by J. L. Curtis
***
They pulled back into the safe house a little after 0400 and crowded into the small living room. Fernando stood, bowed to John and said, “Thank you for saving my life, Señor! I am in your debt.”
Waving it off, John said, “Okay, that one was a tad touchy. How are we going to deal with shit like this?”
Hector replied, “Pasquale and I will pay a visit to my contact that set up the deal. Trust me, that will not happen again, John.”
“Just get it handled. Speaking of handles, we need code names. I don’t want anyone using their real names on the radio, or anytime we’re interacting with the bad guys.”
A rumble of back and forths continued for a few minutes, as John went to the bathroom. When he came back, Hector said, “I am Patron, Fernando is Rojo, Pasquale is Padre, and Felix is Niño. And you…my friend, you are Lobo.”
John started to say something and stopped. Then started again, “Uh, alright. But Lobo?
The others all laughed, and Fernando said, “El Lobo came out tonight. And thanks to you, we are all still here. Lobo.”
Three hours later, John finished the last of his SITREP detailing the events from last night, took it down to communications at the Embassy then headed to his car. Passing Morgan’s office, he stuck his head in, “I’m out of here. We got back from an op at oh four hundred. I’ll be in tomorrow.” Morgan nodded and John left for his apartment.
Once he got there, he managed to get one boot off and passed out on the bed, one foot still on the floor.
Settling In
Days flowed into weeks, then into a month, as the team continued to operate between the two countries. After Hector’s meeting with his contact after the first operation, they suddenly acquired a new status, got better contracts, and got paid on time. Not that the miraculous death of the cartel sub-boss had anything to do with it…nope, not a bit.
Now they were delivering mostly aviation gasoline, bought out the back door from the airport in Quito, and they had identified and provided locations of five strips being used in the mountains. They’d also provided a couple of dozen tail numbers for the various airplanes they’d seen on the strips, and Menendez congratulated John on the work they were doing, and the quality of his SITREPS.
He’d dutifully passed that along and told Menendez that Felix should be promoted to a team lead and given more responsibility. They were also now part owners of a small building in Quito with a warehouse in back, and room to park the vehicles inside. Bribes paid to the local constabulary ensured they didn’t get robbed, and they had hired a local girl as their secretary, who answered the phone, and brought coffee and pastries in the morning.
It was Hector who had picked up one of the packs of cards John had left at the safe house and noted they were all jokers, with an outline of a wolf as the joker, rather than the standard symbol. “John, didn’t you tell me about some of your countrymen using aces as a calling card in Vietnam,” he asked idly one night as they sat in the safe house, eating the steaks Hector had fixed.
“Yeah, that happened after we left. Around sixty-six, I think. I believe it was the Electric Strawberry that did it. It was a psychological warfare thing. They tagged VC, put them on trails, and in villages they’d cleared.” He smiled. “Whether or not it worked, well…that’s debatable. My guess is as superstitious as the Vietnamese are, it probably did.”
“Well, you’re El Lobo, and we’ve got a box full of jokers here.”
“They’re all jokers?”
Hector fanned the deck, “All jokers.”
“Weird. Tell me more about this superstition thing.”
Just as Hector pointed to the cactus in the window and said, “Cactus in the window wards off evil,” the coded knock came at the door, and Fernando, Pasquale, and Felix walked in.
Fernando smiled, “Got another delivery. This time they want ten barrels of avgas and ten of acetone. And this is one we haven’t delivered to. Up by Las Perlas off sixty-five.”
Hector pulled out a battered map and followed Highway 65 until he found Las Perlas. “Looks like fifty miles as the crow flies. When do they want delivery?”
“It’s Acevado again, so probably either dusk or dawn. The usual fees.”
John looked at the map, “This is right up against the national park or forest, whatever that is. I’ll put that in tomorrow’s sitrep. So, cactus in the window?”
