by CG Cooper
But despite his success so far, El Moreno had a dilemma. The Spaniard had yet to tell him what the plan was. That didn’t sit well with El Moreno. He and his men had done everything they’d promised, and in return Felix kept the details of the coming climax to himself. The Mexican drug lord thought that the loss of his Swiss Guard spy would wake the Spaniard up, loosen his tongue a bit, but it hadn’t. If anything, it had done the opposite.
So while the soldiers of the Guerrero Cartel got some rest, the jihadis sat huddled in a corner, conspiring and planning. El Moreno looked around the room again, trying to put the pieces together. He’d always assumed that the children were bargaining pieces, or possibly some sort of diversion for the Spaniards, but that didn’t feel likely. Something else was going on that made his insides squirm. It was the way the other jihadis looked at each other, like men going off to war knowing that they would never return home.
The buses would arrive that afternoon. Felix said he wanted to leave at sunset. He hadn’t said it would be their final farewell, but El Moreno sensed it. The jihadis had a room prepped with video equipment. Not a fancy setup, just a tripod, a small video camera, and a simple set. A white sheet would be used as a backdrop behind an old metal chair.
That room was where they kept the Pope, tied to a chair, now guarded by one of Felix’s men and one of El Moreno’s. After the incident with the Swiss Guard, the Spaniards were leery about leaving their prize with the unpredictable Mexican or his men. Not that El Moreno would have done anything to His Holiness, but uncertainty had always been his ally. He wielded it like a fog machine, his enemies and friends never really knowing where he might strike next. In and out he moved, darting like a skilled swordsman through the haze.
But now, all his tricks were played. Unless the jihadis pulled another surprise entrance, introducing a verifiable weapon or bringing in new players, El Moreno’s time was running out. He couldn’t figure it out. The Pope, the children, and a few crates filled with blankets, clothing and hand soap. What the hell were they doing?
+++
Felix watched El Moreno out of the corner of his eye. He’d hoped to have been rid of the man by then, but the little Mexican insisted on escorting them to the mission’s successful completion. It was what he said, but Felix knew that the only thing El Moreno wanted was more money and whatever weapons the jihadis intended to use. Little did he know that the three-headed dragon was not something you could easily bottle and sell. In fact, the taste of success was so near that Felix had to bite his tongue in order to keep from throwing the truth in the cartel leader’s face.
He knew better, and kept reminding himself that a noble holy warrior does not brag, but instead carries his duties out with solemn reverence. Felix wondered if that was how the heroes of 9/11 had felt as they crashed their planes into their targets. Luckily he wouldn’t have to share their fate. His masters said there was more to be done, other missions that required his specific talents. That thought kept him moving, kept his mind from being distracted by the dangers and the toil. Hard work was not something that came easily for Felix. It had taken every ounce of desire to retool his urges and reshape his priorities.
During his teenage years, and even at university, he lived a comfortable life. When the call came to serve his people, Felix jumped at the chance, envisioning mowing down hordes of unbelievers and lopping off heads with maniacal fervor.
What he found was the exact opposite. Yes, there had been the excitement of the attacks in Acapulco, but then there were the hours and days spent planning and waiting. The waiting was the worst! Like much of his generation, Felix wanted everything done at the speed of the Internet. Push a button and the task is complete. Make a call and your chores were done. But not in the real world. As the leader of his small band, everyone looked to him for the answers. If they were hungry, they looked to him. If they were tired, they complained to him. If they wanted to talk, they talked to him.
It was exhausting work and the Spaniard couldn’t wait to have some well-deserved time off when he returned home. Surely his masters would put him up somewhere nice. He had always wanted to visit Monaco. Maybe he could convince them that the wealthy kingdom on the sea was the perfect next target. Yes. The idea calmed him, imagining the lapping waves and the luxurious accommodations provided by a thankful people.
Felix’s mind snapped back to the present, realizing that one of his men was asking him a question. The idiot still didn’t understand the breadth of the plan, something he had digested easily. Maybe next time they could give him more than these simpletons. After all, didn’t the hero who brought the world’s Christians and the United States to its knees deserve the best?
+++
The Pope moved his hands to increase the circulation to his fingertips. That was the problem with getting older. He assumed that a young man tied loosely to a chair would not feel the aches and pains that racked his body at regular intervals. It was a small discomfort, and he once again reminded himself that too many throughout the world dealt with far worse on a daily basis.
As he often did, he let his mind slip into prayer. These were not recited words repeated verbatim, but an opening of his mind, a search for peace and guidance. He was in desperate need of both in ample quantities. He also prayed for the same to be granted to the Brothers of St. Longinus, and the brave men sent by President Zimmer.
Through the darkness, and in and out of various modes of transportation, the Pope had listened. If he had learned anything in his life it was that the simple act of opening one’s ears often paid higher dividends than the converse act of opening one’s mouth. He’d accomplished much over the years by nodding his head and letting others do the talking.
But listening wasn’t helping him now. The guards were tight-lipped and after the confrontation with his nefarious Swiss Guard, the rival leaders of the kidnapping party had been careful to say nothing in front of him. But they had left his hood off after arriving at their current location, and the Pope took to watching as well as listening. He noticed small things like the looks passed between the jihadis and the Mexicans. He saw the cool demeanor of the shorter Hispanic leader, and the darting eyes of the jihadi.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of the children. They were scared, and more than one of them stared at him in recognition as they passed by his open doorway. He did not know if leaving the door cracked was a careless mistake made by one of the guards, or a subtle reminder by their leaders. Either way, he would have given his life had he known that the lives of the children could be saved.
