The Devil's Shadow: A Gun-for-Hire Thriller

by J E Higgins

  By now Darson was at the edge of her seat with her chin resting on her fist in a thoughtful manner as she listened intently. The rest of the team took positions around the meeting table or standing beside Salvaras in a loose circle. Despite all the attention on him, Salvaras went on with his explanation as if he were speaking only to his boss. “So, based on that assumption, I began looking at old intelligence reports about the Guzman operation. Black Crow cocaine comes from Peru, which is largely general knowledge. But reviewing the intelligence reports on Guzman’s operation, I found its organizational makeup was described as highly compartmentalized with only Guzman and his very top echelons having full knowledge of the entire operation.”

  “In other words, it’s a complete shit storm down there. When Guzman was suddenly taken out, there’s nobody in a position to replace him or assume control of the organization to carry on with business,” Darson interrupted.

  “Exactly!” Salvaras agreed, pointing his finger in her direction as if she had just won a prize for her answer. “According to DEA intelligence, the Guzman organization is a mess right now.”

  “Even if that’s true,” Ashler suddenly spoke up, “It would be hard to comprehend his going down there to sort out such a mess as opposed to sending some of his top captains to deal with it. I mean with all that’s happening to the cartel here in Mexico, do you really think that Gutiérrez himself would choose this time to leave his organization hub?”

  “Cocaine is still the prime revenue source for the Black Crow,” Darson began. “It always has been, even with them expanding their arms business into Africa and the Middle-East. Now that the destruction of Santiago Shipping has temporarily halted their transportation route overseas, local cocaine distribution will become even more significant for their organization. They can’t go very long without a large steady supply and that means that getting things up and running in Peru is their top priority.”

  Darson leaned back in her chair, her chin still resting on her fist as she stared off into the distance. “So, going on the theory that Alvaro has left the building, that still leaves the question, how do we go about finding him? I mean since we would have known instantly if he had officially left the country, it’s an easy guess that he snuck out in secret.”

  “That was the same conclusion that Cassero came to,” Salvaras replied, again directing his pointed finger in her direction. “Presuming that an aircraft of any sort would be too easy to monitor flying over so many international air spaces, the likely course would be to travel by boat. Since a yacht would also be too obvious and attention-getting, we have to assume that Gutiérrez left through more secretive means.”

  “A cargo ship or fishing trawler,” Darson surmised. “Something capable of a long sea voyage but would be easily dismissed by everybody.”

  Salvaras went on, “That’s when Cassero began looking at those types of ships that had departed over the last few weeks. Now, we can assume that Gutiérrez was still in the country following the attack on Santiago Shipping and didn’t leave until shortly after the Guzman assassination. So, we eliminated the time that transpired between the two incidents.

  “Presuming our man was trying to move about in such a way that there was no formal record of him leaving or entering Mexico or Peru, we anticipated the vessel would have to have certain features. Besides being ocean-going, which we discussed, it would also need to be a vessel that wouldn’t attract attention and be easily dismissed.

  “We then thought that he wouldn’t go just anywhere, especially to a hostile location without serious protection, so the ship would also have to accommodate a sizeable entourage. Now, cargo ships would be difficult. They would have to dock in places that would require them to register with port authorities everywhere they traveled. However, if they were transporting the group by a large commercial fishing trawler that would be a different story.”

  “Even with all that we have assumed, there are still far too many possibilities spread over a timetable we couldn’t possibly predict,” Ashler commented acidly.

  Salvaras waved off the Englishman as he continued giving his full attention to Darson. “Exactly, so, going back to our theory that our man wasn’t about to go into a hostile situation without a good deal of trusted protection, our Mexican colleagues directed their intelligence people to focus their attention on any unusual movement by the cartel’s top enforcers.

  “It turned out that a week after the Guzman killing, several of the cartel’s longtime enforcers were mysteriously getting pulled from current operations and ordered to Veracruz. We’re talking ex-military Special Forces guys who’ve been with Gutiérrez from the beginning. The intel Cassero’s team collected was that they were being ordered to meet at the port. According to sources at the port, they boarded a ship called the Juan Carlo headed for Chile.”

  There were shocked murmurs throughout the room over this revelation. Darson dropped her hand and began to grin with excitement and a look of triumph. “We’re back in business!” she exclaimed. “Do we know where the ship’s at right now?”

  Salvaras shrugged, “According to what Cassero found, it left port two days ago.”

  “We need to track that ship,” Cassandra Holden practically commanded as she spoke up.

  “That goes without saying,” Darson replied passively as her eyes darted from side to side as she pondered her next action; completely aware that all eyes were fixed on her. “We need to get in contact with EPIC and see if we can track this ship by satellite and follow its movements. I’ll also get in touch with Leveran and see if he can quickly arrange a trip to Peru for us and then make arrangements with the locals to assist us when we get there.”

  “Peru?” Holden exclaimed. “He just said the ship was going to Chile.”

