Retribution

by Brent Towns

  More automatic fire sprayed at them and forced the team to hug the walls. Kane reacted first and fired a burst at the ceiling where a large light was situated. It shattered, raining glass to the floor, and the room turned black.

  The trio dropped their NVGs into place, and the inky blackness suddenly became their friend. With their NVGs down, everything turned green once more. Ahead of them, three cartel shooters staggered around. Kane’s first shot killed the man closest to him. Hawk’s killed one to the right.

  The third man screeched wildly and started to fire a broad arc in hope, but his aim was too high, and the bullets missed and ricocheted dangerously from the roof. Kane depressed his trigger again, and a small puff of powder erupted from a bag of cocaine as the bullet passed through it before hammering into the Mexican’s chest.

  “Move!” he snapped and pressed forward.

  Kane and Hawk split up to make their way around the large table centered in the room, which held a pile of already-wrapped cocaine bricks. Hawk’s gun spat again, and he put a bullet into a prone cartel soldier before moving on. Kane did the same. A live killer behind you was a dangerous one.

  “Reaper, on the left!” Cara snapped.

  Kane pivoted and brought his HK around in an arc. Huddled against the wall were two women. A fraction of an instant before he was about to squeeze it, he took his finger from the trigger.

  “Cara, take care of the women,” Kane barked.

  Cara reached into her pocket and found a glow stick. She broke and shook it in a vigorous manner, creating a spooky green illumination and knelt beside the women.

  “Bravo Two, Reaper One. Talk to me, over.”

  “Reaper, Bravo Two. Your Tangos have multiplied. The remaining ones have withdrawn to what appears to be an armory where they are presently arming themselves.”

  Kane cursed under his breath. “How many, Bravo Two?”

  “Ten, could be as many as fifteen, over.”

  “Reaper? This is Zero. Get out now.”

  “Hawk, deploy the explosives here.”

  “Copy.”

  Hawk unslung the pack he was carrying.

  “Reaper, this is Zero, get out now. I say again, get out now!”

  “We came here to do a job, Zero. We do it before we leave.”

  “Break! Break! Reaper One? Bravo Three. We’ve got movement from the compound. Three open-backed vehicles with mounted-guns. At a guess, they’re .50 cals.”

  “Copy, Bravo Three,” Kane turned to Cara. “Take the women above ground. Get ready for incoming.”

  “Copy, Reaper.”

  “Reaper One, this is Bravo Two, you have cartel goons coming your way.”

  “Roger.”

  Ferrero’s voice came over the radio. “Damn it, Reaper.”

  Kane snapped, “Clear the frequency, Zero! Let me do my damned job! Out!”

  He moved to the rear of the room and lifted his NVGs, so he could see along the second short hallway without being blinded by the light. It sloped down away from him, deeper into the earth. He raised the HK and shot out the fluorescent light. The hallway was instantly enveloped in darkness.

  With that done, Reaper once again donned his night vision and fell back towards the center of the room.

  “How you doing, Hawk?”

  “I’ll need two minutes tops, Reaper.”

  “See what I can do.”

  The first of the cartel soldiers appeared. Two shots and the threat was eliminated. A second was dispatched the same way. A third cartel man was not as brave. He poked his weapon around the corner and let rip with a long burst of fire.

  Bullets slapped into the bags on the table, causing them to explode. Others slammed into the rear concrete wall after ricocheting violently from the roof. One round fizzed past Kane’s face while another tugged at the material of his tunic.

  All but forgotten was the throb in his chest where his tactical vest had prevented the bullet from ending his life in the earlier ambush.

  The HK jumped in his hands as he fired more shots. He heard a shout from the hallway, and the Tango suddenly appeared. The man held a hand to his head where a ricochet had grazed him, causing him some disorientation.

  Kane shot him in the chest.

  Then silence.

  Kane frowned, finger on the trigger.

  “Reaper One, Bravo Two. You have six Tangos backed up around that corner about to come your way. Over.”

  “Copy.”