Hector pointed at the door, “Upside down broom on the back of the door, no witches or visitors.”
Fernando grumbled, “Talking about superstitions?” John nodded and Fernando continued, “Pinch a redhead for luck. Got that shit a lot growing up. My hair was bright red when I was a kid.”
Pasquale added, “Never step into a room left foot first. If you do, make the sign of the cross three times.”
Felix sighed. “My abuela always said Tuesday the thirteenth was bad luck, not Friday the thirteenth.”
“So, what y’all are saying is there are a lot of Spanish superstitions, then.” The other four nodded and John cocked his head. “We might, might use the jokers depending on the circumstances.”
***
Two days later, they delivered the avgas to a strip hacked out of a pasture just below the top of the ridgeline. John once again pulled guard duty, a boonie hat pulled down over his hair, and staying at a distance, his skin darkened with shoe polish. The old truck the sicarios had wouldn’t start, and they had Fernando drive another couple of miles on a dirt track climbing higher into the mountains. Hector and Pasquale rode in the back, AKs at the ready as they hung on to the stake bed.
Pasquale sniffed. “You smell that?”
Hector sneezed. “Smells like somebody is cooking shit. They must have a lab up here. That would make sense. They use these strips to fly the coke out, so why not have the product close to the strip. They abandon them routinely, so I’m wondering if they also abandon the labs the same way.”
“Could be.” Fernando slowed the truck as they entered a cleared area. “Looks like we’re here.” The head sicario motioned Fernando to back the truck around. They shoved the barrels to the back of the truck, while another sicario went to a concealed entrance and yelled. Seven men came out, pulling masks down and offloaded the barrels one by one, rolling them over to a stack off to the side.
The head sicario handed Fernando a briefcase, made a shooing motion, and turned back to harangue the men as Fernando drove slowly back down the track. Pasquale remarked, “I’ll bet Señor John would like to know about this.”
Hector nodded thoughtfully as they bounced back down the track.
The next morning, John was waiting in Morgan’s office when Menendez came in. “Got something that might interest you. There is a cocaine processing facility within a mile of the strip we serviced last night. We delivered ten barrels of acetone to it, so they are processing a lot of coke up there.”
Menendez rubbed his jaw slowly, then glanced at Morgan. “You got any assets you can spare?”
Morgan shook his head. “Not really. I’m shorthanded too.”
“John, your team is small, actually too small,” said Morgan. “Do you think you could blow it somehow, make it look like an accident? John, are there any guards?”
“Not that I know of, or at least they didn’t see any guards. I think we could blow it. All acetone needs is a flame and it will go up like a bomb. I’d need…some det cord, caps, and timers. What about the workers?”
Menendez shrugged. “Don’t know. If you let them go, they’re going to talk. If they’re all dead?”
“I would hate to kill…well, they’re not really innocent, but they aren’t combatants.”
Morgan interrupted. “Could they tie this back to your team, since you serviced that location?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Morgan and Menendez looked at each other, and Morgan pulled a map of Colombia out of his safe and spread it on the table. He pointed out various locations as he said, “These are locations we believe they co
ok cocaine. Don’t ask me how we got this.”
John looked thoughtfully at the map and pointed to three suspect locations high in the mountains. “Those are remote enough that we could probably take them out and not be suspected.” He looked at Menendez. “Will you let me make decisions about the workers on site?”
“If it makes you feel better, sure. Anything we do that cuts into their production would be good. And for the record, I don’t like killing innocents either.”
John quickly copied the map coordinates and got up. “We’ll need to scout these. When can I get the explosives?”
Morgan stood. “Why not now? If you need more, you can always come back later.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got another agriculture meeting in an hour. Let’s get it done before the guests get here.” They went down to the basement, Morgan unlocked the door, and he and Menendez watched as John pawed through boxes of explosives, taking a roll of det cord, a half dozen blocks of C4, a padded box of blasting caps, and a dozen clock timers.
