Retribution

by Brent Towns

  “So?”

  “They shot almost twenty men, they wore American combat boots, they had automatic weapons. I tell you, they were professionals. Maybe even special forces.”

  Silence. Then, “I will contact the senator and have him find out if there are any special forces in Sonora.”

  “What about the taskforce he told you about?”

  “You think it might be them?”

  “Sí, Jefe.”

  “What do you know about them so far? I asked you to find out.”

  “If it is them, they are well organized.”

  “Bring the money back here. I will think about what to do next.”

  “Sí.”

  Retribution

  “They’re moving out now, Zero,” Teller called across to Ferrero.

  On the monitor, the four vehicles had dropped into column formation and were now making their way through Nogales.

  “Reynolds, do you have enough fuel in that bird?”

  “Yes, sir. Just.”

  “All right. Radio ahead to Kane and give him a rundown on the situation.”

  “Roger, sir.”

  A few moments later Reynolds called up Kane.

  “Reaper One? Bravo One. Copy?”

  Nothing.

  “Reaper One? Bravo One. Copy?”

  Dead air.

  “Do you copy, Reaper One? Over.”

  When Kane’s voice finally came over the net, it sounded to be no more than a hoarse whisper. “Just wait.” That was it, no more.

  Reynolds frowned. “Reaper Two? Copy?”

  “Copy, Bravo One. What’s up? Over.”

  “Cara, is Kane OK? I just tried to give him a sitrep, and he sounded weird.”

  “I think so, Bravo One. He’s on overwatch at the moment. Would you like me to check on him?”

  “Yes. Something isn’t right.”

  “Roger, Bravo One. Wait one. Out.”

  Reynolds glanced at Teller who gave her a quizzical look. She shrugged.

  There was a long silence, and then suddenly Cara’s voice came. “Shit!”

  “Reaper Two? What’s the problem? Over.”

  Silence returned.

  “Reaper Two? Bravo One. Repeat your last.”

  Nothing.

  Then came the gunshot.

  “Reaper Two, come in.”

  Nothing.

  “Reaper Two? Bravo One. Come in.”

  Still nothing.

  “Christ! What is going on out there?”

  Sonora

  It was closer to five feet long than four. Thicker than a man’s forearm, and curled back in an S-shape, ready to strike.

  Large beads of sweat started to trickle down Kane’s face as the rattle at the end of the cold-blooded beast’s tail seemed to reach fever-pitch. He felt it imminent that at any moment the Western Diamondback Rattlesnake would strike and sink its long fangs into the flesh of his face.

  “Reaper One? Bravo One. Copy?”

  Fuck!

  “Reaper One? Bravo One. Copy?”

  Kane stared into the animal’s beady little eyes.

  “Do you copy, Reaper One? Over.”

  “Just wait,” he said in a hoarse whisper without moving his lips.

  He hadn’t noticed the reptile until it was too late. He’d been belly down on the ridge, watching the road, under a damned hot sun when movement to his left drew his attention. When he turned to see what it was, he was face to face with this brute.

  How the snake hadn’t struck out when he first moved, he’d never know. After all, it was no more than three feet from him. More than ample distance for a strike.

  Now, all Kane could do was wait and hope that it slithered away. Although he’d spent countless hours in the jungle with many poisonous reptiles, even encountered the world’s deadliest serpent, an Inland Taipan, while on training maneuvers in Australia, there was something about being face-to-face with a rattler that nothing else compared to.

  A droplet of sweat dripped from the end of Kane’s nose and fell to the burning sand. No sooner had the moisture touched the granules than it was quickly sucked up by the parched ground and disappeared leaving no trace that it had ever existed.

  Then he heard the other sound. The one made by boots crunching on sand and gravel. It was soft at first but gradually grew louder with its approach. When whoever was coming was almost right on top of him, they stopped, and he heard the sharp intake of breath. Then, “Shit!” followed by the sound of fumbling.

  Then the shot rang out, and the Diamondback’s head disintegrated. Left behind was the writhing body and the bloody stump where it had once been.

