The Geronimo Breach

by Russell Blake

  “Lewis.”

  “Don. It’s Sam. Sorry to call so late,” Sam apologized.

  “Sam. Hang on, let me turn on a light.” Sam heard rustling. “Alright, I’m awake. What’s going on?” Don asked.

  Don Lewis was an occasional drinking buddy and sometimes asset Sam had used in the past for deniable operations near the border. He wasn’t on any of the Agency books, but Sam had cultivated him and used him to handle some unpleasantness a year ago involving rogue members of the Judicial Technical Police who’d been shaking down some of the narcotics smugglers in the area – including those the Agency had important relationships with. Sam couldn’t use his own personnel on something requiring deniability to such a degree, so he’d floated an idea past Don that had later become a black op. The offending officers had disappeared and Don had found himself in possession of five kilos of coke the cops had extorted, which he’d quickly marketed – untraceable compensation for solving Sam’s problem. Don lived in Santa Fe, in southern Panama, right along the route the cook was taking.

  “I have a situation,” Sam said. “A car is moving towards the Darien Gap, currently about three hours north of it. Two targets; one a Colombian cook, the other an unknown. You know that road pretty well – there can’t be many cars headed in that direction at this hour.”

  “I’d be surprised if there was anyone else on the highway that far down. What do you need done?” Don asked. He was an ex-Ranger who’d bailed on the States twenty years ago, preferring to do odd jobs in Central America for a roster of shady operators. It paid well and the hours were usually good. And Sam’s last opportunity had turned out to be quite lucrative.

  “The travelers need to be stopped,” Sam replied. “And a video camera they have needs to be recovered.”

  “Sounds simple enough. What level of resistance can I expect, and how far can I go to stop them?” Don asked. He wanted to be unambiguous so that if there were questions later on, he had Sam’s go-ahead to do whatever it took.

  “Use your discretion. If you can capture them, perfect. If you need to use deadly force, so be it. My main concern is the camera. I’m not particularly interested in the rest.”

  “I see. So if I need to use extreme measures, that’s acceptable?” Don clarified.

  “Whatever it takes, Don.”

  “Do you have any location information for me?” Don asked.

  “Yes. They’re about forty clicks from Santa Fe. I’m thinking they’ll continue south all the way to the end of the road, but I’d like this taken care of before then,” Sam said.

  There was more rustling in the background. The phone went silent for a minute, and then Don was back.

  “I’ve got a map. I don’t want to do anything in my back yard, so the next real opportunity is Meteti. I know the area well. There are a number of clearings where I could take them out around fifteen miles south of the town,” Don explained, “and they’re far enough from civilization so I could be gone before anyone knew what had happened.”

  “It’s up to you. I just need to recover the camera – that’s the priority,” Sam said, making sure he was clear on this.

  “And payment?” Don asked.

  “Within a week. I’ll need to move some funds around on my end. I would think thirty grand would do the trick...” Sam said.

  “Make it forty and we have a deal,” Don fired back. “It’s a rush job, so I’ll need to pay more to get talent on such short notice.”

  He was right. And Sam knew it. “Done. I’ll get you real-time updates on their location as they get closer to Meteti. I should be able to tell you within thirty seconds of when they come around a corner or over a hill.”

  “You got a tracker on them, or you using their phone?” Don asked.

  “Phone. Accurate to within a few meters.”

  Don chuckled. “Gotta love it. Call me when they’re ten kilometers from Santa Fe, and then update me every twenty minutes. I’ll get suited up and call a couple of guys to help out.”

  “I’m on it. Thanks, Don. This should be an easy one. They don’t know anyone’s after them,” Sam reassured him.

  “My favorite kind. Stay in touch…”

  “You bet,” Sam said, closing the phone.

  Don was one of the best. There was almost a hundred percent likelihood he’d be able to take out the cook and his accomplice in a matter of seconds, then grab the camera and be gone. At which point Sam would be a hero and Richard would be jetting back to Langley; another mission successfully executed by the man on the ground he’d so badly underestimated.

