by David Spell
Gonzalez and Hollywood helped Norris wrestle the dying man to the ground, covering his mouth so that he couldn’t cry out. Even after being stabbed near the heart, he continued to struggle with his attackers. Chris jerked the blade free and thrust it into the base of the cartel soldier’s skull, finally stopping all his movement.
Chuck and Raul kept watch while the two bodies were dragged thirty-feet away and shoved behind one of the whirring commercial air-conditioning units. After the team was back together McCain made eye-contact with each man, making sure they were ready, before leading them up the steps to the metal door. The only question was as to whether or not it was locked. He gently pulled on the handle, partially opening it. Everyone knew their roles, but they also knew that things were likely to become chaotic as soon as they stepped through the doorway.
The former SWAT cop flipped off his night vision goggles, carefully peeking inside. A short corridor led to a T-shaped intersection. The big man slipped inside, his suppressed pistol out in front of him in a two-handed grip, the rest of the team moving in behind him.
East of Matamoros, Mexico, Wednesday, 0338 hours
Ruiz turned off of the highway onto a dark, narrow, unpaved trail, and cut his headlights. They had loaned him a pair of NVGs and he drove slowly for a hundred yards before stopping and turning around so that the vehicle was facing back towards the roadway. Hector was not a trained fighter and would only be guiding the three men to the ranch. Raul had given him a pistol but the young man knew that it was only for a worst-case scenario.
They had all studied the Google Earth satellite maps, and were aware that Ruiz had turned off a quarter mile from the long driveway that led into Villarreal’s ranch. The landscape here varied from dense to sparse every few hundred yards. Thankfully, Hector had spied on the compound several times before and knew where all the trails were. Andy, Scotty, and Eric quickly checked their equipment one last time before following Hector into the brush.
While they did not anticipate the cartel having sentries in the woods around the ranch, the four men still took their time, constantly scanning the area around them with their NVGs. Twenty-five minutes later, the woods started to thin out, with bright, artificial light spilling over into the forest. Fleming dropped onto his stomach, inching over to the edge of the woods to take in the scene in front of him.
The spacious ranch house was two hundred yards away across an open field. The entire property was surrounded by a six-foot chain link fence. All of the outside lights were on, illuminating the area around the residence. The team was facing the left side of the mansion, allowing them to observe a swimming pool with lounge chairs and tables next to it at the rear. Nearby, a covered patio connected to the residence, with more deck furniture scattered around, providing a large area for Vincente to entertain. Further back behind the main residence was a large barn with at least a hundred yards between the two structures.
A panel truck and a few other vehicles were parked behind the house on the far side from where the team watched. Several figures were moving around the truck unloading cardboard boxes and stacking them on the patio. The workers made no effort to be quiet, their voices carrying across the stillness of the night. One of the workers grabbed a number of black backpacks out of the large vehicle, placing them next to the boxes they had unloaded.
“What the hell?” Andy whispered, pulling a small set of binoculars from his cargo pocket.
Hector had a stunned look on his face.
“I never see this much people working in middle of the night,” he answered softly, unsure of his English grammar.
Andy took a closer look at the men he could see, counting seven, noting that five of them wore sidearms. Several rifles and shotguns were leaning against the truck as they worked, the gangsters not worrying about any opposition on the cartel leader’s spread. After taking the scene in, Fleming passed the binocs to Gray who scanned the area in front of them.
“One of the guys just cut open a box and started pulling out blocks of something,” Eric commented. “I’m betting those are kilos of coke or meth. One of the other lowlifes is dividing them up and putting them into the backpacks. Looks like we interrupted something. I bet those bags are about to head north.”
The former Marine gunnery sergeant passed the glasses to Scotty, who also studied the area for several minutes before handing them back to Andy. Smith motioned to Ruiz to come close, pointing at something behind the house, his mouth close to the younger man’s ear.
“Is that a propane tank?”
“Sí, gasolina por cook and heat. Muy grande, maybe five hundred gallons.”
