Nobody makes Mrs. Alvarez cry on my watch – nobody.”
*****
As Lazarus, LJ and Derek’s team were finishing breakfast at Charros, Tommy Huang was passing through customs in Mexico City. He dialed the first number as he retrieved his suitcase from the baggage claim.
“Go ahead,” a deep raspy voice answered.
Tommy whistled two short notes.
“I’m in the short-term parking, dark blue Crown Victoria with government plates. Row 7, about 20 cars to the right of the main exit.”
Tommy located the vehicle without a problem. He slipped in behind the driver, closing the door sharply, setting his bag on the seat beside him.
The driver waited until Tommy looked up. He smiled and asked, “Would you please move to the other side?”
Tommy was curious as to the request, and on guard. He was unarmed and didn’t know this man. He watched the driver’s eyes in the mirror, looking for any indication of treachery. He saw none. With a smile, he complied.
“Now, if you would, please reach under the front seat. There is a package for you.”
The driver started the car and pulled out into traffic, heading for the airport exit.
Tommy opened the heavy padded envelope. Inside was a Berretta 92FS with two extra 15 round magazines; all packed with hollow-point rounds. In addition, a holster that fit neatly in the small of his back where he concealed the gun. He caught the driver’s attention with a wave of his hand, nodding his thanks.
Less than an hour later, Tommy Huang was sitting in a French helicopter, an Aérospatiale SA 365 Dauphin 2, a twin-engine aircraft with a cruising speed of 275kph and a range in excess of 800 kilometers. The Dauphin was scheduled to refuel at 700 kilometers before entering the Sierra Mountain Range – Tommy Huang’s destination.
November 16
9:05 AM – CST
&nb
sp; Camacho was hung-over and furious. Nearly half his men had fled under the cover of night. He had issued an order to those who remained faithful, to kill the deserters on sight. Few were found. Those that were, died where they stood.
Ricardo Spencer and Jose Castro were with Camacho wherever he went. Spencer rarely spoke but was always at the ready. Castro was more circumspect; a realistic man with few illusions as to what the day held in store. He was certain Camacho would bolt when the fighting began. Camacho wasn’t so much a coward, as he had thought. He was a man who had lusted after power, achieving his goal only to have it all taken away by the Chameleon. What Andres couldn’t see is it was all on him. His petty need for revenge on the CIA agent had brought this on them. To Castro, Camacho was short-sighted; nothing more.
Juan had reviewed the footage of the attack in Chihuahua at least ten times. It held no morbid fascination with him. Castro had seen worse. He was looking for vulnerability in the gunship – any sign of weakness. There were none to be found. They would not be able to stop the Chameleon. Castro believed most likely he would die today. His only remaining thought was to not go out alone – taking as many as he could with him.
*****
Young Bear had departed Fort Bliss at 0700 with the remainder of Derek’s team on board the MI-35. Their mission would be containment. The adjacent topography around the Zapatos compound was rugged, to say the least. The only practical way out was north along the road that led to the location. There were only two viable paths for escape on foot, both rugged and filled with loose rocks and sheer drop-offs.
Sheffield and Reichart would set up on the marginally better easterly trail. Gunny would take Mumphord to watch over the southwest trail. Their orders were simple. Shoot to kill, weapons free.
November 16
10:05 AM – CST
Lazarus sat in the co-pilot seat on the AC-130 as it winged its way south. They were wheels up at 0900. Taking a circuitous route towards the compound, the AC-130 would come in from the northwest, rather than straight in as might be expected. Lazarus felt his sat-phone vibrate and took the call, answering as Cooper.
“Mornin’, General Fischer,” said Lazarus. “To what do I owe this here honor?”
“Just checking in, Mr. Johnson,” said the General.
“General, the name’s Cooper. Mr. Johnson would be my daddy or LBJ,” said Lazarus.
“Okay then, Cooper. I called because I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything from your boss?”
“Nope. Nary a peep, General. Though I don’t reckon to be hearin’ from him until after we’ve hit them Zapatos. Somethin’ botherin’ ya, General?” asked Lazarus.
“Yes and no. I assumed the Chameleon would be leading the assault is all. After all he’s put into this, it seems logical.”
“Well, I reckon’ it does in a way, General, but like I been tellin’ ya – the boss is staying off the radar. He’s got hisself way too damn much public attention. More than he bargained for I’m thinkin’,” said Lazarus. “What with them damn pamphlets – a dumb ass idea if’n yer askin’ me. I wasn’t there or I’d a put the kibosh on the whole she-bang. Add in the international coverage by damn near every country, and I’d figure it was pretty plain why the boss weren’t here.”
General Fischer felt a bit like he was being lectured. He let it go under the circumstances. “I understand, Mr. John… uhm, make that Cooper. I hadn’t considered all this publicity could really put a damper on his business, let alone how much it’s costing him.”
Lazarus laughed into the phone. “Sheee-it, General Fischer. Don’t ya know that ole sayin’ – there’s no such thing as bad publicity? This here is gonna up his rates a ton and let a whole lotta folks know he’s got a hell of a lot more goin’ on then they figured. I’d bet ya a dollah to a hole in a damn donut they didn’t know about the gunship. I tell ya what, General. Ole Puff here brings back some damn good memories. This girl, or one of her sisters got me outta more’n one tight spot back in the day.”
“I bet that’s the truth, Cooper,” said the General. “I know it’s one hell of a gunship, but don’t get too cocky. You never know when that golden bb might be heading your way.”
