by J E Higgins
“It appears that way,” Crane responded as he continued scanning the boat traffic coming in and out of port. They looked on for another few minutes before breaking from their perch and moving back to the house.
The new port was further down the long sweeping beach from this older, raveled mess. It was the port used by Bolivia to have access to the ocean passageway. It was a modern sophisticated structure designed to accommodate several massive cargo ships that visited the town daily. Unlike the dilapidated muddle housing the fishing trawlers, the cargo port was organized and well run.
“What about that place?” He asked, glancing quickly at McNaulty and then nodding towards the port. “Is there a way we can have a look at the cargo port without raising suspicion?”
McNaulty turned to see what the Welshman was talking about. “Of course, the place is usually busy during the day and the security is pretty lax. You can walk right onto it from here. We walked it once or twice, and the place would be easy to breach if we needed to.” He shrugged as he looked back at Crane. “The only problems are that the place is pretty big space-wise, it’s lit well at night, and has a lot of places that are wide open and would leave us exposed for a considerable distance if we were attempting to make our way to the docks.”
“Do you think it’s likely they would attempt to land there?” Kusaki asked. “It would be easier to operate if we could assault them there.”
“It would be,” Crane said nothing for a few seconds as he continued assessing the port. “But I doubt it. They’ll want to remain discrete. Which means they’ll likely use the old port. But I don’t want to necessarily rule anything out unless I’m sure.”
The house was just a short distance and the men had decided it was better to walk. The asphalt walkway merged into sandy dirt roads as they turned toward the housing district. They started up the dirt roadway where Crane took a minute to observe the area to the south, and they continued walking.
Back at the house the mercenaries assembled in the living room. The furniture was pushed into a semi-circle on the far end of the room, while a series of maps and drawings were pinned along the walls. It was an uneven dispersion between those who remained standing and reviewing the maps and those who took seats and watched from the other side of the room.
Like a tour guide, McNaulty walked Crane and Kusaki along the wall as he explained the finer points of what he and the others had learned from their time in the town. As he spoke the two men listened intently, digesting the plethora of information about the patterns of movement that had been observed. McNaulty also explained the flow of movement in the community. “The traffic on the main roads was heaviest from 0630-0745 and mild until picking up again at 1600 and continuing until 1730,” he explained. “During those hours the roads are in a terrible state of congestion and it would be impossible if someone had to move fast, either getting away or reaching their targets.”
“I see,” Crane replied calmly as he eyed the map depicting the road system of the town. McNaulty had already used a red pen to mark the exact roads he was referring to and how they correlated to the docks, to make it easier to understand.
“What about the movement at the port?” the Welshman asked. “What are we up against there?”
McNaulty raised his hand and ran it over his hair. “The fishermen mostly live within walking distance of the port, and they’re out on the docks moving their boats out at around 0400 to 0500. It’s a bloody fuckin’ riot down there during those times. After that, though, the place is dead until they start to come back in which is around 1800 and continuing sporadically until 2000. Some stay out even longer with boats continuing to trickle in clear up ‘til midnight.”
“A very dangerous unknown variable,” Kusaki stated. “One that could cause us serious problems.”
“Or is it?” Crane continued to stare at the map. “You mentioned the fishermen. I saw several boats out there that were hardly fishing craft; they appeared to be more for hobbyists.”
“We’ve only seen them once since we’ve been here,” McNaulty explained. “And that was on the weekend. Then they take to the water individually, some going out early morning, others mid-morning or in the afternoon, no reliable schedule at all. And it’s like that with them coming back. They just trickle in at all hours during the weekend.”
“What are you thinking?” Kusaki asked as he eyed Crane carefully.
“From what I see on this map and from what McNaulty has explained, we are limited in the ways we can mount a reasonable assault. The docks are narrow and busy which would be restricting and what’s worse, it has a very informal system for docking the boats which means we’re fighting in a giant floating junkyard. And, if that’s not the issue, the main roads are going to be busy with traffic clear up until the late in the evening.”
“I wish we had more time to plan,” Kusaki interjected as he moved up to have a closer view of the map.
“It’s what happens when you’re in the field,” Crane reminded. “You work with the actionable intel you’ve got and plan with the timeline you’ve been allotted. We have less than five days to prep for an operation against a ship we’ve never seen that is coming in anytime between say 2300 to sometime around 0200.”
“And, that’s assuming that something doesn’t change in their timeline before then,” Kusaki pointed out.
The next two days were a monotonous routine: watching the port as the fishermen went about their business and showing up at the hours McNaulty had noted, then watching the slow meandering way they set off for their fishing runs. Later the men would head to the beach where they spent the next hour exercising; first running a few miles across the sandy beaches as the sun began to rise, then following up with workout drills that had them swimming against the heavy incoming tide. It was during this time that they recced the remainder of the coast to get a better idea of the surrounding terrain.