  Bravo Three came on the radio. “Reaper One, the three trucks are maybe four minutes out. We’ve redirected the UAV to give support, but we’ve only got two missiles. You do the math.”

  “Copy. Out,” then, “Hawk, talk to me.”

  “One minute.”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds. Reaper Two, are you above ground yet?”

  “Roger, Reaper.”

  “Cut the women loose and dig in. We’ve got three technicals four minutes out.”

  “Copy.”

  After a brief shout, a handful of armed cartel men surged around the corner.

  “Más rápido! Más rápido!” Montoya screeched at the driver. “If they get away, I will cut off your fucking cojones and feed them to you!”

  “I am –” the truck hit a large bump in the road, and the driver launched from his seat. Once he’d regained his composure he said, “I’m trying, Jefe.”

  “Try harder.”

  Someone had dared to attack his underground cocaine lab. His immediate thought was of a rival cartel, but the next one was the most logical. Americans! DEA, special forces, or that damned task force. Yes! It had to be them. Fucking gringos.

  “Más rápido! Fucking move!”

  The truck slid around a tight corner, gravel spraying from its rear tires when the driver stepped on the pedal and gave it more gas. The lights from the vehicle behind it bounced wildly and flickered in the mirror.

  They were perhaps thirty seconds from their destination. The truck lurched again.

  Twenty-five seconds. The driver wrenched the wheel to the left as a large rock rose up in front of them.

  Twenty-seconds. Montoya grasped at the door handle while holding a Mexican FX-05 Xiuhcoatl in his other hand. He was never one afraid to get his hands dirty.

  Fifteen seconds. Almost there.

  Ten seconds.

  Then his much-prized cocaine lab exploded.

  Kane dropped the empty magazine out of the HK416 and slammed another home. He brought the gun up and fired a second burst. An additional cartel soldier dropped to the concrete floor, slumped half-across the body of another.

  “Come on, Hawk! Are you done yet?”

  “Almost.”

  “Shit!”

  “Reaper, those technicals are getting close.”

  “Almost done, Cara.”

  “That’s it, Reaper, all set.”

  “Thank fuck for that. Zero, we’re pulling out.”

  “Copy, Reaper One.”

  They retreated to the hallway that led up to the ground level. Shots followed hard on their heels and slammed into the concrete corner as they disappeared around it. They ran along the next hall until they reached the doorway. Then up the ramp.

  When they passed through the doorway, Cara was there outside waiting for them. “Come on, Cara. Clear the area!”

  They were bathed in a sudden bright light as the first technical’s headlights swept over them, the vehicle skidding to a halt. “Damn it. Hawk blow the damned thing.”

  “Copy.”

  At first, there was a low, hollow rumbling sound, then the noise grew louder, as though a train was screaming towards them. A giant ball of orange flame rocketed skyward as the roof of the adobe structure disintegrated before it.

  The concussion wave knocked the three of them to the ground. It washed over them and then out into the desert.

  Within seconds, they scrambled to their feet and started to run across the road towards the open desert on the other side.

  The first .50 caliber mach
ine-gun opened up. Bright tracer rounds began to chase them across the empty space of the wide road. The second gun quickly followed, spraying the ground behind them with heavy rounds. The noise became louder as the bullets got closer.

  They dived into a shallow wash beside the road, and tracers ripped by above them.

  Kane squirmed around and brought the HK416 up to return fire. “Everyone OK?”

  “I’m good,” said Cara.

  “Me too,” said Hawk. “That was some wild shit.”

  Satisfied his team was intact, Kane opened fire on the closest technical. Small sparks appeared as the bullets struck the metal of the vehicle. The front windshield disappeared and the man in the driver’s seat jerked and died.

  Cartel men emerged from the other two vehicles, illuminated by the orange glow of flames behind them.

  Cara and Hawk joined Kane on the offensive and raked the other technicals with NATO rounds.

  Kane toggled his radio. “Bravo One? Reaper One, come in, over.”

