by J. L. Curtis
“Is this what you wanted?”
Setting the rifle down, John nodded. “Probably one of the best rifles ever built. It’ll get the job done. And the combination of the rifle and scope will make it easy.”
Morgan reached down and picked up a smaller package. “Here’s the ammo they sent.”
Reaching for his knife again, John opened that box and whistled. “National Match ammo.” He quickly laid the boxes out, remarking, “Sixty-three, all the same lot.” He opened one box and he grinned. “NM stamp, this is the really good stuff.”
Morgan cocked his head. “Um, is it that good?”
Bouncing the box in his hand, John laughed. “This is probably the best ammo made. It’ll hold one inch at a hundred yards out of this rifle.” Morgan still looked confused, and John added, “Most rifles shoot a five round group you can circle at two or three inches at a hundred yards with good commercial ammo. A match or sniper rifle, they shoot to one inch with five rounds of this stuff.”
Morgan shrugged. “Glad you know that shit. So, this’ll work?”
“Oh yeah. If Menendez can get approval.”
The door opened and Menendez walked in. “Approval for what, John?”
“For us to go after those sicarios.”
“You got it. Have you got a plan yet?”
Patting the rifle, John said, “Lemme see how this set up shoots, then I’ll let you know.” Wrapping it back up, he slid it back in the box and put the boxes of ammo back in the bigger box. “I’ll come back and get the ammo in a couple of minutes. I’m going to go put this in the trunk.” He picked up the boxed rifle and walked out of the office whistling.
Morgan sat down. “I think he’s happy with the rifle and ammo. He lost me with the descriptions, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him smiling.”
“I’ll be smiling if he pulls it off. Another three rangers were killed yesterday and last night. Apparently they’ve also snatched some females out of Cali, according to one of our informants there. Women are running scared and staying off the streets.”
***
John took a hundred peso note out of his pocket and ran it under the barrel, sliding it all the way back to the action, Finally! At least now I’ve got a free floated barrel. That should tighten the groups right up. I’m tired of sanding on this damn stock. He flexed his hand, wincing as he rotated his wrist. This shit gets old in a hurry. Shoot today or… He looked out the window at the trees across the street and noted they weren’t moving. Glancing at his watch, he decided, Shoot today. I’ve got a couple of hours. From that topo, if I can get to the top of that ridge, it’s about four hundred yards to that compound’s patio. That would be where I could take them.
As the sunset painted the clouds in red, gold, and vermillion, John walked back toward the car carrying the tin pie plate he’d used as a target, Less than an inch at a hundred, and three inches at four hundred! This rifle is amazing. I wonder if there is some way I can keep it? Those old boys that assembled this one at the factory done good.
John parked down the street from the house where the team lived, and walked quickly to the front door, gave the coded knock and walked in. He smelled steak and his mouth watered, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. As he walked into the living room, he saw Pasquale slipping a revolver back in his pocket as Fernando carried a platter from the kitchen. “Got enough spare food for me?”
Hector laughed. “Just like a boss. Taking food out of his employee’s mouths.”
Fernando smiled and said, “Hola, Señor! Just a moment, I will bring an extra plate. This means Pasquale will only get one steak tonight.”
Pasquale shrugged. “Eh, I’m eating too much now.”
Felix came in drying his hands. “Something up, boss?”
“After we eat.”
An hour later, John leaned back. “So, can we pull something like that off? Have we got enough Semtex to do the job?”
Fernando rubbed his hands together. “Easily. The only problem might be emplacing it, if they have the driveway guarded.”
“Point. The radios should work fine over that short a range. So if you drop Felix and me off on the backside of the ridge, we can climb it, then be set up as the sun comes up. That would give y’all roughly ten hours to get the Semtex emplaced and fuses run.”
Hector asked, “This is approved? We actually get to go after sicarios?”
John nodded. “Everybody on our side wants this one done. According to Menendez, the Policia Nacional have asked for help.”
Fernando scowled. “That is very bad. When the Policia have to ask for help is not…good. When do we go?”
