by Spell, David
Myer’s face turned red. “Yes, sir,” he managed to answer.
“How many deployments have you had, Commander?”
“Well, I…none, sir, I’m a part of the HQ Unit. I serve in an administrative capacity.”
The admiral looked at each of the three lieutenants. “How many combat tours have you gentleman had?”
Two of the LTs had three tours, the third had four under their belts. The chief petty officer was the true veteran with seven deployments under his belt. Williams turned his attention back to the commander.
“You have a lot of experience in the room here, Commander Myers,” Williams pointed at the lieutenants and the chief. “Let’s take advantage of that, shall we? We’re not launching an attack on Mexico, Commander. That would be an act of war. Our military and federal law enforcement units will be conducting a rescue mission of American citizens who have been kidnapped by a criminal organization.
“The federal law enforcement officers accompanying your units will be attempting to serve criminal arrest warrants on three cartel leaders. If they’re able to execute those warrants and make arrests, the suspects will be brought back to the United States where they will stand trial. That seems pretty clear, Commander.
“We will not be coordinating with the Mexican authorities because we don’t want to have our mission compromised. The Commander-in-Chief, that’s the President, Commander, is determined to deliver these young women back to their parents.”
By now, Myers looked like he might be sick, having been dressed down in front of his subordinates. The admiral quickly shifted gears.
“Commander, we all have our areas of expertise,” the older man said, kindly. “I’m guessing that you’re in admin because you’re good at it?”
“I like to think so, sir,” he answered, quietly.
“Good. This mission is going to require quite a bit of logistical support and I believe that you’ll be a valuable asset to the team. The lieutenants and the senior enlisted men can focus on what they’re good at and you can do what you’re good at. How does that sound?”
“That sounds like a good plan, sir” the chastised officer replied.
Williams withdrew a piece of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket, unfolded it, and handed it to the lieutenant commander.
“This is a list of a few things that I need taken care of ASAP. Could I impose upon you to go and get started on them immediately?”
Myers stared at the list in front of him, his jaw dropping open the further he read. He suddenly realized that the retired admiral was waiting for an answer.
“You mean right now, sir?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Williams said, with a smile. “My assistant, Shaun, will come with you and explain everything to give you some context for those items.”
Taylor took his cue and stood, waiting on Myers. The naval officer quickly jumped to his feet, snapping to attention. He almost saluted, thought better of it, nodded at the admiral, and left the room.
The CIA’s Director of Operations turned his attention to the SEALs still seated around the table.
“Well, gentleman, now maybe we can get to work?”
“Yes, sir!” came the response.
Naval Air Station Firing Range, Coronado, California, Tuesday, 2100 hours
The initial briefing and planning session had taken four hours. Once he outlined exactly what needed to be done, the admiral had left to “let the professionals work.” The SEALs had already started putting an operational order together. Dunning provided the Naval personnel with photos of the two kidnapped girls and the cartel leaders to be distributed to their teams.
Stephen Chan delivered the estimates of enemy personnel at the location. Before the other two cartel leaders had arrived, the CIA analyst had estimated twenty to twenty-five armed gangsters on-site patrolling both in and outside the compound’s walls. When the Sinaloa Cartel and the Juarez Cartel’s leaders arrived the next day, Chan believed that there would be fifty to fifty-five combatants in and around the mansion’s grounds. The analyst also estimated that Pepe had at least fifteen household servants onsite.
They had been unable to locate a floor plan for Corona’s mansion. The Navy commandos had a special software program, however, that generated a probable layout of the house based on photos provided by the Air Force drone. Lieutenant Rogers guessed that the plan was probably sixty percent accurate.
Over lunch, senior Lieutenant Timothy Dye apologized for Commander Myer’s behavior.
“We’re in a transitional time where we’ve lost a lot of our best officers. The war on terror is still happening in a variety of locations around the world. We’ve got teams deployed all over the globe and the commander has only been our OIC for a couple of months. It was nice to see Admiral Williams maneuver him to where he could do the least amount of damage.”
After lunch the three SEAL platoons and the four feds moved to the base firing range. Chuck, Andy, Eric, and Josh were all experts with their weapons. The Navy commandos, however, were never crazy about having non-SEALs accompany them on a mission. The first hour was spent in making sure the federal officers knew how to shoot and understood firearms safety.
After being satisfied that the agents were more than competent, Lieutenant Dye assigned McCain and Fleming to his and Chief Petty Officer Norris’ platoon. Gray and Matthews were assigned to Lieutenant Mike Rogers’ team. The third platoon would be held in reserve aboard the USS Michael P. Murphy.
For the next five hours, Norris, the senior enlisted man for the three platoons, oversaw drills involving shooting while moving, using suppressing fire, transitioning from their rifles to handguns, and how to get a wounded comrade out of the line of fire. Going up against cartel soldiers known for their violence, it was very likely that the teams would encounter resistance. It was vital that each man knew their role, especially the non-SEALs.
