by David Spell
The younger man nodded and spoke in halting English, trying to impress his new friends.
“Today, I watching in the woods. I see the one arm man, two or three workers, maybe they cook and clean. Then I see six other men con armas. Late in afternoon, two leave and drive back towards el ciudad. So, now maybe six or seven personas but only five soldiers. Cook no stay there at night.”
Fleming grunted. “I expected more bad guys out there.”
“I think they’re working on something big in the warehouse and need more people,” Raul said. “There’s been more activity there than normal. As far as we know, Vincente and Juan are there now. At least, they were earlier in the day. Maybe they’re getting ready to move some drugs up north?
“There’s really no way to tell how many people are inside the warehouse,” the CIA agent continued. “Probably a minimum of twenty-five to thirty. Plus, they normally have a few guards wandering around the compound. But, if we plan on going in at 0400 or so, several of them will have crawled into a vehicle or found a corner of the lot to nap in.”
“You said, ‘we,’ amigo,” Hollywood commented. “You’re not going in with us.”
“Of course I’m going in with you. You gringos think you can handle this without me?” he laughed. “You also need my help to ID these bastards. Guerra has changed his appearance from the BOLO photos you sent me. Plus, I have a few tools that might make our job a little easier.”
“You know this is unsanctioned, right, Raul?” Chuck asked. “If we don’t get arrested or killed here, we’ll probably get arrested when we land in the US. You don’t have to do this. You and Hector are already putting your necks on the chopping block for us.”
“Gracias, Chuck, but I’d like to go in with you. With me and Hollywood, you’ll have two Spanish speakers and an extra shooter. I have a feeling you’re going to need me. I always liked Ms. Dunning and I hate the cartel. I’m willing to take my chances with you crazy SOBs.”
They talked for another hour, sorting out their plan of attack and looking at the most recent surveillance photos that Raul and Hector had provided. At 0030 hours, McCain told everyone to find a spot of floor to rest on. They would have a last briefing and equipment check at 0300 hours. Hector would then drive Andy and his team out to the ranch, while Raul transported Chuck’s group to the warehouse.
Gonzalez stood and motioned for McCain to join him. The two men walked outside, standing in front of the house. The CIA agent pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one loose, and putting it into his mouth. He offered one to Chuck, who shook his head. Gordo cupped the flame of his lighter as he lit his smoke and inhaled deeply.
“The biggest variable that we can’t control is the police,” Raul said, blowing the smoke off to the side. “Most of them are on the cartel’s payroll. Villarreal does things differently than most of the other gangs. He pays the cops to look the other way, to do nothing. That’s why Hector’s father was killed. He wouldn’t take the money to ignore a big shipment of drugs.
“But that warehouse is in the heart of the city. If there are reports of shooting, the cops are going to come running. Vincente pays well and the police are going to do what they can to help if a rival gang, or a group of crazy Americans, attack him.
“I’ve got a couple of suppressed pistols that I brought along for us to use,” Raul continued. “Andy’s team should be OK without them. There are no neighbors close by so even if they have to shoot, there’s no one to hear it. What I’m going to do now is go set up some distractions around the city that should keep the police occupied while we do our thing.”
“Distractions?” Chuck asked.
“Artillery simulators,” Raul smiled, stubbing out his cigarette and climbing into his van. “Can you get the gate for me?”
Brownsville, Texas, Wednesday, 0100 hours
Chloe sat by the two walkie talkies, waiting for Mr. McCain’s check-in. Colonel Clark stood off to the side speaking with the helicopter pilot and Josh. Clark had not introduced the handsome African-American who had flown the bird in but it was clear that he and Kevin knew each other well. It was also clear that the colonel was not enjoying the wait, tapping his foot impatiently.
Right on time, the radio crackled to life, “Alpha One to Charlie One.”
“Stand by for Charlie One,” Wilkerson answered, picking the radio up and walking it over to Clark.
“This is Charlie One, go ahead Alpha One.”