The bearded man nodded, his trademark grin breaking out across his face as he stared at the large silver tank. It sat behind the house near the corner closest to where the four men waited. Smith estimated that it was less than twenty yards from where the men worked unloading the truck and filling backpacks on the patio.
Fleming motioned the other three close, their heads almost touching as he spoke.
“I didn’t see Sanchez in that group. Hopefully, he’s inside sleeping like a baby. I also haven’t seen any evidence of security. Are these clowns that trusting? That fence isn’t going to keep us or anyone else out.”
“They normalmente have dos hombres down by the road,” Hector whispered. “That’s all, I think. But, they not worried. Someone steal from cartel, they die with much hurt.”
“Makes sense. According to the maps, those two sentries are about a quarter of a mile away,” Andy said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
The former MARSOC operator spoke for five minutes. Gray and Smith simply nodded, trusting Fleming’s tactical prowess. It was a simple plan, and the three warriors understood that simple was usually the most effective.
Scotty carefully and quietly removed the magazine from his rifle and slowly worked the slide to eject the .308 round in the chamber. He withdrew another mag from his vest, inserting it into the Springfield Armory M1A1, letting the bolt down gently, chambering a round. The former Ranger sniper engaged the safety and nodded at Andy.
Eric had moved fifty feet to their right, using a set of bolt cutters to create an opening in the fence. Thankfully, the voices of the men behind the residence covered any noise the snapping chain link made. Gray crawled back over to his former MARSOC teammate.
“Good to go.”
Smith winked at his companions and slid on his belly thirty feet to the left to get into position, peering through the scope and plotting his shots. He now had a clear field of fire at the gangsters who were still packing backpacks.
Fleming put his ear to Hector’s. “Your job is to make sure no one gets behind you guys. Scotty is going to be focused on shooting when the fun starts. Keep your head down and watch his six,” he said.
Ruiz stared at him blankly, not understanding the English jargon.
The Marine motioned with his two fingers at his own eyes and then pointed to Smith and the area behind them. “You watch out for El Beardo. You’re his seguridad.”
“Sí, entiendo,” the younger man nodded.
“I hope so,” Andy muttered, crawling over to join Eric.
A minute, Chuck called and said that they were about to launch. After answering, Fleming nodded at Gray and they began to move.
Cartel HQ, Matamoros, Mexico, 0412 hours
Villareal and Guerra stood side-by-side staring at the operation in the warehouse. Fernando “the Bull” Ramos hovered nearby also watching the proceedings, keeping an eye on his boss. Almost half of the long building was filled with men and a few women working around several large tables in the middle of the room.
The batch of crystal meth had been delivered from the cartel lab at 0145 hours. It was supposed to have arrived at 1900 hours. Now, Pablo Cortes was operating in his new role as warehouse manager as the workers placed the drug into ziplock bags, weighed it, and adjusted the volume until it equaled a kilo.
“Pablo, what’s the hold up?” Vincente asked, angri
ly in Spanish. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to get this across the border tonight!”
A stack of completed kilo bags sat on one end of a long table, but three five-gallon buckets of the drug still waited to be packaged.
“I’m sorry, Vincente,” his cousin answered. “The meth was hours late and is still wet. That makes it harder to pack. They’re working as fast as they can.”
The cartel leader cursed and shook his head.
“Get it done! Now we have to postpone the shipment another day.”
The gangster turned to his bodyguard and growled, “Tomorrow, have some of our sicarios pay a visit to that lab and show them what happens when they can’t follow my directions.”
“Sí, señor,” the massive man acknowledged the order, a slight grin on his face at the thought of inflicting violence.
“Juan, I need you to stay at the ranch today and go across the border with them tonight. The cocaine is already there and will be packed and ready to go. Everybody will carry three Ks of coke and three Ks of ice. I don’t trust all those mules, though. I want you to keep an eye on them, at least until they hook up with their contacts in the desert.”