  “Of course it is,” Darson replied excitedly. “What better way to throw everyone off than taking a ship that goes on past your destination to somewhere beyond. I’ll bet that somewhere on that journey the ship is going to make a move into Peruvian waters and skirt the land long enough for Gutiérrez to get off. We just have to figure out where.”

  Ward Kenner shook his head, “Yeah, but even if we did that, what’s our end game?”

  “What do you mean?” Salvaras asked.

  Kenner continued, “I mean we’re moving operations to Peru; it’s a different country and outside of our current parameters. On top of that, we’re talking about tracking this guy as if it’s already a done deal to simply follow him there and pick up where we left off. We haven’t even coordinated any of this with the Peruvians not to mention our own government.”

  “He’s right,” Holden spoke up. “Even if we follow him to Chile or Peru, to what end since we don’t have anything on him.”

  “More to the point, we won’t have the infrastructure down there,” Joseph Pierce was quick to remind everyone. “Hell, it took us quite a while just to build up this operation and develop a working relationship with the locals. You’re planning on following this guy into a country where we have no real support. Worse yet, he plans on going into the deep jungles that are practically the cartels’ backyard. Which means we’d really just be floundering around out there.”

  “Not quite,” Darson folded her arms as she rose from her seat and began to walk slowly out of the circle the team had created around her. “We’re overlooking the big break Gutiérrez has given us. He’s trying to enter Peru illegally.”

  She stopped and raised her head, aware that all eyes were still focused on her. Poised like a general about to address the troops before combat, she turned smartly to face them. “He’s given us that. I’m not thinking of trying to follow him into the jungle. I want to nail him at the port as he tries to enter and have the local authorities arrest him.”

  “That’s awfully thin,” Holden replied. “That lands him where? Being held a few months at best, if we’re lucky, and then he merely gets extradited back to Mexico.”

  “True, it’s not much,” Darson calmly explained. “Aside from th
e fact it will seriously humiliate Gutiérrez and draw a shit load of unwanted exposure he certainly doesn’t want. It will also serve to stop him from completing his intended business. If he’s in custody he’s not out in the jungle sorting out his production mess and that means his cocaine supply is in serious jeopardy. Besides, this will really take a whack at his reputation as untouchable.”

  “That will certainly work in our favor,” Ward Kenner spoke up for the first time in the conversation.

  Pierce snorted, “It doesn’t get us much closer to out abilitiy to extradite the man. Isn’t that the reason we’re down here?”

  “Wars are won, a battle at a time,” Darson replied as she smugly smiled back at the ATF agent. “We don’t often get to choose our fights. In situations like this, we just make the most of them. Besides, if we find other things like illegal weapons on board the ship, the US can at least use that to apply pressure to ensure he does time in a Peruvian prison. In that case, we still accomplish some of the intended results.”

  The room was quiet for a time as everyone pondered her words carefully. Darson said nothing more, there was no need. They all understood they had no other options, nor did it seem they would have any in the near future. Ultimately, the team would have to come to the same conclusion. This was their best chance to get Alvaro Gutiérrez.

  Sarah Dijoubi had been allowed only a brief interval of time between receiving the emergency contact signal from Ashler and when the time he indicated he needed to see her. She wasn’t able to make the usual planning arrangements for security that she normally took when setting up a clandestine rendezvous.

  The two met up at an old museum that had been predesignated as an emergency rally point. When they met, he came straight to the point. He explained how the task force had possibly located Gutiérrez and their plans to intercept the vessel he was likely traveling on. The meeting ended in less than ten minutes with Ashler returning to the task force headquarters and Major Dijoubi rushing to make contact with her own superiors.

  She rode the bus the last distance of the carefully chosen route she was taking. Despite the haste by which this had all happened, she was still able to take all the necessary precautions to ensure she was not being followed. Even under these circumstances, she still made sure she varied her route and stopped at her usual cosmetic shops and tourist attractions to give a pursuer nothing but the idea she was just a tourist.

  Finally, she reached her destination. The bus pulled to the curb and slowly lurched to a stop ending with a powerful jolt that shot through the massive vehicle. The Englishwoman figured that the poor driving was the result of an inexperienced new driver or one entirely indifferent to his passengers. Regaining her balance, she walked down the aisle, then down the short stairway and stepped out. She felt a sense of relief as her feet touched the sidewalk, resisting the urge to turn back and shoot an obscene finger to the fat sweaty man who drove the bus.

  Circumnavigating the heavily cracked sidewalk, she rounded the corner and made her way to the small hotel at the end of the street. It was a charming little establishment that catered to foreign backpackers and expats who had limited funds to enjoy the city. It was also an easy place for a spy to blend in and go unobserved. Walking through the rusted, iron gate that guarded the way, she entered the inner sanctum of the large concrete compound. Inside she found several hotel patrons around the pool in their lawn chairs soaking up the afternoon sun while enjoying cocktails.