“Goddamn it to hell, General!” shouted Lazarus. “Why the fuck ya wanna to go and jinx my ass like that. I ain’t heard that fuckin’ term since we wrapped up Air America over in Cambodia. Jesus J. jumped up Jehoshaphat, General, ya tryin’ to get me shot?”
General Fischer was surprised by the obvious superstitious streak in Cooper. He told himself he should have known better. Vietnam Vets were a touchy bunch. “My apologies, Cooper. For the record, I just knocked wood twice and spit through my fingers, too.”
Lazarus let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, hell. I reckon that might cover it. I can tell ya this though, General. If’n I do get shot, I’m gonna haunt yer ass ‘til the cows come home and then some. We clear?”
General Fischer smiled at Lazarus’ threat to haunt him. He was a Marine. Marines do the haunting, not ex-Green Berets. “Point taken, Master-Sargent Johnson.”
“Apology accepted, General, even though ya didn’t make one. I’m jest gonna pretend ya did. Kinda makes me feel better.”
“Fair enough,” said General Fischer.
“I’ll keep ya posted on the progress,” said Lazarus.
“No need, Cooper. I’ll be watching the action from the air-conditioned office of the Post Commander here at Fort Bliss with Agent Weaver.”
“Well then, General Fischer, with all due respect and what-not. Kiss my red-neck ass…Sir.”
General Fischer was laughing as he hung up.
Lazarus slipped the phone back into its holster and his mindset back into the Chameleon. Within seconds, his eyes slowly went black as the Sierra Madres drew nearer. The mention of Agent Weaver added fuel to an already well stoked fire within. With firm conviction, he put Weaver out of his mind. He’d deal with the traitor, all in due time.
There would be no mercy today. If there had been any chance of that, it was wiped away by a phone call from Dan Grimsrud. The news he shared was bleak. The surgery, though thought to be a complete success, had no effect on his son. Derek was still paralyzed. The doctor told them to be patient. It might take weeks to see results. Dan was stressed and Mary Jo beside herself. Lazarus told Dan the same thing, “You have to have patience, Dan. The swelling is still there, and the doctor’s right. It might take time to see results. Now go. Give your wife a hug for me and tell Derek I’ll be there soon. I plan on wrapping up any loose ends today.” Dan thanked him and hung up.
Dan, Mary Jo and Derek might have to be patient. Lazarus didn’t. Not today. Not this time. His mood continued to blacken.
He pulled back from his rage and glanced at Eno in the pilot’s chair. Eno wasn’t handling it well, the raid on Chihuahua. A lot of men died, and Eno was at the stick. He felt responsible and was questioning if they all really needed to die. He wasn’t second guessing Lazarus. He would have leveled Chihuahua if asked. He was questioning his own strength, now faced with the sure knowledge that even though he wasn’t manning the guns, he was making sure they hit their targets.
“Eno,” said Lazarus. “Put the bird on auto and head on back there an’ see if’n LJ needs any help. He’s got him a shit-ton to get done before we git to the compound.”
“Yes, sir,” said Eno. He flipped two switches, climbed out of his harness and headed out of the cockpit.
LJ didn’t need any help. Lazarus knew Encarnacion was the one in need, and LJ was the best person for helping his cousin come to grips with the reality of death. Even consumed with desire for revenge, thinking of almost nothing else the last three days; he had noticed the distress in Eno. Just another tumbler in the intricate inner workings of the family dynamic Lazarus was so ignorant of.
~25~
November 16
11:30 AM – CST
Gunny and Mumphord were settled in overlooking the Southwest exit from the compound. “Sheffield – Gunny,” he said
into the com-link.
“Five by five, Gunny.”
“Puff is 10 minutes out,” said Young Bear.
“Copy that,” said Sheffield. “We are in position, clear view and excellent cover.”
“Roger that, Sheffield. Are we clear on the engagement parameters?” asked Young Bear.
Gustaf responded. “Gunny, Gunny, Gunny…” said Gustaf with an exaggerated sigh. “We are crystal on the rules.”
“And they are…?”
Gustaf answered in the worst Paul Newman accent in recorded history. “There are no rules.”
Gunny grinned despite efforts to be severe. Mumphord shook his head. “Come on, Gunny, you know the Kraut can’t pass up a freebie. Shit, even I thought of Butch Cassidy when you said it.”
“That was a knife fight, Mumphord.”
“I know that, and you know that. Gustaf? Not so much.” Elijah elbowed Gunny. “Nice one my German friend,” said Mumphord.
“Thank you, Elijah,” said Gustaf. “At least someone gets my movie references.”
“Heads up gentlemen,” said Gunny. “Puff is visible, coming in from the west. I put him five miles out.”
“That’s about right on the head, Gunny,” said Lazarus. “I figure we’ll be in the pattern in ten. I’m fixin’ to call ole Andres and let him know it’s game time.”
“Copy that,” said Gunny. “We are locked, loaded and on the lookout.”
*****
Camacho stared at his ringing phone. He had a fairly good idea who it was. He decided to answer. “What?” he said.
“Aw, hell, Andres, that ain’t no way to greet an old friend like me,” said Lazarus with his Texas twang. “We ain’t talked in forever ya know.”
“Cooper Johnson,” said Andres, “why are you calling me? Your boss too busy gloating?”
“Naw, nothin’ like that, Andres. See, the boss has a lot of irons in the fire. Yer just one of ‘em. He decided ya ain’t worth his personal attention. So, me and some of the boys got together and decided we’d come see ya.”
Family Matters Page 20