  “Got you, Reaper One, over.”

  “We could use a Hellfire about now.”

  More heavy caliber bullets gouged the area and a giant saguaro behind them exploded when two rounds ripped through it, pulverizing its meaty flesh, cutting it in half, and the now unsupported weight toppled to the ground.

  “Wait, one.”

  A moment of radio silence, then, “Hellfire One away.”

  “Get your heads down, people,” Kane shouted to the others. “We’ve got a hot one coming in.”

  They dropped their heads to the ground and wrapped arms around the back of them. Then, nine seconds later, the Hellfire impacted the furthest technical.

  Once more, the night pulsed with light when a large orange cloud mushroomed outward. Pieces of twisted metal flew in the air as the vehicle blew apart. Screams could be heard from injured and dying cartel men who had been close to the explosion and were peppered with razor-sharp shards of glowing metal.

  Montoya was jolted by the sudden blast. He turned to look and saw the flaming wreck and, in the fire-light, saw one of his men casually bend down to pick up his own arm.

  “Motherfuckers,” he hissed. “Kill them! Kill the gringo, putas!”

  Kane heard the screeching of the cartel boss but couldn’t pinpoint his exact position. Instead, he picked out one of the closer Mexicans and shot him in the face.

  The two .50 caliber guns on the backs of the remaining technicals opened fire again. Tracers scorched through the air, and the staccato, whack, whack, whack, of their impacts occurred all around Team Reaper.

  “Bravo One, we sure could use that next Hellfire,” Kane said in a loud voice.

  Beside him, Cara changed out a magazine and said, “Tell her sooner rather than later.”

  “Wait one, Reaper.”

  “We got some of them trying to flank us on our left, Reaper,” Hawk shouted.

  Kane toggled his radio. “Bravo One?”

  “No joy, Reaper. I say again, no joy. There is something wrong with the last Hellfire. Suggest you get the hell out of there at best speed. Over.”

  “Copy, Bravo One.”

  “That’s a bitch,” Hawk called out. “What do you want to do?”

  “Shoot and scoot. Give them a good enough burst of fire to keep their heads down and then make a run for it. Concentrate on the fifties.”

  “Copy.”

  “On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

  All three of them rose and let loose a long burst of sustained fire before Kane barked, “Now! Go! Go!”

  They turned as one and ran into the desert towards the spot they’d infiltrated. Bullets hissed all around them. Kane broke to his right with Cara and Hawk following him. Behind them, in the glow of the burning technical, Montoya screeched orders while he sprayed the dark wildly.

  After the three had covered some two-hundred meters, Kane stopped. The gunfire continued to rage, and the tracer rounds indicated where the fire was directed. It hadn’t moved from their last known position.

  “They can’t see in the dark,” Cara observed. “They’ve no idea we’ve pulled out.”

  Kane nodded. “Bravo Three, Reaper One. What does your FLIR tell you? Over.”

  “Your team is clear right now, Reaper One. There are no indications of pursuit. Over.”

  “Copy. We’re falling back to the SUV. If anything changes, let us know. Reaper One, out.”

  “Copy. Bravo Three, out.”

  Kane got to his feet. “OK, let’s move. Cara, you’re on point. If you strike anything that ain’t right, call it.”

  “Copy.”

  “Alto el fuego!” The maniacal screech emanated from Montoya’s lips. “Stop fucking firing!”

  His man was too slow in following the instruction, and the cartel boss raised the FX-05 in his hands and shot him in the head. “I said stop!”

  The rattle of gunfire died away and then ceased. The glow from the burning technical illuminated the surrounding area and showed the livid look etched deep on Montoya’s countenance.

  He turned around and stared at the burning hole in the ground that had once been his cocaine lab. Another wave of rage washed over him. He raised the FX-05 into the air and from deep down came a rumbling sound.

  “Aaargh!” the cartel boss shouted and squeezed the trigger until the magazine was empty. “Find them! Find them and kill them!”

  “Sí, Jefe,” one of the men said and hurried into the darkness, closely followed by others.