  Kane rolled onto his back and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Are you OK?” Cara asked.

  “I am now. Thanks.”

  In the background, radio chatter sounded. He said, “Bravo One? Reaper One. You copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “What on earth is going on out there?”

  “Local wildlife problem.”

  “Is it sorted?”

  Kane glanced at Cara. “It is now.”

  More heavy footfalls sounded as Hawk and Traynor came running up the back of the slope. Hawk had joined them an hour before.

  “What the hell was the shot all about?” Traynor growled.

  Cara pointed at the dead Diamondback not far from where Kane lay on his back. Traynor’s mouth formed a perfect O as he stared at it. Then he shivered as the prospect of what could have happened went through his mind.

  “Are you still there, Reaper One?”

  “Go ahead, Bravo One.”

  “The convoy is headed back your way. As before, there are three SUVs and the truck. Except there has been one development. In the lead SUV is Salazar.”

  Kane stared at the others who were now logged into the net. Traynor smiled. “Good, we can drop a Hellfire on the son of a bitch.”

  “No,” said Kane and shook his head. “We stick to the plan. Use the missiles on the escort cars either side of the money truck. If we get a shot at Salazar afterward, then we take it. He’s not the mission. The money is.”

  “Correct, Reaper One,” Ferrero’s voice came over the net. “If you get the chance, take it. Otherwise stay on mission. Do you all understand?”

  They nodded under Kane’s gaze. “Copy, Zero.”

  “Zero, out.”

  “Right,” said Kane. “Traynor, you and Hawk take up position on the other side of the road. Cara will set up her M110 on the crest of the ridge this side. Once it kicks off, push forward. I want the survivors to panic and run. Anyone who presents as a target, kill. No matter what, we secure that money. Got it?”

  Cara smiled. This was the Reaper she knew. The combat soldier from the embassy raid. Professional, confident, hard as nails.

  “What are you smiling at?” he asked.

  “Seeing you this way reminded me of the embassy and what a damned good soldier you were.”

  “You want to hope this don’t turn out the same way,” Kane said, and turned and walked down the slope of the ridge towards the vehicles.

  “What happened?” Hawk asked.

  Cara’s face grew grim. “He got shot. Nearly died.”

  “What embassy are you talking about?” Traynor asked.

  “Philippines.”

  Hawk realized what she was talking about. “He was there?”

  She nodded. “We both were. I was in charge of the security detail, and Reaper was in-country with his recon team. They were actually at the embassy waiting for a ride home when the shit went down.”

  “I heard you lot kicked some terrorist ass defending the joint.”

  “That was all Reaper. He organized the defenses. Called the shots. But if it hadn’t been for an Australian Blackhawk, we’d have been overrun. So, if there were any real heroes that night, it was those guys. He was shot by a terrorist sniper not long after.”

  “And you guys kept in touch ever since?” asked Traynor.

 
“Nope. Never set eyes on him again until he showed up in Retribution.”

  “What makes you think he hasn’t changed since you last saw him?” asked Hawk.

  “He had the chance to walk away from all this, but he stayed. He’s still the same.”

  Hawk nodded. “Good enough.”

  “Reaper One to all Reaper callsigns. When you’re finished with the mother’s meeting you’re having on the ridge, how about we get ready for this mission.”

  Cara said, “Reaper Two, copy.”

  Then she looked at Hawk and Traynor. “Still the same man.”

  Kane studied the small laptop screen and in real-time feed watched the small column’s progress across the rough gravel road. It kicked up a large plume of dust, and Kane thought they were making good time.

  “Bravo One? Reaper One. Do you have the number of Tangos in the lead SUV and in the truck? Over.”

  “Copy, Reaper One. Bravo Three tells me there are two Tangos in the truck and another four in the lead SUV. That includes Salazar.”

  “Copy. How far out are they now, Bravo Three?”

  Teller came on the air. “Reaper One, the target is ten klicks out from your position, repeat, ten kilometers, over.”

  “Roger, ten kilometers from my location. Don’t miss, Bravo One. I’d hate to have a lap full of Hellfire.”