  Outside of Americans and Canadians, the next group to dominate the English-speaking community were Irish. Some were quick to pick up on her distinctive London accent and weren’t reticent about reminding her of the hard feelings carried over from the centuries of occupations that had not yet completely passed. The fact that most of the English speakers were of Anglo origin and would have complicated things for a dark-skinned woman of Indian descent who was trying not to draw attention to herself. But the hotel also offered a sizeable community of Indian and Pakistani visitors which was the real reason she had chosen it. They were people of her ethnicity, a group whose language she could speak fluently and customs she was well versed in allowing her to blend in easily.

  She continued walking as she listened to the conversation being carried on by some of the men sitting by the pool. They were mostly young Americans that had just arrived within the last few days and were enjoying their college vacation. As she strode past them, one of the young men called out to her.

  “Hey, what’s your hurry, where ya goin’?” The blond-haired man, wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a collared shirt that was completely unbuttoned to show off his athletic body, asked. “Come and join us. We’ve got plenty of beer!” He moved out the small gate surrounding the pool and started in her direction.

  Noticing that he was intending to intercept her, Dijoubi quickly swung around and shot him a cold, offended gaze as she began to speak angrily to him in Hindi. The blond man stopped dead in his tracks, his ghostly facial expression registering his awkwardness. Raising his hands defensively he began to retreat while feebly explaining that he was sorry and didn’t mean to offend her. His friends stood watching exhibiting equally uncomfortable looks. The first young man continued backing off as Dijoubi watched him with feigned anger that only made the Americans more uncomfortable. Satisfied she had made her point and had ended any further problems with the Americans, she returned to her business.

  Room 301 was of course on the third floor. It was perfectly located to provide a view of the main streets outside. There were no buildings that overlooked her position and her room had convenient exits and entry points she could utilize quickly. An added bonus was that the maid that serviced her floor was intent on doing the bare minimum of work and was, therefore, not inclined to stumble on anything compromising. Dijoubi was aware that many well-planned espionage operations had been ruined by hardworking hotel staff stumbling onto things that exposed a whole mission. She did not intend to have her mission brought down by an attentive housekeeper.

  Inside her room, she made her way to the washroom and retrieved her vanity case. She found in her travels in hostile countries the best way to hide something was out in the open. Someone with experience would expect elaborate hiding spots and would check spots like the back of a toilet or inside a ventilator system. As a general practice, she kept large wads of money in both locations. She figured if someone was looking for anything to verify her true purpose, they would see such effects hidden so foolishly and instantly write her off as just some ignorant tourist who’d seen too many spy movies. Likewise, if her invader were a thief, they would see the money and likely depart with no further interest in her. Either way, she would be quickly dismissed and free to go about her mission.

  Setting her case on the closed cover of the toilet, she cracked it open and spread it out lengthwise in full display. Her case was designed to hold varieties of assorted perfumes, tubes and compacts of makeup, and application tools among other things. It was all planned chaos designed to quickly confuse or deter any nosey searchers that might come upon her personal bags.

  After several minutes of digging around, she fished out a small disposable phone from the muddle. She didn’t like carrying sophisticated communication devices while in the field. They were flashy and attracted unwanted attention, often from the wrong people. Her usual preference was a disposable phone with pre-paid minutes that were bought locally and could be disposed of easily after each call without causing suspicion. If someone were investigating her, leaving the phone in her vanity case would help promote the image of a scatter-brained woman. And, if they checked the phone, they would find the first three numbers called were to a takeout restaurant or other random place a tourist would be interested in.

  Many lessons had been learned from the dark days of Colombia cartels. In the 1990s groups like the Cali cartel spent fortunes devising highly sophisticated intelligence networks that ensured that no phone conversations could take place in the city without them knowing the details of i
t. Every hospitality business was infiltrated with informants keeping the cartel apprised of the patrons’ activities and meetings. One could argue that they possessed better intelligence services than most major governments in the world. The Black Crow cartel had proven no different in the way it invested in intelligence to ensure they knew what was happening in their territory. For that reason, Dijoubi wanted to keep her profile as low as possible.

  She hurriedly typed in a number she had committed to memory that was answered on the fourth ring by a man who spoke with a distinctly Scottish accent. She identified herself with her designated code name and immediately went into explaining to him everything she had learned from Ashler. She finished the briefing and waited while listening to the sound of the Scotsman’s heavy breathing. After several seconds, the man finally replied, “Keep us posted on any updates as soon as possible.” With that, she heard a beep and the phone went dead.

  The brusque response was exactly what Dijoubi had expected. The man she had just spoken to was a military officer with a long history in special operations. After listening to her brief, he had obviously come to the same conclusion she had. With all of their resources concentrated in the Gulf of Mexico, it was impossible to think they would be able to effectively pull off a mission in Peru.

  Dijoubi inferred from the phone call that her instructions were to hold her team in Veracruz and continue with their surveillance activities. It was a given that if the Americans failed in their little adventure down south then everything would fall back on Mexico. And, if that was the case, it would be essential that the intelligence network she had carefully cultivated over the last several months in the Veracruz area should be maintained. Her superiors would have to think of a different means to intervene.