  Montoya ground his teeth together. They would pay, someone would pay. Not only had they stolen his money, but they’d cost him millions more by destroying his lab.

  Yes! They would pay.

  Retribution, 1 hour later

  Traynor crossed to the desk where Ferrero sat going over recon photos taken by the drone in the few days previous. He said, “The team is on the way back, and the UAV is headed to Davis–Monthan.”

  Ferrero looked up. “Any news from Administrator Horton?”

  “Nothing.”

  Ferrero reached for his cell and punched in a number. He held it up to his ear and waited. And waited.

  He pressed the button to disconnect and looked at Traynor. “Go and find out what’s happening. The first report I got was that the trooper was over on Cholla Street. Take my SUV and draw an additional weapon from the armory, along with a tactical vest.”

  “You expecting trouble?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve got me a feeling, and it isn’t good.”

  Traynor grabbed the things he required and threw them into a large duffel. He began to make his way towards the door when Ferrero called out. “Take Swift with you.”

  “I’ll be fine, Luis.”

  “Take him. It’s not up for debate.”

  He nodded. “Fine.”

  Five minutes later they were in the SUV. The thin voice of the GPS said, “In two-hundred meters turn left.”

  “The boss seems a little anxious about this,” Swift observed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think something has happened?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

  They drove on, then, up ahead they saw Horton’s SUV and the State Trooper’s cruiser.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Traynor said. “Lean over the back and get my HK off the seat.”

  While the DEA agent eased the vehicle to a stop, Swift retrieved the 416.

  “What are you carrying, Sam?”

  “Just my Smith and Wesson M&P.”

  “OK. Watch my back,” Traynor told him. “Let’s go.”

  Before he opened the door, Traynor reached up and turned off the interior light so it wouldn’t illuminate the vehicle. Then he grasped the handle.

  Ding, ding, ding, came the warning alarm as the door swung open. Traynor slipped from the seat and placed the HK to his shoulder and rested it in the V between the door and the body of the vehicle.

  Swift hadn’t moved.

  “Are you coming?”
Traynor asked him.

  Once Swift was out of the car, they moved towards the DEA vehicle. The HK was kitted out with a light attachment and Traynor flicked it on. They advanced with slow, deliberate steps. Boots crunched on the road surface with each movement.

  The passenger door was open and Traynor swept the interior with the mounted light but there was no sign of any of the agents, including Horton. No blood or evidence of a struggle either.

  “Should we call this in?” Swift asked.

  “Wait. We’ll clear the area first.”

  They cautiously approached the cruiser and found the same. Empty, no sign of struggle.

  Swift asked, “What do you think happened to them?”

  Traynor remained silent and lowered the HK’s light to sweep it over the surface of the road. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for.

  The DEA agent walked three steps before kneeling. He shone the light on the dark patch and touched it with his gloved fingers. They came away tacky. He smelled it. Coppery. Blood.

  Like an arrow, a small thin streak pointed away from the puddle. Traynor raised his eyes to follow the line which sent his gaze in the direction of the alley.

  He came to his feet and headed towards the mouth of the dark alley. Hesitantly, Traynor swept the ground there with his light to discover a grisly sight. The trooper and the three agents who’d come down with Horton. Of the Administrator, there was no sign. He shook his head.

  Traynor reached for the radio on the front of his tactical vest. He toggled the button and said, “Zero? Reaper Three. Come in, over.”

  Ferrero’s voice came back an instant later. “Copy, Reaper Three, over.”

  “You’d better get out here, boss. This just turned into a whole shit storm.”

  Chapter 18

  Washington, 30 minutes later

  Beep-beep, beep-beep. Beep-beep, beep-beep.

  “Christ! What now?” grumbled assistant attorney general, Mike Turner.

  He rolled over in his bed and fumbled at the cell on the nightstand. It fell onto the floor with a thud.

  “Shit!” he cursed and threw his arm over the side of the bed and felt around on the carpet, then picked the phone up.