“I’ll present the plan to Menendez and Morgan tomorrow. I’m guessing in the next couple of days.” There were nods around the table, and John stood up adding, “Thanks for supper. I’m going to head back and figure out how little I can get away with telling the bosses.”
***
Two days later, John and Felix dropped out of the bed of the truck as Hector pulled to the side of Hwy 37. Jumping across the ditch, they blended into the foliage as the truck ground it’s way further up the road. “Let’s go, Niño. I’d like to get up to the top before dark so we can scope the area.” Felix nodded and led off, his AK at the ready. John carried the rifle over his shoulder and kept his hand close to his 1911 as he followed him by a couple of yards.
Two hours later, they topped the military crest of the ridge and John eased forward on his belly. He smiled as he looked directly down on the compound in the distance. He looked at the sun and said, “Binocs.” Felix pulled the binocular case out of his pack and handed them across, then low crawled up beside John. Taking the binoculars, he scanned the compound, noting the furniture on the patio and the multiple doors opening onto it. The only guard he saw sat in a chair by the gate to the garage. Passing the binoculars to Felix, he said, “Only guard I see is by the garage gate.”
Felix scanned the compound and finally scooted back. “Concur on the one guard. Looked like somebody moving behind one of the doors, but nobody came out. One truck and one BMW in the driveway. What now?”
John pointed to a couple of fir trees growing close together and said, “Let’s make our camp there. I need to get some sand or dirt.” Pulling a pair of socks out of his pack, he slipped back down the ridge as Felix set up a rough camp and dug a slit trench further down slope. A half hour later, John was back, bouncing both socks, now full of dirt. “Not perfect, but these should work.”
“Something to stabilize the rifle?”
“Yeah, used to do this to sight in rifles. Takes the shake out.”
“They used sandbags in the Corps.”
John chuckled. “Don’t have any in your pack, do you?”
“Nah, if I never see another one, it will be too soon. How do you want to do this?”
“Turn and turn until it’s dark. Then sleep. I don’t think these guys patrol at all, so we should be fine. I want to be set up when the sun comes up. I’ll scope, you spot and call my shots.”
“Okay.”
John took a piss, had a quick drink out of his canteen, then picked up the binoculars and crawled back to the top of the ridge, settling down behind a bush as he scanned the compound. Just as Felix crawled up to relieve him, they heard a truck growling up the driveway. He handed the binoculars to Felix. “Looks like the same type of truck.”
“Yeah. Identical. The guard is opening the gate, and…they parked next to the other one. Seven, eight, no, nine out of the back and two out of the front. None of them look like the pictures you showed us.” They heard a horn honk, and the guard jumped up, opening the gate. “BMW, and Fuentes driving. Shit, I missed who was in the passenger seat, but male.”
Two hours later, Felix said, “I’ve got those three on the patio. I think it’s Escobar, Fuentes, and I don’t know who the other one is, but he was in the truck cab.”
John nodded. “Give me the binocs and go rack out. I’ll watch for a bit, then go down fo
r a few hours.” Felix crawled back from the ridge line, turned and moved quietly down to the trees where their camp was. John settled in, scanning and watching the windows, in addition to the patio and the gate guard. They seemed to be changing about every four hours and doing nothing but sitting at the gate. No walking around, nothing. After an hour, he eeled back and went to the trees, laid down and used his pack for a pillow.
***
John jerked awake, looking around as he reached for his pistol. He could make out shapes and realized it was dawn. Felix came walking back from the slit trench, and John said, “Morning.”
Felix sighed. “I really want a cup of coffee.”
“Yeah, I do too, but we’re not going to get one anytime soon. Lemme take a dump and we’ll get set up.” He got up as Felix kneeled and started repacking his pack, gnawing on a ration bar he’d fished out of a side pocket. John finished his business, covered the trench and brought the entrenching tool back, handing it to Felix. “Lemme wipe the rifle down and reset my pack. I want to set up under that same brush we were using yesterday.”
“Okay, I’ll set up on your left.” Felix got up, shouldered his pack, and walked up toward the crest.