Morgan handed him another Navy sea bag, and John laughed. “What d'you do, get a special on these things?” He loaded the bag carefully, making sure the blasting caps were on top of the load so they wouldn’t be crushed by anything else.
Menendez shook his head. “You…know what you’re doing with that stuff? I always thought you were never supposed to have blasting caps anywhere near the explosives.”
“You’re not supposed to, but I’ve carried all this crap in an Alice pack more than once in ‘Nam. Needs must and all that. I’m real careful.” He gingerly picked up the half full sea bag and headed up the stairs. “I’ll go put these in the trunk and come back for the meeting.”
Back in Morgan’s office, Morgan handed a cup of coffee to Menendez, who said, “John is interesting. Vietnam vet, a Green Beret, did a long time up on the Ho Chi Minh trail. They apparently spent a lot of time living with the Montagnard tribes and routinely got in the shit. Some of them apparently went native, and they consider all of them crazy. They all came back…different, I guess is the best way to put it. They knew they were fighting a losing battle, but never gave up, and the VC were always looking for them.”
“So, he’s about perfect for this job then? Or is he a loose cannon waiting to go off?”
Menendez gave him a Polish salute. “I…guess he’s the round peg in the round hole. He knows irregular warfare, knows the jungle, and how to operate there, no question. He knows how to kill and apparently has no problems doing it.”
***
John and Fernando, both dressed in grey workman’s coveralls, jumped out of the back of the truck as Hector pulled to the side of the road high in the mountains. Dragging their backpacks off the tailgate, they dropped quickly into the ditch as Hector walked over and pissed in the ditch. “Señores, I will be back here tomorrow at the same time. Please be here. Vayan con Dios.” He zipped up, walked back to the truck and drove off, as John and Fernando melted into the jungle.
After a hundred yards, John took a knee, pulling out his map. Fernando did the same, and John said, “Remember, one circle of the camp, then watch. I’ll do the same on the far camp and meet you at the clearing north of the middle camp at zero eight hundred. That should give us time to do that camp and get back here in time for pickup tomorrow. These radios won’t last the entire time, so turn it on at the top of the hour for five minutes. If everything is okay, I will not say anything.”
Fernando nodded and whispered, “Si, Jefe, I will do the same. If I hear gunfire, I will turn the radio on.”
John slapped Fernando on the shoulder as he got up. “I’ll do the same. See you in the morning, Fernando.” He moved off quietly, disappearing quickly into the jungle.
Fernando shook his head, I didn’t believe him about the gray coveralls, but he is gone. He checked that his Browning was secure in its holster, took a compass bearing, and moved off toward the nearest camp.
The next morning, they met at the clearing and compared notes. Fernando said, “They are definitely cooking coke. I counted ocho hombres at various times. It looks like six-hour shifts, and they sleep in huts upwind from the camp. There is a rutted track into the camp from the northwest, but I saw no guards or vehicles.”
John nodded. “Basically, the same at the camp I watched. The track ends at that camp, so I’m guessing they are the end of the line. I think one man was down, either sick or poisoned, since I saw them trying to take care of him in the hut, and I heard a lot of moaning and coughing.” He got up, saying, “Okay, let’s knock this one out and get back to the road. We’ve got three hours. I’ll go around the eastern side, you take the western, and assuming there is a track coming in, we’ll meet there. We should have enough battery to leave the radios on until we get back together.”
They moved off to the south, and Fernando thought, This crazy hombre is actually good in the jungle. I would never have thought that. As they neared the camp, John motioned to the west, and Fernando gave him a thumbs up as they separated. He made sure his earpiece was firmly in his ear, and double clicked the mic, then heard two clicks back from John.
Thirty minutes later, Fernando heard, “On your right,” over his earpiece. He looked hard but saw nothing until John moved. Shaking his head, he turned toward him, and John said softly, “Let’s follow the track. I’m curious now.”