  Sam emerged from the bathroom, humming to himself, and made a call to get Richard’s team their helicopter.

  Chapter 18

  The road quality degraded as the police cruiser traveled further south. The pavement became haphazardly uneven, from decades of spot repairs using questionable materials and techniques. Sergio had to swerve several times at the last possible moment to avoid potholes that would have blown a tire or bent a rim.

  Brief rainstorms complicated the drive because the sheets of water that dumped from the sky reduced visibility to near-zero. The showers slowed their progress to a crawl, when they were happy if they could just stay on the pavement. And then the cloudbursts would clear as suddenly as they started. But the resultant puddles in the road posed a problem – there was no way of knowing whether one was a half-inch deep, or half a foot.

  Still, Sergio remained upbeat and alert.

  Ernesto reclined silently in the back seat, lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t spoken for over an hour, preferring to rest his eyes and relax while he had the chance.

  Al looked green. The damned goop he’d ingested had worked him over, and he permeated misery. He’d always known better than to eat any of the local garbage that passed for food, and sure enough, the one time he’d varied from his diet of McDonalds and hot dogs, he’d gotten dosed. Ernesto was having no problems, but that was probably because he was riddled with parasites and e-coli already, so the new pollutants didn’t have a chance at survival.

  Al just hoped that enough hard liquor and nicotine would kill any critters he’d picked up from the food cart. If that failed, he supposed he could always get antibiotics. He just hated taking them, as they invariably required he avoid alcohol, which further fouled his mood.

  They rolled through Santa Fe, a desultory town built around the highway, and stopped for yet another roadblock just south of it. The cops at this one seemed utterly surprised to see a car so early in the morning, and after a brief discussion with Sergio, let them through. At least their strategy for tackling the security checkpoints was working. Having Sergio driving them in his cruiser had proven to be a godsend.

  As they putted down the road, the first glimmers of impending dawn streaked the sky. It had been a long night, but they were closing in on their destination, and soon Ernesto would be off into the wilds of the Darien jungle, meaning Sergio and Al would be returning to relative civilization. They were about twenty-five miles from the rendezvous point, and at their current rate of progress, would be there within an hour or so, assuming the road hadn’t washed out. Allowing time for the hike from the road, they should make it by 6 a.m. on the dot.

  At least something was going right.

  ~ ~ ~

  Don had chosen a clearing fifteen miles south of Meteti for the ambush. This was a completely desolate patch of nothingness, where the jungle would swallow up any evidence of a skirmish without leaving any trace. There was no traffic on the road – the only vehicle they’d seen was an ancient Ford pickup loaded with hay. Later, perhaps by eight, there might be another car or two, however, at this hour on a Sunday the road, such as it was, was theirs.

  Don’s cell phone chirped.

  “They just passed Santa Fe, and should be in Meteti within twenty minutes,” Sam advised.

  “That’ll put them here in forty-five minutes or so,” Don reported.

  “Good news, then,” Sam said. “I’ll keep you posted as they pas
s through town so you know that whatever’s headed down the road is our boys. I doubt there’s anyone else going south.”

  “10-4.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Sergio carefully negotiated a sharp bend, and soon they were rolling through the grim little town of Meteti. If the total population was a thousand, including goats and dogs, Al would have been surprised. He’d done several escort jobs this year involving the same rendezvous point eleven or so miles south but he was still depressed whenever he saw the broken-down buildings and extreme poverty of the dwellings. Still, it wasn’t his problem. He was just a messenger, doing the Lord’s work.

  “Alright, Ernesto, wake up,” Al announced. “We should be at the spot within a few more minutes – Sergio, there’s a clearing we’ll be stopping at; eleven miles south of town, on the left hand side. Set your odometer. I’ll recognize it when we get close.”

  Ernesto shifted around in the rear seat, and Sergio cleared his throat.