Ten minutes later, John low crawled up next to Felix, the rifle across his forearms. He picked up the two socks and moved them around, finally stacking them on top of each other. Sliding the rifle on top of them, he wiggled down into a shooting position, then swayed back and forth. “Okay, I can cover most of the compound from this position. Now we wait. Sun is to our left, so don’t go too far that way with the binocs. I don’t know if Patron and them are in position yet, but you might try them on the radio.”
“Okay.” Felix pulled the radio out of his coveralls, stuffed the earpiece in, and said softly, “Patron, Niño.”
He was surprised to hear an immediate reply. “Niño, we are ready. Out.”
“Damn, they’re ready. And must be pretty close, as good as I could hear them.”
John nodded. “Good. Let’s hope they remember not to fire the Semtex until we tell them.”
An hour later, Felix said, “Movement on the patio.”
Training his scope on the patio, he replied, “Looks like they are setting up breakfast.”
“All I see is maids. And one of them is limping.”
“Yeah. I see that. Guard just changed at the gate.”
Another twenty minutes, and four men walked out onto the patio. “Yep, Fuentes and Escobar. Maybe the other two are their team leads. You gonna take them now?”
John replied, “No, I want to wait until they are sitting down. I shoot now, the other one could drop behind that patio wall, and I couldn’t get him.”
“Okay.” They both watched for a couple of minutes as the two of them had a private conversation, then moved back to sit at the table. The other two men joined them at the table, and a string of women came out carrying food on trays. They served the four men, and the last girl, limping set a pan on the table in front of Fuentes. John watched through the scope as he said something then casually backhanded her, knocking her to the ground. He half stood, pulling a pistol from his waist and John growled, “You don’t hit women, asshole,” as he pressed the trigger. He quickly worked the bolt and shot Escobar as he started up. Running the bolt again, he put a third round in the third man looking frantically around.
Felix said, “Fourth guy is running for the…and he’s in the door. Dammit. I thought you were going to warn me. Guard is up and looking this way.”
John wiggled around and put the scope on him, pressed the trigger, and Felix said, “That got him. None of the other three are moving. Now what?”
“We wait. Tell Patron not to blow the driveway yet.” He went back to scoping the windows he could see, and checked the three down on the patio, noting that the girl had disappeared.
Felix said, “Patron copied hold. Hey, they are running for the trucks. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and the one guy you missed on the patio.” John swung back that way, but didn’t shoot as he saw one of the sicarios run to the gate and pull it open.
Scooting around, he sighted on the driveway. “Have Patron get ready, maybe we can blow those assholes away at the bottom of—” The trucks sped through the gate and started down the driveway as John sighted in on the second truck’s windshield. “I wonder,” he murmured, “Going for the windshield on the second truck.”
Felix’s reply was lost in the crack of the rifle, and the truck veered into the side of the driveway, then turned hard right, plunging over the side of the hill. John raised up, quickly sighted on the first truck’s windshield and fired again, then a third time. The truck slowly drifted right and rolled as the wheels fell off the side of the driveway. “Tell Patron not to fire. Sweep up the driveway, and make sure all the sicarios are dead.”
Felix passed it and asked, “What are we going to do?”
John smiled and Felix backed up. “I think we’ll pay a visit to the compound. Shouldn’t be too hard to get down there from here.
A half hour later, the team met on the patio of the compound. Hector said, “Only one of the sicarios survived the accident. Chico,” he pointed at Montoya, “Took care of him, he cut his throat and pulled his tongue out. Something they’re calling a Colombian necktie. It is how they handle informants. All of the workers, and the women have been told to take the BMWs and disappear.”
John nodded. “Good.” He picked up Fuentes’ body and shoved it to the patio. Dipping his finger in the blood, he spelled out no golpees a las mujeres on the table. He looked at Hector. “Got another couple of those jokers?”
Fernando smiled as he reached in his shirt pocket, picking two cards out by their edges. John took them the same way, putting one in each of the shirt pockets of Escobar and Fuentes. He looked at Montoya. “Colombian necktie?”
