Retribution

by Brent Towns

  He turned to his right and saw them sheltered behind the large rock that Traynor had told him about. They were armed with more modern weapons, which, from a distance, looked to be FX-05s.

  Kane glanced back across at the two men who were pinned down. There would be no assistance from that quarter.

  “Reaper Two? Reaper One. Can you give me a sitrep on the third shooter? Over.”

  “Still same as before, Reaper.”

  “Roger.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Shit!”

  Frontal assault.

  Kane came to his feet and raised the HK416 to his shoulder. The red dot sight fell upon the closest shooter who’d caught his movement. The cartel man began to turn but only made it halfway before Kane put two 5.56 slugs into him.

  The man jerked under their impact and fell to the ground. His companion was quicker than his dead friend had been and whirled. His finger depressed the trigger and held it. Hot rounds from the FN-05 tore through the air about Kane as the man sprayed them with careless abandon.

  The one-time MARSOC Recon marine kept his cool, and as soon as the red dot sight landed, he squeezed the trigger twice.

  The shooter jerked like a rag doll and fell back. His boots kicked in the dust, and then he died.

  That left Salazar, who suddenly appeared from around the front of the SUV. The two locked eyes immediately before the sicario opened fire with his weapon.

  “Fuck!” Kane snarled and threw himself sideways as angry lead hornets filled the space he’d just occupied. Salazar was not a cartel soldier. He was the real deal, a professional.

  By the time Kane rolled and came back up, he caught sight of the sicario disappearing into the SUV.

  The door started to swing closed, and Kane let loose a burst of gunfire which ricocheted off the armored exterior. No sooner had the door slammed shut when the engine roared to life, and the vehicle lurched forward.

  A rooster-tail of dirt and gravel spurted out from beneath the rear tires. It fish-tailed side to side, trying to gain purchase on the loose surface, straightened and then disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  “Damn it!” Kane cursed. “Reaper team, call in.”

  “Reaper Four, OK.”

  “Reaper Two, OK.”

  “Reaper Three, OK.”

  “Bravo One? Reaper One. We’ve secured the money, but Salazar got away, over.”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  “Reaper One? Zero. Are your people OK? Over.”

  “Roger, Zero.”

  “Load the money and come home, Reaper. Forget about Salazar. We’ll leave the UAV in the air until you’re ready to leave. Good job. Zero, out.”

  “Reaper One, out.”

  Chapter 15

  Montoya

  “I want them all fucking dead! Do you hear me? Dead!” Montoya raged. He stabbed his finger into his own chest. “How dare they think they can steal my money and get away with it. I don’t care who they are, Cesar. They must all die.”

  “Why worry?” asked Carmella. “You have plenty more.”

  Montoya’s eyes flared as he whipped his head around so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. Carmella sat on the white sofa, working on her nails. She cared not that her husband had lost close to twenty-million dollars. Like she said, there was plenty more where that came from.

  However, Montoya was in no mood for her flippant attitude. In two strides, he was at the sofa, and his right hand shot forward and locked around her throat and squeezed hard.

  Carmella’s eyes bulged, and her tongue started to protrude between her lips. He raised her, kicking and lashing out with her arms, from the sofa, so she stood before him, fear and pain in her eyes. His eyes, on the other hand, showed only the glowing embers of red-hot rage. Through gritted teeth, he said, “When I want you to fucking speak about business, I’ll tell you. Until I do, shut your mouth, puta.”

  He shoved her roughly back down onto the sofa. She rubbed at the deep marks her husband’s hand had inflicted. Carmella gathered herself and looked up at him. All the fear was gone, replaced now by anger.

  She spat, “Fucking asshole! You do not touch me like that. I am not one of your imbécil soldados you can treat any way you wish. Save it for them or your whores. If you do that again, I will kill you!”

  Salazar froze. He’d never heard anyone speak to Montoya in such a way before. Even the beautiful, hot-headed Carmella. Then the cartel boss surprised his sicario. He smiled. Laughed even. He said, “Cariño, I do believe you would. My apologies for the way I treated you. It will not happen again.”

  “It better not, Juan. I will not stand for it.”

  “Leave us. Cesar and I have things to discuss.”

  With her anger still plain to see she rose from the sofa, stared hard at her husband, then turned and walked out of the room.

  Montoya turned to his sicario. “You see that, Cesar? She may be afraid of me, but she still has the courage to speak her mind.”

  “What do you want me to do about the Americans?” Salazar asked, changing the subject.

  The cartel boss’ eyes hardened. “They dared to attack me in my country, and they stole my money. So, we will do the same. We will attack them.”

  “But what will stop them from attacking us again?”

  “We will let the Mexican government do it,” Montoya explained. “I will reach out to one of my many contacts inside their corrupt castle, and he will then do our work for us.”

  “It must be someone important for the gringos to take any notice of them, Jefe.”

  Montoya smiled. “It will be, Cesar. It will be.”

  Washington, The following day

  There was a knock at Secretary of State Frank Muir’s door before it swung open, and a tall, slender woman in a pantsuit filled the void. He removed his glasses and asked in a tired fashion, “What is it, Wendy?”