  “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to get some coffee in this little slice of paradise?” Sergio said to no one in particular.

  “There might have been a market we passed. Probably won’t be open yet, but we have enough time to swing back around if you want,” Al said, checking his watch.

  Ernesto nodded. Al gave the thumbs up sign, so Sergio swung back around, doing a U-turn in the middle of the rural two lane highway.

  “Maybe they’ll have some fresh hot pancakes, or some goat brain surprise?” Sergio suggested, noting Al’s pallid complexion as he said it.

  “Or a quart of cheap vodka...” Al chimed in, hopefully.

  ~ ~ ~

  Don’s phone chirped again.

  “Looks like there may be a complication,” Sam whispered in a low tone.

  “What is it?” Don demanded.

  Any whiff of problems at this point in an operation could be disastrous. He needed to get in front of whatever this was before it could escalate.

  “The target stopped just outside of Meteti and turned around. It looks like it’s going back into town,” Sam reported.

  “I see. What’s your take on this?” Don asked. He was flying blind, and Sam was his only eyes and ears.

  Sam thought for a moment. “You’ll know when I do. I’ll call you as soon as I get a fix on them, but you might want to mount up. You may need to get back to Meteti in a hurry.”

  That wasn’t the plan. Don had found a location where he could stop a vehicle and hit it with crossfire from three points. That was a good plan – one few humans could survive. But trying to mount an attack on the run, with unknown parameters, in an unknown environment...that’s how guys wound up dead. He didn’t like what he was hearing. Then again, forty grand was forty grand, and if Sam was right, the target was clueless, so he still had the element of surprise, not to mention automatic weapons.

  He raised a small yellow two-way radio to his lips, and murmured instructions into it. Moments later, two men emerged from across the road where they had been hiding, completely undetectable. They loped over to the dark green Land Cruiser and waited for Don to join them.

  Change of plans.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Well, our luck’s holding. It’s closed...” Al declared, staring at the little market with corroded metal bars fortifying the windows.

  “Oh well. I didn’t really need coffee, anyway,” Sergio said wearily.

  He twisted the wheel, and pointed the cruiser’s nose south again.

  “Hey, look at the bright side. At least it’s not raining!” Ernesto said.

  A crack of thunder reverberated through the trees, and sheets of water began pouring from the heavens.

  “Maybe you should be thinking something like – hey, at least we don’t have teenage nymphomaniacs broken down by the side of the road requiring our help...” Al suggested.

  Ernesto grinned. “I’ll get right on that…”

  “Why do the nymphos always have to be teenage around you, Al? What’s wrong with a little older? I’m starting to get the feeling you might be a pedophile or something,” Sergio offered. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying, is all...”

  They drove in silence, the only sound the heavy rain pounding on the roof of the cruiser.

  After a slow half hour, Sergio checked the odometer. “Okay, just another mile.”

  Al studied the surrounding terrain. The rain had softened to a light mist.

  “Right before the rendezvous clearing, you’ll see a yellow sign warning that the road’s hazardous. Our spot is about fifty yards from that,” Al instructed.

  “So we’ll be meeting someone by the side of the road?” Ernesto asked groggily.

  “No, from the clearing we have to hike due west for half a mile,” Al explained. “The guide will be waiting there for us.”

  Ernesto frowned. “Are you sure about this? There’s nothing here but jungle...”

  “This isn’t my first time. I’ve done this before,” Al reminded him. “Just do as I say and you’ll be golden. It will take about half an hour to get to where the guide will meet us.”

  Sergio looked in the rearview mirror at Ernesto, who caught his glance.

  Five minutes later they spotted the sign and Sergio slid to a stop on the opposite side of the road on a small section of shoulder just wide enough to accommodate a parked car. Sergio left the engine running and hurried to the edge of the heavy brush. He groaned a sigh of relief as he urinated.

  “Well, this is the middle of nowhere, I’ll give you that, Al,” Sergio called over his shoulder.