“Confusion factor. We do it and leave one freshly dead, it makes them wonder how we got the information. And they start maybe not trusting their sicarios so much.”
John nodded. “Makes sense. Good job. Let’s get out of here.”
***
There was a small going away party for Felix at the house, with Menendez and John sneaking in to participate. Menendez had paid for good Argentine beef, and that, and the notification that Felix would be promoted, had livened things up considerably. Montoya quietly helped out with the cooking and the cleanup, and John noted that the rest of the team seemed to accept him quickly. Hector staggered up late that night. “Oye Lobo, you know…hic…Carlos and I are…rel…related?”
John shook his head. “No,” he said patiently, “I didn’t know that.”
Hector’s exaggerated head nod was followed by a smile. “Si, we are rel…relatives by marriage. His wife is the…hic…twice cousin of my wif…Hic.”
“Got it, Hector. Now go sit down before you fall down.”
“M’kay.” Hector wandered off to the couch, sat down, and was asleep five minutes later. John and Menendez slipped out a little after midnight, as the rest of the team started winding down.
Quiet Time
As July rolled around, operations slowed and John got a couple of weeks at home, much to Amy’s delight. Jack was spending a lot of time working on roping with Hank, and as an incentive for him to get better, Hank was teaching Jack a little bit about driving with the old ranch pickup. Amy had told him she wasn’t about to try to teach him, because she was pretty sure she’d kill him for smarting back.
The weeks passed quickly, but at least this time he wasn’t hurting and was able to handle all of the things that needed doing. Billy and Ana had shown up one weekend, and the girls disappeared, leaving John and Billy on their own. Billy had pumped John for information, and told him there were some, as he put it, issues with the sheriff’s office under Simonson’s leadership, or as Billy put it, lack of leadership.
The two weeks were over all too soon, and John was back in Quito, sitting in Morgan’s basement office enjoying a cup of coffee and a Danish when Mason walked in. “Da
mmit, John, you’re a hard man to find! Why aren’t you in your cubbyhole where you’re supposed to be?”
John saluted him with the coffee cup. “Morning. Why should I be in my cubbyhole? There isn’t shit going on. It’s so bad, we’re taking on legal shipping.”
Morgan burst out laughing as Mason sputtered, “Wha…what?”
John shrugged. “Our team has a rep as smugglers. And we have trucks, so a guy down in Portoviejo has contracted with us to deliver criollos to a restaurant in Cali once a month.”
“Criollos?”
“Spanish cattle. Short horns. This guy actually vaccinates his cows, and the restaurant guy wants the beef on the hoof, so we take four or five cows a month up there. Hector laughs about it, but Fernando hates it, claiming they’ll never get the smell of cow flops out of the truck.”
Mason shook his head. “So, you have a contract to ship beef…on the hoof, to Cali. And the DEA is paying y’all to do this?”
John chuckled. “Well, DEA and the restaurant both. Plus, the patron that owns the cows pays the bribe money.”
Mason shuddered. “I know nothing, I hear nothing.” He sighed. “I need to send a couple of guys into the national park, down southeast of Miraflores to look for smuggling routes. The last road stops at Miraflores, and everything else is jungle and indio tribes. We’ve negotiated for a Kankuamo guide to take you down into the region along the border.”
“How do you propose getting them there?”
Mason laughed. “Horses? Or maybe mules. I’m not sure. It’s the usual sister-in-law’s brother’s son is available for guide services for a fee, paid in Bogotá.”
John rolled his eyes. “So how much for the actual guide?”
“Probably the same. Or in kind. Not real sure. You got anybody that can ride a horse?”
“At least three of us.”
“Three? Damn!”
“Me, Hector, Carlos. All raised on ranches.”
A week later, John and Montoya climbed out of the rented Cessna 172 at Miraflores and slung their packs on, as the airplane was gassed up for the return trip. “We’re supposed to meet our guide at the post office.” John looked around and Montoya poked him, then pointed beyond the airplane.