  “Have no fear, Reaper One. I’ve never missed a target before. Never fired at one before either.”

  “You instill me with faith, Bravo One. Reaper One out.”

  “Good luck, Reaper one. We’ll keep you updated. Bravo, out.”

  Kane closed the laptop and removed it from the hood of the SUV. He placed it in the vehicle and turned to face Cara. “You got all you need?”

  In her hands were the M110 and a small case with a laser target designator. Not that they’d need it, for the MQ-1 Predator had its own inbuilt system. But you never could tell. About her head was a sandy colored bandana, and she wore yellow-tinted glasses.

  Her tactical vest held spare magazines and had a holster attached by Velcro low on the left with a Smith & Wesson M&P handgun in it.

  “I’m good.”

  “If you get a shot at Salazar, take it,” he said in a firm tone.

  “If I get half a chance, I’ll shoot the son of a bitch, Reaper.”

  Reaper nodded. He dropped out the box magazine from his HK416 and checked the loads and the breech mechanism to make sure it was all free of sand and grit. Then he reloaded it.

  Like Cara, his tactical vest was loaded with spare magazines, and he also had his handgun in a Velcro holster.

  Both wore tactical headsets with the mic on an arm around the front and the push to talk module attached to the front of the tactical vest. Kane reached up and keyed his. “Reaper Three? Reaper One. Confirmation on target. Ten klicks out, copy?”

  “Copy, Reaper One. Ten klicks. Out.”

  He stared at Cara. “Let’s do this.”

  Salazar stared out at the gravel road before him, deep in thought. The SUV hit a deep rut and lurched to the left. The driver corrected the partial skid, but the sicario didn’t seem to notice.

  The troubled expression on his face said it all as he dwelled on what he’d found in Nogales and the conclusion he’d drawn. American special forces had tried to steal the money. The question was why?

  “You are worried, Jefe?” the driver asked.

  “Tell me something, Raoul. What did you make of the attempted robbery?”

  Raoul used to be Mexican army before he worked out that he could make more money working for the men he had sworn to stop.

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You were military. You must have an idea.”

  “Whoever did it was well trained.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There were three of them, and they shot almost twenty men. They had a sniper and night vision.”

  “Yes, there is that. Anything else? Anything you thought strange?”

  “Why did they not bring more men? They knew what they were doing. They knew that El Hombre would have men close by. All they did was blast the door open, and there was no sign that they tried to open the safe. It would take three minutes for anyone to reach the old bank, and yet if they had explosives, why did they not try to blast open the safe in that time?”

  Salazar nodded but remained silent.

  “That is what bothers me, Jefe. They never even tried.”

  “But why, Raoul? Why would they not try?”

  “If it was to kill El Hombre’s men, then it worked. Or …” his voice trailed away as the thought inside his head silenced his voice.

  “Or what?”

  “Or we are doing what they want.”

  To Salazar, it was like being hit between the eyes with a brick. Of course! That was why they never tried to break into the safe. They already decided that it couldn’t be done. They wanted Montoya to think it could be done and force him to shift his money. Which was what the cartel men were now doing. They’d played right into their hands.

  “Madre de Dios,” Salazar breathed.

  He reached into his pocket to get his cell. But the realization had come too late. Behind them, the first SUV exploded in a giant ball of fire.

  “Reaper One? Bravo Three, copy?”

  “Reaper One, copy.”

  “Reaper One, you should have a visual on the target shortly, over.”

  “Roger, Bravo Three, we see the dust. Estimated time of arrival? Over.”

  “ETA five minutes, Reaper One. The second Hellfire should impact within thirty seconds of the first. No one moves before that. Copy?”

  “Copy. Give me real-time updates, Bravo Three.”

  “Roger.”

  “All Reaper callsigns, copy?”

  “Copy.”

  The minutes seemed to drag by like a three-ton weight at the end of a chain. Then Bravo Three came back to him. “Bravo Three, to all Reaper callsigns. Thirty seconds until Hellfire release, over.”