  Wendy gave him a wan smile. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

  “It’s OK. I was going to sleep reading these papers anyway. So, how can I help?”

  “There is a call for you from Mexico’s Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Ferdinand Morales, sir.”

  “Any idea what it’s about?”

  “No, sir,” she winced. “But he doesn’t sound overly happy.”

  Muir sighed. “OK, I’ll take the call. Thank you, Wendy.”

  She turned and left, the plush carpet absorbing her footfalls. The door snicked shut, and Muir stared at the large bay window to his left. Outside it was a grey, dismal day. Rain fell steadily from leaden clouds, a sure sign that the conversation he was about to have would be unpleasant.

  Oh, well, might as well get it over and done with. He picked up the phone and put it to his ear.

  “Ferdinand, my friend. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  Muir had been right, the voice that erupted from the earpiece was anything but pleasant.

  “Don’t call me a friend,” the voice snarled. “Friends don’t send their armed forces onto foreign soil and attack their citizens!”

  OK, this had started well.

  Muir said, “I’m not sure I know what you are talking about.”

  “Do not lie to me.”

  “I assure you, Ferdinand, I know nothing of American forces in your country. Tell me what happened, and I shall get to the bottom of it. I assure you.”

  Morales took a deep breath and said, “I have been informed that yesterday a party of farmers in Sonora suffered an unprovoked attack by some kind of task force that is being run by your Drug Enforcement Administration. You know that sending armed forces onto sovereign soil constitutes an act of war!”

  “I can honestly say that I know nothing of such a task force. Was there anyone hurt?”

  “I was told twelve men were killed. Some died when missiles were fired upon them. Can you believe it? Missiles! The rest of those who died were shot by your damned special forces!”

  Muir frowned. “Farmers, you say?”

  “Y
es, farmers.”

  Alarm bells rang in his head. Even if they were farmers, surely, if indeed it was an American task force, they would have been able to positively identify them. Still, it didn’t explain the fact that they were there in the first place.

  “I’m very sorry, Ferdinand. Please, leave it with me, and I’ll look into it. I promise you that those responsible will pay for what they have done.”

  “Make sure that you do. My president will be in contact with yours shortly to protest this unprovoked aggression. My source says that you will find them in Retribution, Arizona.”

  The phone call was disconnected abruptly from the other end.

  “Wait! How do … Christ,” Muir muttered and pressed a button on the intercom.

  “Yes, sir?” came Wendy’s voice.

  “Get me Horton over at the DEA, now!”

  Drug Enforcement Administration Administrator Rich Horton knew about as much as Muir did. The news was just that to him. News!

  “I can honestly say, Mr. Secretary, we have no operations, covert or otherwise, happening in Sonora or any other part of Mexico. Mind you, I’d like to. Whoever is heading up this task force is obviously rattling some cages. I’d bet my left nut that they weren’t farmers who were killed.”

  “That was my thought too,” Muir confided. “I’d say they were cartel and some corrupt official in the Mexican halls of power has twisted it all about. Still, we can’t have a damned war erupting along the border with Mexico.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Tell me something, Rich. Who do you think would set up a task force without telling you and run it under the auspices of the DEA?”

  “It could only come from higher up. Attorney general.”

  “Or the Assistant AG?”

  Horton nodded. “They have the power.”

  “OK. I’ll head on over there right now. Get to Retribution, find out what the hell is going on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Assistant Attorney General Mike Turner had not long hung up from another call when Muir appeared in his office an hour later. Right away, from the look on the Secretary’s face, he knew what it would be about. Before Muir could open his mouth to speak, Turner picked up the phone and said to his secretary, “Helen, could you see if William is free and have him come to my office, please. Tell him that Frank Muir is here.”

  He hung the phone up and stared at Muir. “William will be with us shortly.”

  “Before he gets here, Mike, you want to tell me why I got a call from the Mexican Secretary of Foreign Affairs earlier today telling me that a DEA task force is operating on their sovereign soil? And what I tell the president after he gets off the phone with the Mexican president? Who has probably already called him, by the way.”

  “I wondered how long it would be before it came back to here.”

  “So, it’s true?”

  “Wait until William gets here, and I’ll explain everything.”

  Muir shook his head. “Damn it, Mike. This better be fucking good.”

  A few minutes later a tall, grey-haired man entered the assistant attorney general's office.

  “Hi, Frank, what brings you into our illustrious company?”

  “Frank received a call from the Mexican Secretary of Foreign Affairs about a DEA taskforce on their sovereign soil.”

  “Oh.”

  Muir’s eyes flared. “Yes, oh. Someone better tell me what the hell is going on before the Mexican government starts telling the world we fired the first shots in a damned border war.”

  Bell looked at Turner. “This was your plan, fill the man in.”

  Turner nodded. “A while ago, a DEA agent approached this office about setting up a taskforce to take on the cartels, answerable only to this office. He wanted to handpick those in it so he would get people he trusted. Also, he proposed that the team be allowed to cross borders to hit them in their own backyard. We said no. I said no.”