Guerra nodded, not liking the idea of having to babysit drug smugglers. At the same time, he knew that a big part of his business was selling drugs. He would even have a backpack of his own and three of the twenty mules would be accompanying him back to Atlanta.
“Aren’t they already enroute to the ranch?” Juan asked. “What are they going to do? Just hang out there all day?”
“We don’t have any choice. They should be arriving anytime, although no one seems to be able to keep to a schedule around here,” Vincente fumed. “They can stay in the barn. I’ll send you out there whenever these idiots finish getting the meth packed. You can make sure our smugglers keep out of sight during the day.”
“Plus,” Villarreal said, grinning and leaning in so that only Juan could hear him, “twelve of the smugglers are women. They know the rules. Feel free to get to know a few of them.”
The lieutenant nodded again, still not liking his orders but savoring the idea of having a little fun with some of the girls who would be sneaking into the US with him. They would be working in some of the cartel’s brothels or selling drugs.
“Come on,” the cartel leader said to Guerra and Ramos. “I think we make Pablo nervous. Let’s go have a drink while they finish up out here. I might want to meet a few of those chicas myself.”
The three men turned and strolled towards the other end of the warehouse. Vincente led them down a hallway containing six dormitory style apartments. A short corridor to their left connected to one of the rear exits. Further down the walkway was Villarreal’s large office.
As they passed the hallway to the left, all three gangsters sensed that something was wrong but had no time to react as two pairs of hands grabbed the cartel leader and jerked him into the dark passageway.
Chuck had secretly peeked around the corner, looking down the walkway into the warehouse, quietly telling his team what he saw. As Villarreal, Ramos, and Guerra turned and started walking their way, McCain designated Jimmy and Hollywood to grab Vincente. The big man had not known which way their targets were going to go. They could have just as easily exited out of one of the front entrances on the other end of the building. Chuck only had enough time to put Jones and Estrada in motion, the rest of them preparing to deal with the other two men.
The cartel leader just managed to grunt as he was pulled into the darkness and slammed hard to the floor. McCain and his three remaining companions stepped up to deal with El Toro and Guerra. The powerful former Olympic boxer reacted quickly, however, and fired a stiff arm that caught Norris in the chest, knocking him into Walker, sending them both sprawling in the narrow passageway.
Ramos roared with rage, the ambient light allowing him to see two men on top of Vincente. Chuck brought the suppressed pistol up in his left hand, managing to get off one shot before the bodyguard knocked the gun aside with his right hand, sending it clattering to the floor. McCain launched a straight right palm strike that crushed the ex-fighter’s nose, the cartilage crunching loudly, blood spraying several of the men.
The bodyguard barely registered the damage, grabbing Chuck under the chin with his massive left hand, lifting him up on his tiptoes. The Bull fired a powerful right cross that McCain was just able to slip, the fist grazing the left side of his head before burying itself in the sheetrock of the wall. Chuck snapped a front kick into his attacker’s groin, the boot’s tip smashing important parts of the bodyguard’s anatomy.
As the Bull gasped and staggered backwards, McCain felt the grip on his throat weaken. He reached for his holstered Glock but before he could draw, another suppressed shot sounded in the small hallway, snapping the bodyguard’s head back. A bloody hole appeared near his right temple and Ramos collapsed to the floor. Raul quickly swung his pistol towards Guerra.
Juan had drawn his 9mm Sig Sauer but had been unable to get off a shot with El Toro blocking the entire corridor. When the Bull went down, the CIA agent and the thug both hurriedly squeezed their triggers. The cartel member’s Sig was not suppressed, so the shot momentarily deafened the Americans, as well as alerting everyone in the warehouse that they were under attack.
Both men were hit and stumbled backwards in pain. Chuck sprang forward, noting an ever-increasing red stain high on the gangster’s white t-shirt. McCain grabbed the wrist with the Sig, violently twisting it and ripping it out of the criminal’s hand, the sound of cracking bones filling the hallway. Chris had grabbed Raul’s Beretta in the confusion and moved up next to Chuck, who had turned Guerra’s pistol around and was preparing to shoot him.