  The missile would be fired from a height of five thousand meters. At its optimum speed of four hundred-fifty meters per second, the first laser-guided Hellfire would take approximately ten seconds to reach its target.

  “Target acquired,” Teller’s voice was calm, methodical.

  Reynolds said, “First missile away.”

  Kane counted the seconds off in his head until he reached eleven. At that point, two things occurred. The small convoy drew level with their position, and the second SUV in the line was decimated. The high-explosive charge in the Hellfire was designed to knock out a tank. The armored SUV stood no chance.

  Kane watched as a large orange and black ball of flame shot skyward. Debris by way of razor-sharp shards of metal and glass blew in all directions.

  The truck carrying the money skidded to a halt a heartbeat before it slammed into the blazing wreck. The driver threw it into reverse and started to back up.

  Kane toggled his push-to-talk. “Reaper Two, take out the tires on the truck.”

  He heard Cara say, “Copy.”

  The truck started to move and backed into the front of the rear SUV. That vehicle, in turn, began to back up in a hurry and shaped to turn around.

  Kane heard, “Missile two away.”

  Ten seconds later, the Hellfire had the same devastating effect on the half-turned SUV; flames, debris, the shattered, scorched remains of those within.

  The money truck stopped dead in its tracks. The near side tires were shot out, and Cara had just tested the passenger’s window with a 7.62mm NATO round. It punched through the glass with ease and slammed into the passenger. Through the scope, she saw him slump over.

  “Reaper One, moving,” Kane said and rose to his feet. He raised the HK and moved down the slope. In his ear, he heard Traynor say, “Reaper Three and Four, moving.”

  “Reaper Two, keep an eye out for threats from the lead SUV.”

  “Roger.”

  Kane immediately heard g
unfire erupt from the far side of the truck. The driver had emerged and began firing at the two Reaper men as they approached.

  “Reaper One, we’re taking fire from the truck and the lead SUV.”

  “Reaper Two?”

  “On it,” Cara said. Then, “Tango down.”

  Kane looked and saw the doors open on the black SUV. On the near side, a cartel man lay in the dirt. Another had taken shelter at the front of the vehicle, while one or two more were on the off side.

  The team leader saw movement under the truck where the remaining occupant had squirmed for cover. He heard the staccato sound of an AK as the Tango fired at Traynor and Hawk.

  Bullets hammered into metal above the man’s head as he kept firing. Kane swept his HK around and went down on one knee. He sighted on the man’s boot and squeezed off a shot.

  The foot jumped, and the wounded man howled with pain. His firing stopped, and he went still after a bullet from either Reaper Three or Four smashed into his head.

  Kane shifted his aim to the SUV and tried to find a target, but they were masked by the vehicle.

  He toggled his push-to-talk. “Reaper Two, can you get a clear shot at any of the remaining Tangos? Over.”

  “Negative, Reaper One.”

  “Put some fire into the damned thing anyway,” Kane snapped.

  “Roger.”

  “Reaper Three, sitrep.”

  “These fuckers are dug in behind a large rock, Reaper,” Traynor said. “We can’t advance because they’re laying down too much fire.”

  On cue, the gunfire seemed to crescendo and then drop away. Kane heard a muffled, “Shit!” as Traynor still had his mic open.

  “Do what you can, Reaper Three. Keep them busy.”

  “Roger.”

  Crouched low, Kane made a bee-line for the truck. When he reached it, he dropped to his belly and started to crawl beneath it.

  “Reaper Three? Reaper One. I’m under the truck, don’t shoot me.”

  “Roger, Reaper One.”

  As he moved past the dead cartel man, he saw a gruesome hole in the top of the head where a bullet had punched into it. The eyes were wide, the face covered with tattoos.

  Kane slithered out from under the truck and came up on one knee. He saw Traynor and Hawk, both on their bellies behind a rock which was hardly sufficient to provide enough shelter for a rabbit, let alone two grown men. The fire from the cartel people was tremendous. Bullets ricocheted all around them. Puffs of dust spurted upwards like small geysers with every bullet strike.