“All systems are go. I’ll check in again at 0300 before we launch. How are things on your end?”
“Just great, Alpha One. You know I hate missing the fun. Our ride is here, though. We’ll be ready to pick you up and take you to breakfast.”
“Thanks, Charlie One. We’ll definitely be ready to eat. Alpha One out.”
Kevin handed the radio back to his comms officer. “Thanks, Chloe.
Looking at the group assembled underneath the overhang, the colonel asked, “Does anyone have a pack of cigarettes?”
Surprised, his team looked up at him, everyone shaking their heads.
“Good, just checking,” Clark said, with an embarrassed grin. “It’s a nasty habit. I’m glad to see that none of you smoke.”
The helicopter pilot reached inside his green overalls and withdrew a pack of gum, wordlessly handing it to his friend.
“Thanks, Joey,” Kevin nodded, shoving two sticks into his mouth. “Okay, guys, that was McCain. He said that they’re launching in a couple of hours. If I had to guess, we’ll probably be heading for a pickup around 0515, give or take.”
Gabby had noticed the good-looking man Clark had referred to as ‘Joey.’ She and Chloe had given each other knowing smiles.
“Who is he?” Wilkerson whispered.
“I dunno but he’s looking good,” Vargas said, softly, both girls trying not to giggle as the tension in the air was momentarily broken.
A throat cleared behind them and both girls involuntarily jumped, feeling as if their teacher had just caught them talking during class.
“Ladies, since you can’t keep from staring, I figured I should introduce you to Major Joey Anderson, formerly of the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment until he got out to create his fortune by starting his own charter business. He’s one of the best pilots in the world, and it might interest you to know that he’s back on the market.”
“Geez, Kevin, you’re embarrassing the ladies.”
Clark merely smiled, gesturing at the African-American woman. “This is Captain Chloe Wilkerson, formerly of the US Army Intelligence Unit, which is a misnomer if I’ve ever heard one. She also served with another government agency for a time but now works with us.
“Next, we have Gabriella Vargas. Her specialty is computers, specifically breaking into computers. She also comes from one of those agencies we can’t talk about. I think instead of recruiting her, though, they offered her a deal. ‘Come work for us or go to prison for breaking every computer security law on the books.’”
Vargas laughed. “You knew about that? I thought it was a secret.”
“Nice to meet you ladies,” Anderson grinned. “It’s good to see that the colonel has some quality people around him. We worked together over in the desert, along with that big goofy Scotty Smith. I hear that he’s one of the clowns we’re going to have go into Mexico and extract?”
“Yes, sir, he is,” Chloe spoke up.
Joey laughed. “You don’t have to ‘sir’ me. I just hope we’re able to get there in time.”
“‘Get there in time?’” Gabby parroted, concern in her voice.
The pilot laughed again. “I don’t know if you’ve ever really seen Smith in action, but I have, a couple of times. You ladies play video games?”
Wilkerson shook her head, while Vargas nodded enthusiastically.
“You know how on most first-person shooters, they have a melee mode?”
“Sure,” Gabby answered. “It gives you superhuman powers for a few seconds while you rip through
the enemies.”
Joey smiled. “And that’s exactly what Smith is like in combat, except it’s a lot longer than a few seconds. When I said I hope we get there in time, I wasn’t worried about your people. I was thinking about the cartel or anyone else that gets in their way. Scotty might just kill them all!”
Kevin shrugged. “I hope not, just because it’ll attract a lot of attention. But it wouldn’t hurt my feelings to take out the entire New Generation Cartel. Hopefully, they’ll get the message that they need to leave us the hell alone.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HECTOR RUIZ’S HOUSE, Matamoros, Mexico, Wednesday, 0250 hours
Chuck had taken fifteen minutes to sit quietly by himself, as he did before every mission. He used the time to pray for the safety of his team and for himself, and that he would be able to think clearly in the heat of battle. He felt no moral dilemma about what they were going to do. There would be serious consequences if they failed, and maybe even if they succeeded, but sometimes you just had to do the right thing, even if it could get you killed or imprisoned. He finished by praying for Beth and Ray, that God would look after them while they were apart.