“I’ve got it,” Norris said, firing a single shot into Juan’s forehead. His lifeless corpse slid down the wall onto the floor as blood and gore poured down his face.
Movement and voices to their right shook them out of their momentary tunnel vision. Four armed gang members rushed from the warehouse towards the hallway. Norris raised the suppressed Beretta, squeezing the trigger four times, hitting three of the cartel soldiers, the fourth managing to duck out of the way. The thug quickly raised his own pistol, firing blindly as Chuck and Chris dove back into the short corridor.
“Time to go, guys. Raul, are you hit?”
The CIA agent was slowly climbing to his feet. Hollywood grabbed the straps of his body armor, helping him up.
“Took one in the vest. I’ll be OK,” Raul croaked, clearly in pain.
“Villarreal is wrapped up and ready to move,” Jimmy said.
McCain had hoped to leave a few of Walker’s surprises in the warehouse to damage the gang’s operation but now they would have to improvise as they escaped, he realized, glancing at Norris firing around the corner, keeping their attackers at bay.
“Jay, can you leave a couple of devices here with short fuses to slow them down?”
“Already on it, Boss. When we start moving, I’ll set the timers.”
The big man retrieved his own Beretta from the floor, looking down at the dead bodyguard. Chuck’s shot had caught the Bull low in the abdomen. It would have eventually taken its toll but was definitely not an immediate stopping shot.
Jones and Estrada jerked Villarreal to his feet. His hands were secured with flex cuffs, a black hood covering his head. McCain knew that they had also covered his mouth with duct tape to keep the gangster from crying out.
The Beretta that Norris had been using had run dry and he was now calmly engaging targets with his M4 around the corner, the retort of every shot magnified in the confined space.
“Raul, you and me have point. Jones and Hollywood behind us with the prisoner, Jay and Chris, you guys have the rear. Let’s move!”
Walker had slapped a charge of C4 on the wall near where Norris was cutting down cartel soldiers. A second charge was left near the back door. As soon as the rest of the team was out the door that they had come in, Jay set the fuse on the first charge
for two minutes and the other for a minute and a half.
“Come on, Chris, we need to create some distance.”
Norris fired two more shots and was rewarded with a scream. He followed his partner out the door, performing a mag change as he moved. Through their NVGs the former SEALs could see that Hollywood and Jones had already hustled Villarreal through the fence. The cartel leader tried to pull away but Jimmy and Hollywood easily dragged him between them. McCain and Gonzalez were still inside the compound, rifles up, covering the retreat of their last two team members.
Jay and Chris quickly climbed through the hole in the fence, followed by Raul. The sound of approaching footsteps and loud voices suddenly filled the night air. Three gang members rushed around the corner from the front of the, hoping to flank their attackers. Before anyone else could bring their weapons into play Chuck raised his rifle, firing two short bursts on full-auto, the 5.56mm rounds slamming the runners to the asphalt. McCain watched for another few seconds and then joined the others outside the compound.
The six men and their prisoner moved quickly towards where they had left their vehicle. After half a block the voices yelling behind them were interrupted by an explosion. Now, instead of the sound of pursuit, they heard screams of pain. Seconds later, another blast filled the night, adding to the chaos inside the cartel’s HQ. Three minutes later, a van pulled out of a dark alley, driving for two blocks before the driver activated his headlights.
East of Matamoros, Mexico, Wednesday, 0434 hours
Andy and Eric had slow-crawled most of the way to the front of the residence when Chuck’s voice crackled in their ears.
“Alpha One to Bravo One and Charlie One, one in custody, ETA twenty. We have Villarreal.”
“Charlie One clear,” Chloe answered for Kevin.
Fleming merely clicked his transmit button, not wanting to take a chance on anyone hearing him. The two former MARSOC operators only had twenty-five yards to go to reach the front door. They continued to slide forward on their bellies, stopping near the six steps that led up to the double-door entrance to the mansion. If anyone looked out a window, the two men would easily be seen in the bright light.