Later, acting as boating enthusiasts, they would break up into pairs and walk about the piers to get a feel for the type of conditions they could expect to be operating in. Most of the boats were way out in the water, connected to land only by a long rope tied to the craft and running into the shallows. The old wooden docks that did exist were weathered and warped. They wobbled with each crashing row of waves that rendered them very unstable.
For good measure a group also recced the cargo port. On the off chance that their quarry did decide to land there, they wanted to acquire a good working knowledge of the place so they could develop an alternate plan. Just as McNaulty had described, the place was an easy walk from the housing area and a lot closer to their base of operations than the other port. It was also much larger, with a variety of avenues in and out that they could work with, not to mention the fact that the piers were much sturdier and better constructed plus the docks were able to accommodate road vehicles.
Back at the house, they ran several scenarios with the maps. First, they worked with the idea of assaulting by land and moving onto the docks. A half dozen ideas were tested out using this paradigm with each one proving an utter failure. The docks were too narrow to operate on effectively and would prove virtually useless if the target opted to land somewhere away from them.
It was then that Harkness offered the idea of assaulting by water using fishing boats to sneak in, launch the assault and then retreat. Running the idea through a few map scenarios they began to see the validity of Harkness’s idea. After another walk through the port and scouting out the waterways, they decided that assaulting by water would make more sense.
Espinoza and Sandoval were dispatched to find the boats they would need for the mission. It turned out to be a task that proved to be more complicated than expected. The boats in the port were all owned by people who had been fishermen for generations and were not inclined to give up the key to their livelihood or were, in many cases, cherished family heirlooms. The weekend enthusiasts, for the most part, owned sailboats that were impractical for their needs. In addition, they too showed little in
terest in parting with a cherished possession.
However, the real problem was that they were in a small town with a long established tight-knit community and boating was a big part of the culture. Trying to obtain any kind of boat without raising a lot of attention was impossible. Eventually, it became evident that they would need to find boats elsewhere.
The Spaniards, along with Harkness, Sally, and Mulgrane were dispatched to Matarani, a port town north of Ilo. The town was a good hundred miles away, and it would take at least a day to get there. It was really time Crane didn’t have; their timetable was already extremely tight. But, that morning the men left in a van they procured for the journey with a bag full of American dollars hidden under the seat masked by some blankets.
It wasn’t until late that evening when Harkness got them back to Ilo. They met Crane and the others at the harbor where Mulgrane and Espinoza driving one tug boat and Sally and Sandoval were driving a second tug boat. Weathered and well used, the boats blended in perfectly with all the others moored along the ports and could be easily dismissed.
With only a few days before the arrival of Gutiérrez and his entourage, the mercenaries wasted no time planning and rehearsing drills in the port. They practiced running dry rehearsals coming into the port and ‘accidentally’ running too close to another boat in an attempt to see what a ship to ship assault would look like, or coming up to the docks and quickly jumping off onto the wooden structures to experience what a ship to pier assault would feel like. They would run these scenarios a couple of times spaced throughout the course of the day in order to prevent unwanted attention. At night, they would conduct more thorough assault rehearsals using night vision optics and personal communication equipment. They placed men who would act as snipers in different locations overlooking the harbor to see what places would give them the best coverage.
In between practicing on the old port, they spent time rehearsing at the cargo port. Due to the problem that the fishing boats would stick out in this environment and they had more room to maneuver on land, it was decided that in the off chance the operation was to be carried out in this location, it would be better to use the trucks and come through the housing area. Running dry runs both during the day and at night at the cargo port, they eventually developed a working alternate plan they were comfortable with should the need arise.
It was three days until the target was set to arrive when they caught sight of Baez. He was walking around the port accompanied by rough looking men who seemed out of place in this environment. From a distance, Crane, Kusaki, and McNaulty watched as Baez and his men toured the coastline in a way similar to how the mercenaries had recced the area when they arrived. As predicted, the cartel boss directed his focus to the old port, signaling where the target was intended to land. Baez took time to chat up some of the fishermen working on the docks. Luckily, he talked to Espinoza who was working on one of the boats when Baez spoke to him.
Once the Baez group left the port, Crane and his team separated and followed them. Using their comms gear, one of them would follow the group, keeping the other two apprised of their quarry’s direction. When the Baez group turned a corner, the pursuer would fall back allowing the tail to be picked up by the next one of the team.
Crane’s team followed the Baez group to a location where they piled into an assortment of cars and left the town. It was easy to guess that with the number of gunmen being brought in for this security mission, and the people he was receiving, Baez had likely found a residence at one of the outlying villas that dotted the countryside.
Returning to the house, Crane had collected the rest of the mercenaries and took them to the living room. Espinoza had returned a short while before them and was crashed out in a chair enjoying a beer. Crane stood, hands on hips, eyeing each man as they trickled into the room. Kusaki slowly melted in with the rest of the group while McNaulty remained next to Crane with his arms folded in his role as second in command. It was a role the men had naturally assumed was his, and he liked to occasionally remind them of it.