The CIA agent had returned a little earlier from his errand. He handed McCain a suppressed 9mm Beretta 92 and two magazines of ammo. The men were now all up and preparing their equipment, everyone clad in black BDUs. For his primary sidearm, Chuck was wearing a .40 caliber Glock Model 22. Kevin had hand-selected this one out of his weapon storehouse for his friend. Two extra fifteen-round pistol magazines hung on his belt.
The big man pulled on his heavy body armor, cinched down the velcro straps, and tugged on it to make sure that it was sitting properly. The vest held two more Glock mags in a pouch, along with six thirty-round magazines for his rifle. An individual first-aid kit was also attached to the armor. Chuck did not have a holster for the Beretta so he stuffed it into his left cargo pocket, the other containing several sets of flex-cuffs and the additional Beretta mag.
Clark had provided McCain with one of the National Guard M4s that he had recovered during the zombie virus crisis. Chuck looked around at his men, each one similarly attired and armed, as they checked their gear, preparing to head out into the night.
“How are we looking on time?” Andy Fleming asked Gonzalez.
Raul glanced at his watch. “Hector is driving you guys out to the ranch. This time of night, it’ll probably take you thirty minutes to get there, with another twenty minutes to sneak through the woods. I’ve given the coordinates to the colonel for extraction.
“For the rest of us, we’re maybe fifteen minutes to the warehouse so we’ll wait a bit before heading out. I found a good place to hide the van and then it’s a short walk to the back fence where we’re going to make entry. The fun starts at 0350. I planted six artillery simulators around the western edge of the city, far away from where we’re going to be. They’ll go off in five-minute increments.
“Bruh, that is so badass!” Scotty commented, a grin on his face.
“Dude, were you a Marine?” Jimmy asked, clearly impressed, inserting a thirty-round mag into his M-16.
The CIA agent smiled. “I’m hoping it’ll keep the policía occupied. We execute at 0400, after the first two explosions.”
Everyone looked at Chuck. “Good work, Raul. Let’s do it. My guys, remember, don’t get hurt but let’s try to limit the shooting. I really don’t care how many of the cartel members we kill but the name of the game is in and out. If we can snag or kill any of the three we have warrants on, let’s do it. On our end, Jay has a few surprises we’re going to leave behind that should put a dent in the New Generation’s business for a while.
“Andy, you guys are a little more weapons free, but we all know how far sound travels at night. We’ll join you as quick as we can.
“Raul, what do you think? Extraction by 0515?”
“Sure, unless the police stop me for speeding,” he laughed. “I think we allow fifteen to twenty minutes on-site at the warehouse and then get the hell out of there. We don’t want to end up in a big shoot out with the gang.”
“Roger that,” Jimmy Jones commented.
A few minutes later, Hector was driving Raul’s Nissan Sentra with Andy riding shotgun. Scotty and Eric sat in the back, praying the police did not stop them. That would be an unpleasant encounter for everyone involved. The ranch was east of the city on Highway 2. Even the usually talkative Smith was quiet as the young Mexican steered them towards the cartel leader’s hacienda.
Back at Hector’s house, Chuck radioed Kevin to give a status update, letting him know that they were in motion. Fifteen minutes later, he and his team piled into the rear of the van and started their short journey across town. The cartel’s HQ was located in another industrial area, just southeast of the center of the city. Thankfully, the closest homes were several blocks away, so the risk of civilian casualties was minimal.
Three blocks from their destination, Raul cut the lights and moved slowly down the deserted street. He backed into an alley that was only a block away from the rear of the cartel’s fenced compound.
“Okay, Raul,” Chuck said, quietly opening the van’s rear door. “We’re following you.”
The CIA agent met the others behind the vehicle. “I’ll leave the keys on the left rear tire in case we get separated. The location of the ranch is programmed into the GPS if something happens to me.”