  “So why has it gone ahead?” Muir demanded.

  “Some new developments occurred, and I revisited the idea. After all, this office can run operations at its discretion.”

  “Like firing missiles at farmers on the Mexican side of the border?” Muir seethed.

  Turner glanced at Bell before he said, “That is troubling. Who told you that?”

  “Fernando Morales.”

  “They weren’t farmers,” Turner explained. “They were men from the Montoya cartel. They were shifting a load of money from Nogales to his compound when their escort was destroyed by a UAV armed with two Hellfire missiles.”

  Muir’s gaze snapped back to Bell. “Holy shit! You let this happen?”

  “Mike is in charge of this operation. Anything that happens, he has the final say. With my full support.”

  “You’re both crazy. You shot the shit out of a drug lord’s convoy, risked starting a war, just to destroy his money?”

  “Not exactly. We stole it.”

  Muir’s eyes almost popped from his head. “You what?”

  “Our team stole the almost twenty million he was shipping.”

  The incredulous look on the secretary’s face said it all.

  “Maybe you should go back to the start and fill in some of the blanks, Mike.”

  Turner nodded. “I was telling you about the new developments that changed everything. Montoya sent his sicario across the border, who killed the sheriff of Saguaro County. Cut his head off and left it for the deputy to find. Montoya was using the town as a line to traffic his drugs. He even had one of the deputies in his pocket.”

  Turner paused.

  “That deputy was later killed. When a call came in to one of the DEA agents, he decided to check it out. After which he then called me, again to pitch his taskforce idea. This time he was given the go-ahead and all he needed to get it done.”

  “Including armed UAVs and permission to cross the border and start a war?”

  Turner ignored the sarcasm. “Their primary target is Juan Montoya. The theft of his money is to draw him out onto American soil so we can sweep him up.”

  “And if that doesn’t happen?”

  “Then the team will kill him.”

  “Christ Jesus!”

  “That isn’t all,” Attorney General William Bell put in. “While the team had the Montoya compound under surveillance, they picked up Senator Mac McCarthy paying him a visit. He had given Montoya a file on each member of the task force. How he found out about it, I don’t know. There’s only a select few in this office who knew about it. They are all being questioned about it as we speak.”

  Muir held up a hand. “Whoa, hold up a moment. You are talking about Mac McCarthy from Texas, right?”

  Bell nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Son of a bitch. Where is he?”

  “The FBI has him under lock and key at a secure facility until this is over. Now I have a question for you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Morales. Did he say who his source was? How he knows about the taskforce?”

  “No.”

  Bell sighed. “I think we can assume that he was tipped off by Montoya.”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me at all,” agreed Muir.

  “Frank,” said Bell, “we need you to convince the president not to shut this operation down. If it works, we’ll take down one of the worst cartel bosses of our time. On top of that, if it does work, we want to continue the task force and use it against other cartels and drug distributors. It’s time to fight back. Convince him that it could well be his legacy long after he’s gone.”

  “I don’t know. He’s not going to like the department conducting covert operations on foreign soil.”

  “Then convince him to reserve his judgment until we’ve finished this operation. After that, I’ll talk to him myself,” Bell said. “Or hand him my resignation if it fails.”

  “We both will,” Turner said.

  Muir stared at the assistant attorney general and asked, “Does this have anything to do with yo
ur daughter, Mike?”

  “No!” he snapped.

  The Secretary studied his face for a moment before he nodded. “OK, I’ll do what I can. But I’d advise you all to get some good results.”

  “How about twenty-million dollars’ worth?” Bell asked.

  “That’s a start,” Muir said. “There is one other thing. I ordered Rich Horton down to Redemption to see what was happening.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Bell.

  Muir shook his head. “I sure hope you fellers know what you’re doing.”

  Sonora, That night

  “I have been assured, as has the president, that there are no American forces on Mexican soil,” Morales told Montoya over the phone.

  “They are liars,” the cartel boss hissed.

  “We both know that,” the Secretary of Foreign Affairs said. “We need to prove it beyond any doubt.”

  Montoya stared at the crystal tumbler in his left hand. It was full of amber-colored liquid. He raised it to his lips and drank. When he lowered it, only half remained.

  “Are you still there?” Morales asked.

  “I am still here.”

  “We need proof to take to the president.”

  “If it is proof you want, then you shall have it.”

  “Where will you get it?”

  “From where they least expect it.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish, Juan,” Morales cautioned.

  Montoya’s voice turned cold. “I am never foolish.”

  He hung up and stared at his reflection in the large windows, helped by the pitch-black night behind them. He shifted his gaze so he could see Salazar’s. “Will your men be ready tomorrow night?”

  “Are you sure you want to go to war with the Americans, Jefe?”

  Montoya turned and gave Salazar a harsh look. “They came to my country and stole my money. It was they who declared war, the gringos. Now they will understand what real power the cartels have. Morales says he needs proof that the Americans were on Mexican soil. While you are in Retribution tomorrow night, I want you to bring back a prisoner. Before we are finished with him, he will tell the whole world that the Americans were here.”