The men were gathered in the room with all eyes focused on the Welshman. Crane came right to the point and explained that Baez had been seen in town scoping out the old port all morning. It was clearly an indication that the old port was probably the target location.
Espinoza didn’t wait to be asked about his conversation with the cartel man. He rose from his chair and moved to the wall featuring the maps. As soon as Crane looked in his direction, he began to speak. “While I was working on the boat, Baez came up to me with some guys who looked like hired guns. He talked me up about what the traffic in the port was like in the late evening around the midnight timeframe.”
“You just happened to be the person they chose to have this discussion with?” Macron interjected. His tone clearly implied his suspicion of the Spaniard’s story.
“It’s mid-afternoon when this happened,” Espinoza shrugged indifferently. “The place was largely dead. It wasn’t like they had many options at the time. I was pretty much the only one out there except for a couple of others checking their boats. Besides, it wasn’t like I was the only one they talked to.”
“What did you say to them?” McNaulty asked, wanting to get the conversation back on point.
“What we know,” Espinoza replied. “I gave them pretty much the routine for how boats came in and out and what were the peak hours. Though to be honest, they seemed to know most of this information already. What they seemed to be most interested in was the availability of space at the docks if a boat was showing up for just a short time.
“When I explained that at midnight pretty much everyone would be back, and there would be very limited dock space, especially, if it was a good-sized boat, and he began looking around at the open waters. That was pretty much the entirety of the conversation.”
Crane listened thoughtfully to the Spaniard as he recounted his conversation. His eyes occasionally shifted back to the map of the port. Kusaki suddenly interjected, “We don’t know for sure which way they plan to enter, and it is futile to speculate. Instead, we need to work with what we know.” All eyes were suddenly on the Japanese man where he stood amongst the group.
“I agree,” Crane agreed as he turned to fully face the maps on the wall. “We need to focus on what we know right now and plan from that.” He placed his hand on the map depicting the old port. “Until something changes between now and then, we will design our plan off the idea that our target will land somewhere at the old port, and we’ll focus our energies there.”
He turned to face his men, who were all giving him their full attention. “We’ve already worked up some good plans for how we’ll take them at the port. So, here’s what we’ll do. From now until it’s time to execute, we spend the day working out the details of our plans. We’ll spend the evenings during the hours we expect them to arrive conducting rehearsals. This way we get to practice and people get used to seeing our boats and us during that time period. That will help make it look like a more natural part of our routine. That way when we execute our plan, it will make our movements look less suspicious.”
The men all nodded to express their agreement. Crane looked at his team. His face was stern, and he was serious. “We have two days to get ready. So, we need to make the best use of the time we have.”
Chapter 25
Rainn Darson was deep in thought reviewing the latest intelligence reports sent to her from the EPIC when she was interrupted by Tom Salvaras wildly crashing sound as he burst through the doors into the meeting room. “I just got back from talking to Colonel Cassero,” he began excitedly as he made his way to Darson’s work station. His loud entry gained the attention of everyone in the room. Heads jerked up to see what the excitement was about.
Darson waited while Salvarsas was practically running to get to her. She dropped the documents she had been holding as she wheeled back in her chair to face her compatriot. He came within a few feet of her before stopping dead in his tracks. He ha
d an enthusiastic look of accomplishment and a huge grin spread across his face. “You won’t believe it. The Mexicans came through for us.”
“What the bloody hell are you going on about?” said Ashler, who had walked over to join the conversation.
Darson raised her hand, “Calm down Tom,” she ordered looking at him in bewilderment. “Now what’s happened?”
“The Mexicans may have found him,” Salvaras said, in a calmer manner.
“Gutiérrez?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered happily. “I just got back from a meeting at Cassero’s office, and they have a lead as to his whereabouts. Or how we can track him.”
Shortly after the attacks on the Santiago Shipping Company in Peru, Alvaro Gutiérrez had mysteriously disappeared. It was thought he had gone into hiding. Despite the best efforts from American law enforcement and Mexican intelligence, the drug lord could not be located. From all the communications they had intercepted, even his own organization was ignorant as to his whereabouts.
“They finally found him?” Darson could barely contain her excitement. The last several weeks of having nothing to show for her efforts were beginning to weigh heavily on her. The frustrations of chasing a ghost had taken a toll on the morale of the team not to mention her own self-respect.
As Salvaras continued, he now had the attention of the whole team, and all eyes were on him. “Up to this point, we’ve assumed that with all the heat on him, Gutiérrez simply went underground and was hiding somewhere in Mexico.”
“That was a logical assumption,” Ashler reminded.
“Exactly,” Salvaras went on. “We got so caught up in assuming Gutiérrez was following the usual inclination of other cartel bosses, we overlooked something else. Cassero remembered that Gutiérrez didn’t vanish after Santiago Shipping got hit. He vanished right after Santos Guzman, his cocaine producer, got assassinated and his labs attacked.”