Five minutes later, night vision goggles in place, the six men stood in the shadows next to a tall chain link fence. The back of the long warehouse loomed just twenty feet away, the open space between the rear of the building and the fence obviously where the gang dumped their trash, the refuse piled high, the stench overwhelming. Directly in front of the team was a door leading into the building with six steps leading up from the ground. To their left, only a few yards from the stairs was the corner of the warehouse. Through the green tint of their NVGs they saw another rear entrance far to their right at the other end of the long facility.
Loud music and occasional laughter could be heard from inside the structure. The surveillance photos had shown that the opposite side of the compound was where the gang’s vehicles were parked with sentries meandering around the area. Chuck’s team waited, cloaked in darkness as they watched for any threats. Multiple sirens sounded in the distance, moving further away, a sign that the timed artillery simulators were having the desired effect.
Raul nodded at his companions.
“0358 hours,” he whispered. “Two more minutes.”
Chris Norris had already gone to work on the fence with a set of wire cutters, snipping until he had created an opening that they could all move through.
Chuck stepped back a few feet and pushed the transmit button on his radio. “Alpha One to Bravo One, we’re about to execute.”
“Bravo One is clear. We’re moving into position now. I estimate launching our attack in ten to fifteen.”
“Alpha One is clear.”
Raul drew his suppressed pistol and nodded at Chuck. “It’s time.”
Norris pulled back the chain-link, allowing McCain into the Nueva Generación cartel’s compound. The big man moved quietly up to the bottom of the stairs, his suppressed Beretta out and ready to go, the M4 slung across his chest. The rest of the team followed behind him, Jones bringing up the rear. He paused to pull the fencing back together so as not alert any of the sentries.
Voices suddenly carried from around the side of the structure moving their way. Jimmy, caught out in the open, silently sank to the asphalt, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder.
“Hang on a minute, I have to piss,” a sentry said, loudly in Spanish. “Then you can finish telling me about your little prostitute girlfriend.”
“Pablo, I told you, she’s not a prostitute!” his companion yelled, angrily. “She really loves me.”
A single set of footsteps could be heard approaching the corner of the building. Jay had drawn his combat knife, motioning to McCain that the two for
mer SEALs would handle it. He and Chris crouch walked to the edge of the warehouse, flattening themselves against the wall.
“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Pablo laughed, as he turned behind the dark building, a pump shotgun slung over his shoulder. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the money and drugs you give her after she lets you bang her!”
The cartel member walked towards the fence, fumbling with his fly, Walker silently stalking him, thankful the sentry wasn’t wearing night-vision. Norris waited by the corner for the second guard, but he appeared to have stopped so his friend could urinate in peace.
Pablo heard a slight noise behind him, just as he started to pee. He attempted to turn his head but suddenly a hand clamped over his mouth as a razor-sharp blade sliced his throat open. The sentry attempted to scream even as he felt the blood pumping out of his body. In seconds, he was dead.
Jimmy was lying just six feet away, watching Jay work through his NVGs, lowering the corpse silently to the ground. The former Marine climbed to his feet, his M-16 still up and ready, as he moved to rejoin his teammates near the stairs.
“Pablo, you done?” the second sentry called. “I’m ready to go back inside. Let’s get those new guys to take the rest of our shift. They’re worthless anyway.”
The other man stayed just out of Norris’ sight, around the edge of the structure, waiting on his companion. Hollywood and Raul were both native Spanish speakers. Estrada motioned towards himself so that his teammates could see him. He then raised his voice, trying to imitate Pablo.
“Oh, my God! Look at the size of that rat.”
“Oh, yeah?”
The second sentry moved around the corner to see what his companion was talking about. He had withdrawn a flashlight and flipped it on just as Chris launched himself at the gangster. The former SEAL was unable to grab his victim so he just plunged the knife deep into his chest and grabbed the sling of the AK-47 he was wearing, yanking him behind the building.