  “Si, senor. Eees god’s countreee...” Al retorted, climbing from the passenger seat and bending over to stretch his aching leg muscles.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Something’s wrong,” Sam said. “They stopped again, about three miles north of where you are.”

  “How long have they been there?” Don demanded.

  “It’s been almost five minutes. I think you better scramble and intercept them,” Sam instructed.

  “Call me if they get underway again – we’re about three hard minutes south of where they’re stopped. Whatever they’re up to, we’ll be on them shortly. I’m going silent now. Talk to you in a few,” Don reported, and then signed off.

  He flicked the safety on his M-16 to the ‘fire’ position. The driver grinned, and the man in the back seat did the same. It was a nice morning to go hunting.

  ~ ~ ~

  Al and Ernesto collected their belongings from the car, and prepared for the hike to the rendezvous point. The area felt deathly still following the rain, and they could hear creatures moving around in the thick foliage.

  Sergio shook hands with Ernesto and wished him luck. He seemed like a decent guy. Sergio peered into the dense brush and then glanced back at Ernesto, who was sleepily clutching his backpack to his chest and looking vaguely bewildered.

  “Hey, you got a weapon, since you’re going into the jungle pretty much in your underwear?” Sergio asked.

  “Uh, no....I didn’t think I’d need one.” Ernesto looked at Al. “Do I need one? Nobody said anything...”

  “Come on back here,” Sergio said, “and let’s see if we can get you something, so you can at least kill a snake while you’re sleeping on the ground...” He motioned to the rear of the cruiser. He popped the trunk, and stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the contents.

  “This should do the trick,” Sergio said. He extracted a wicked looking survival knife and handed it to Ernesto. He groped around in the trunk, located the missing scabbard and tossed it to him. Al circled around and joined them.

  “Whoa, Papa, when did you start carrying around the heavy artillery?” Al asked, reaching in and withdrawing a scarred Kalashnikov assault rifle.

  “Hey, careful. I confiscated that from a drug bust a week ago. The dealer looked like a piece of Swiss cheese by the time the shootout was over, so I figured he wouldn’t miss it. And I always wanted my own AK-47,” Sergio quipped, taking the weapon from Al and slapp
ing a magazine in place. “This one’s probably twenty years old, but it’s still in great shape,” Sergio said with pride. Al regarded the battered wooden stock dubiously.

  The silence was disrupted by the roar of a vehicle approaching from around a bend in the road.

  Sergio and his two companions looked up to see who was coming. This was the first vehicle they’d encountered in several hours, and there wasn’t much south of them but jungle, so they were naturally curious. Al hoped it wasn’t more border control officers – that would throw a wrench in their rendezvous plan. Carmen was supposed to have taken care of that, and ensured none were around for at least an hour. He hoped she’d done so.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Jesus. Keep driving. Just keep going past them. It’s a National Police car,” Don hissed at the driver. This was an unexpected wrinkle. Not a deal killer, but a surprise, and Don intensely disliked surprises.

  They rolled by the cruiser, and Don flipped open his phone. Only one bar of service. Sam answered on the fourth ring.

  “Sam, your target is a police car with three men in it. What the hell have you gotten me into?” Don demanded.

  Sam was silent, processing furiously. Why were the police involved? What did it mean? Richard had made it clear that whatever was going on with the camera, they had to be stopped.

  “It doesn’t matter. Take them out,” Sam ordered. “And don’t forget the camera. I can sanitize the rest of this.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Don said, hanging up.

  The driver slowed and came to a stop in the middle of the two lane strip of asphalt, then reversed. They’d lost sight of the police car due to the curvature of the road, and now had to reverse down the narrow ribbon of pavement the hundred yards they’d come, so his gunmen would still be on the correct side of the vehicle to fire at the cop car simultaneously. They needed to shoot from the truck’s passenger side, so the driver would be protected and they’d have the front and rear passenger windows to fire out of.