Late in the afternoon, the warriors moved over to the Federal Fire Training Center located across the street. Here, they practiced room-clearing tactics with unloaded weapons. The two kidnap victims were most likely locked inside a bedroom in Corona’s mansion, so the men would have to search until they found them. Close quarters battle brings a unique set of challenges, especially while moving inside of a structure.
The teams drilled for eight hours until the naval officers and enlisted men grudgingly admitted that the four cops were “OK.” Of course, Gray and Fleming came from a spec ops background in MARSOC, McCain had worked with an Army SF unit, and Matthews had extensive SWAT training. Everyone knew, however, that the SEALs were in many ways the best of the best and their ‘OK’ meant a lot.
When the four feds were dropped off in front of the base housing unit where they were staying, Lieutenant Dye told them to make sure they got a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow would involve even more intensive training.
Rosarito, Mexico, Wednesday, 2200 hours
Pepe Corona, Chico Perez, and Cara de Bebe Fuentes sat around the table on Jose’s deck, the household servants having just removed the plates from dinner. Bodyguards for each man stayed in the background, warily watching each other and their respective bosses. Corona and Fuentes had enjoyed beer with their meal, while Perez had sipped wine.
The first day had gone better than Pepe could have imagined. He had expected pushback from Fuentes as they discussed the idea of each cartel focusing on a particular region of the United States. Instead, the younger man had nodded enthusiastically. Baby Face had also expressed a desire to maintain the peace between the cartels.
“Amigos, the only way we’ll survive is if we can somehow set aside our differences and work together. I’ll admit that I have a reputation as a hothead. Now that I’m older, though, I want to become more of a businessman.”
Perez had laughed good-naturedly. “Sí, now that you’ve reached the ripe old age of thirty-two, it is time to settle down and become a peaceful man. Maybe you become a priest, Baby Face?”
Juan Pablo grinned at t
he older men. “Maybe. You know the Pope has more money than all three of us combined. Maybe we could start our own church, eh?”
Jose had ordered tequila brought out and the gangsters drank and talked for another hour. Finally, Pepe looked at his companions.
“I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready for bed. But first, I have a special treat for my two good friends. Marcos!” he called to his trusted bodyguard. “Can you bring the girls out?”
Moments later, six young Mexican women were escorted out onto the deck. They had been brought in from two of Corona’s closest brothels. Pepe had paid for each of them to have their hair and nails done and each was wearing a revealing outfit leaving little to the imagination. The Tijuana Cartel leader was pleased to see his companions’ eyes widen as the giggling women now stood in front of them.
“Six girls,” Pepe grinned, “and two of you. I wasn’t very good at math but I think that means you get three apiece.”
“Gracias, amigo,” Chico smiled, his eyes roaming over the bodies of the girls. “And what about you, Pepe? Surely you’re not sleeping alone tonight?”
“Mine are already in my room,” Corona said, with a wink.
“Ah, Pepe saved the best for himself,” Baby Face laughed, climbing to his feet. “I can’t blame him. I would’ve done the same thing. But I’m sure Chico and I will manage, right, amigo?”
The tequila had started to take its toll on Perez and it took him two tries to stand. He held up his shot glass in a toast to Corona and Fuentes.
“Buenas noches, amigos. I look forward to more business discussions tomorrow.”
A minute later, Chico and Baby Face were each escorting three women back inside the house and upstairs to their rooms. Pepe watched them go, feeling optimism rising inside of him. He already led the largest cartel in Mexico. If he could somehow create an alliance with the other two gang leaders, they would be in a position to dictate policy to the Mexican government; in time, they could even take over the government.
“El Presidente Jose Pepe Corona” had a nice ring to it, he thought, as he staggered towards his bedroom where the two American beauties had been brought to await his return. Jose felt a pang of regret remembering that the two girls would be on their way to Saudi Arabia in just a few days. I better enjoy them while I can, he smiled.
Naval Special Warfare Command, Coronado, California, Wednesday, 2300 hours
The humvee dropped the four exhausted federal officers at their quarters. Chuck could not remember ever being so cold, wet, or weary. They had spent the first part of the day practicing beach landings in the SEALs’ Zodiacs, their rigid-hull inflatable boats. For the operation, the boats would be deployed from the Arleigh Burke class destroyer, the USS Michael P. Murphy. The destroyer had been named in honor of a SEAL who was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.
For training purposes, however, the Zodiacs had started several thousand yards off the San Diego coast, motored in quietly, as the troops practiced their deployment and positioning on a deserted stretch of beach. After each exercise was critiqued, the ranking officer, Lieutenant Dye, would give the order to load up and do it again. Each of the men involved in the operation understood that redundancy in training meant lives saved when the mission started.
After lunch, the warriors were back on the range for more live fire training. Every drill and scenario from the previous day was repeated, this time with an emphasis on speed. They eventually stopped to clean their weapons and eat dinner.
They were not done for the day, though, as Dye ordered them back to the beach to rehearse their boat landings in the dark. It had been challenging enough in the daylight. McCain was glad to be with commandos who did this for a living. Finally, at 2245 hours, Lieutenant Dye had called a halt to the exercise, saying that they would meet at 0900 hours the following day.