As they passed the next rough trail down to the first site, they heard a truck grinding down the track, and each of them jumped to opposite sides. A battered stake bed Ford went by with three men in the cab. One of them had a rifle propped on the window frame, pointing loosely out the window. As it passed, they noted a tarp in the back, but nothing else except a few boxes. After it had passed, John stepped back onto the track and said, “That’s interesting. One guard?”
Fernando shrugged. “Maybe. Probably two. Dropping off food and picking up drugs?”
“As good a guess as any.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s see where this comes out. I think we’re within a mile of where Hector is picking us up.” They walked out to the end of the track, and John took notes on the location and identifying landmarks, then said, “Let’s get back in the trees and head for the pickup point. I doubt that anyone will run up on us, but I’d rather not take the chance.”
Twenty minutes later, they were opposite the turnout where they had been dropped off. A couple of minutes later, they heard a car coming up the road, and saw Hector wave out the window as he swung in. They piled in and Hector said, “Canteens of water in the back floorboard. Followed a box truck up the hill, watched it turn down the track to the little strip. And I found a place about a half mile further up to hide the truck if we decide to do this.” He quickly turned the car and headed back down the hill as John and Fernando gulped the water.
“Thanks, Hector. I needed that.” Fernando echoed him from the backseat and John continued, “If we had one more man, we could pair off and do all three at the same time, because there don’t appear to be any guards with them. Fernando?”
“No, Señor. I only saw one… Químico, how you say--”
“Chemist? Or maybe laboratory manager?”
“Si, laboratory manager. He had a mask hanging around his neck, and was bossing the others around, while he stood outside smoking a cigarette. Him I would cheerfully kill. He was an el cabrón to the others.”
Hector looked in the mirror and laughed. “So, a cop, who by their nature are assholes, wants to kill another asshole.”
Fernando smiled. “But it’s my job to be an asshole. Him, no. He is just power hungry, and little…bad combination in a macho world like this.”
John nodded. “Yeah. The question is, what will we do with the workers? Let them go, or kill them?”
Hector replied, “I’d let them go, if they’ve been forced to work. If not—” he shrugged, “They die in the explosion.”
John bit his lip. “We’ll figure out something.” I really don’t want to kill any more than we absolutely have to. But what do we do with them? I
don’t have a good answer for that. It’s too far to walk back to town. Maybe…give them a ride to the barrio and let them disappear in there?
Active Operations
John and Menendez walked around the garden at the embassy slowly, enjoying the mild weather as Menendez mulled over the best way to handle the plan to destroy the three labs. He flicked ashes off his cigarette, looked up at the blue skies and colorful birds flying overhead and said, “I don’t have any extras to send down. You want to do this ASAP, right?”
“I’d like to do it in the next couple of days, preferably tomorrow night. It’s supposed to be minimal moonlight and possibly raining. That’s going to keep people in, and the less people that see us drive up the road, the better.”
“How are you going to make yourself less…recognizable? You do sort of standout.”
John laughed. “Boonie hat down tight over the hair, camo on the face, and everybody in generic gray worker's coveralls. Plus, it’s going to be dark.”
“Okay. You’ve got five. If I go, that makes six. Two per site, but none of the others have worked with me in the field. Do you trust me in the field, John?”
“You’re my boss. I have to trust you. I’ll take you with me, rather than pairing one of the others with you.”
“You still didn’t answer my question, John.”
John shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you operate.”
Menendez shook his head in exasperation. “You are one stubborn bastard, aren’t you?”
“What you see is what you get with me. Are you in or out?”
“Oh hell, I’m in. Where and what time are we leaving?”
“Twenty-one hundred from the warehouse. Shave and a haircut is the access knock in the alley.”
“I’ll be there. Consider this your approval for the op.”
A Marine lance corporal interrupted them, “Mr. Menendez, you have a secure call in Mr. Morgan’s office. He requested we find you immediately.”