The logistics of the mission would be discussed in detail, there would be an equipment check at 1300 hours, and they would board the destroyer at 1500. The launch time for the Zodiacs was scheduled for 0300 on Friday morning. It was almost time.
While Chuck knew that the SEALs were the consummate professionals and would do everything in their power to rescue the two young women, for him and Andy this was personal. The cartel had attacked them, almost killing McCain and Fleming’s family. If he was honest, Chuck really hoped that Pepe Corona would give him an opportunity to put the cartel leader out of business for good.
Rosarito, Mexico, Thursday, 1030 hours
Pepe and Chico chatted quietly, sipping strong Colombian coffee as they stared out at the blue waters of the Pacific from their lounge chairs next to the pool. The sky was clear and it looked like it was going to be another beautiful day.
“Ah, look at the early risers!” Baby Face said, with a laugh, strolling out of the house onto the deck. His black hair was unkempt, sticking out at odd angles.
Corona motioned at the pot of coffee sitting on the nearby serving table. “I’d like to sleep later, amigo, but my bladder won’t let me,” the older gangster chuckled.
Pérez nodded. “So true. But after my bladder woke me up, I figured I might as well get the day started right with one of the beauties from your stable, Pepe.”
The three men laughed and Jose led them to the round table, clapping his hands. Several of his household staff appeared bringing out bowls of scrambled eggs mixed with ham and peppers, fresh corn tortillas, and an assortment of fresh fruit. As they ate, Corona began to steer the conversation towards matters of business.
After breakfast, Pepe led his guests into his study where a large map of the United States had been placed on the wall. As they stood around the map, looking at the largest customer base for their drug and sex trade, the negotiations began in earnest. Jose pointed at a bag of off-white powder on the table.
“My friends, I’d like to show you a new product that one of my scientists developed.”
Chico and Baby Face had just assumed the powder was cocaine for them to use if they so desired. They now stared at the powder with renewed interest.
“Several months ago, I asked one of my chemists to see if he could develop something like the zombie virus. That was more than he could handle, but he did come up with this. It’s a mixture of PCP and cocaine. This might be something that you want to add to your inventory of products we’re selling to the gringos. Of course, I’d give you a good wholesale price so you could make a nice profit.”
“Cocaine and PCP?” Fuentes asked. “What does it do?”
“My friend, it turns you into a superhero. Some of my soldiers used it before assaulting a police station outside Tijuana. Four men ended up killing twelve of the pigs, even after the cops had shot them multiple times. I don’t know how my scientist did it, but these soldiers of mine were able to keep fighting for several minutes before succumbing to their wounds.”
Pérez shook his head. “So your men still died. That doesn’t sound like an easy product to market.”
“That’s why I want to start pushing it heavily into the US. I would love to create more discord there. If you watch the gringo news, CNN, FOX, whatever, the police there are really under attack. We think our cops are terrible in Mexico and they are. How many do you each have on your payroll? I have a lot.
“The American pigs, though, I think are mostly honest, but the media portrays them all as corrupt and evil. Nobody even seems to care when a gringo officer gets killed. If we can start pushing my new drug up there, we can turn the heat up on the American police. You’ve seen the news. Every time a cop in America shoots someone, people take to the streets rioting and looting. More turmoil in the US, means more business for us and this drug is perfect for creating turmoil.
“Chico, as for marketing, we don’t say anything. We just mix in a few batches of el polvo del diablo. If we can send the Devil’s powder all over America, we can weaken their society and help them destroy themselves from the inside. The PCP brings out someone’s aggression and heats it up, while the ad
dition of cocaine seems to deaden whatever pain they should feel.
“We’re already sending our worst rapists and murderers over the border. What if we give them the Devil’s Powder and turn them loose in some nice, peaceful gringo city? It will hurt the Americans in ways our rich neighbors have never imagined!”
The other two cartel leaders chewed on the information that they had just received. Making more money and sowing seeds of discord in America were both good things. Anything they could do to weaken the United States would be good for business.
Thirteen miles off the Mexican coast, Thursday, 2200 hours
The sleek destroyer had sped through the Pacific all afternoon, finally slowing and taking up a position in international waters off the coast of Rosarito. All battle stations were manned, as the Mexican Navy was known to confront American warships anywhere close to their territory. The three SEAL platoons prepared the four Zodiacs they would be using for the beach insertion.
A Sikorsky Sea Hawk helicopter was strapped to the helipad at the rear of the warship. The aircraft would be on standby to deliver the reserve SEAL team if the first two ran into trouble. It would also be used to extract the hostages after they were rescued. Of course, the reserve platoon wanted to be in the middle of the action as well but understood their role of providing backup in an emergency.
A final briefing had been conducted at 1900 hours. After that, the warriors had enjoyed a hearty dinner, with most of the men now napping. There would be a final equipment check at 0200 and the Zodiacs would be launched at 0300. The destroyer would move into Mexican territory, deploying the two platoons three miles off shore. The SEALs would motor in for two miles, cut the engines and row the rest of the way to the beach.