And so with nothing more to do, the Pope watched, listened and prayed. God would make His will known soon, of that the pontiff was certain.
Chapter 28
Marine Corps Air Station Yuma
Yuma, Arizona
2:45pm, March 15th
To say that the mood in the room was deflated would’ve been a major understatement. Every piece of the puzzle came together, and then POOF! it was gone. Hours of scouring every net they could think of had turned up nothing. Whoever this El Moreno was, the guy wasn’t stupid. Cal tried to put himself in the thug’s shoes, imagining where they could go next.
The good thing was that the enemy’s options were limited as long as they stayed as a group. But as the minutes flew by, that seemed a fading reality.
“If I were him, I’d split up as soon as I could,” Cal said, receiving nods from everyone from President Zimmer on down. The team leaders and the President were crowded into a makeshift command post they’d set up in a displaced Marine major’s office. The career logistician had been none too pleased until the Marine colonel tasked with escorting the President’s men told the bony major to move out.
“But where does that leave us?” Zimmer asked. “They could be hundreds of miles away by now.”
Cal saw the strain on the President’s face. He’d made the call not to raise alarms and now he would pay the price. Whatever had come through the border had the potential to destroy many lives. The good ne
ws was that it probably wasn’t a nuclear threat. Zimmer had told them that the active sensors the Border Patrol and Department of Homeland Security had installed over the last decade were now fully in place. If anything higher than a trace amount of radiation came across any border or through any port, they’d know about it. That didn’t make anyone feel better, but the risk of a dirty bomb made even the toughest warriors squirm.
“I don’t get the play,” Master Sergeant Trent said. “Why risk coming across the border when you already have the Pope? Wouldn’t one of those death videos work just fine?”
And there it was, the thing that no one wanted to think about. If they were taking the risk, that meant there was more, possibly much more. That gave Cal an idea.
“Mr. President, what if we sent out sort of a toned down alert? You know, kind of like we did after nine-eleven with the truck drivers. One of those “Be on the lookout for” kind of things. Maybe an Amber Alert?” Cal said.
Zimmer nodded his head slowly. “What would we tell them to look for?”
“Tour buses, RVs, convoys, that sort of thing.”
“It’s worth a shot. When do we sound the real alarm?”
Cal looked down at his watch. “Let’s say midnight. If we don’t have them by then, let’s pull out all the stops.” He looked around the room at his friends. Everyone seemed to agree with him except for Brother Hendrik. He seemed more nervous than before, his hands clenching as he sat thinking. “Brother Hendrik, do you have anything to add?” Cal asked, hopeful that he might.
The monk looked up in surprise, as if Cal woke him from a daydream. Without answering, he shook his head and went back to clenching his fists, lost again in his thoughts.
“Cal,” Travis said, “I think we should ask the Marines if we can have a few helos on standby. That way, if we do get word, we’re ready to bolt as soon as we hear.”
Cal nodded his agreement. “Top, can you talk to the colonel and see what he can get?”
“No problem,” Trent said.
“And, Trav, can you handle the alert?’
“Got it,” Travis replied.
“Okay. Let’s see what we can find. Either way, in less than ten hours, all hell’s gonna break loose.”
+++
As the meeting broke up, Daniel excused himself to take a short walk. The fresh air would be a welcome change from the cramped quarters of the last two days, and the sniper needed time to think. He felt his normal peace slipping and he knew it had everything to do with the fact that the Pope himself was in peril. Normally, it was easy for Daniel to push his personal feelings aside. He’d done it for years in an unhealthy way, but he now knew how to harness the light and the dark in his soul. Like his own personal Yin and Yang, harmony allowed him to do many things that his peers could not.
This time things were different. The certainty he usually felt about the outcome of an operation now felt like a shifting target. You take a shot and the silhouette magically disappears before the round hits downrange. It bothered Daniel more than anything had bothered him for years.
He walked past the MPs standing guard and stepped out into the Yuma afternoon. A few laps around the building might loosen things up, get his mind realigned. He started praying as he took the first step down the sidewalk.
As he rounded the first corner, Daniel heard footsteps behind him. He looked back and saw Father Pietro trying to catch up with him. Daniel stopped and waited for the priest, smiling when he reached him.
“Hello, Father. Can I help you with something?” In the last day, Daniel had seen a change in the priest. Ever since he’d recognized the Pope in Barachon’s picture, there’d been more confidence in his step, more steel in his gaze.
“Yes. I was wondering if I could ask you a question.” There were still dark bags under the man’s eyes, but he now stood upright, his lips no longer quivering when he spoke.
“Sure,” Daniel answered, glad that the priest had found him.
“Brother Hendrik told me about your plan, and I was wondering if I might be allowed to come with you.”
Daniel looked at the priest for a few seconds, and then answered, “We’ll probably only have room for operators, Father.” He hated to tell him no, but there was no way Cal would let the priest come along, despite any progress he’d made. The best place for Father Pietro was right there in Yuma until the whole thing was over.
“Yes, I thought you might say that and I understand. But I have been thinking and praying, of course. I believe God wants me to be a part of this. I won’t carry a weapon, and I promise to stay out of the way and help in any way I can.”
His eyes pleaded with Daniel, not in a pathetic, “I need this or I’ll die” kind of way, but with a fervent tone that told the world that he was going, and would do anything in order to board with the rest of the warriors.
“Let me talk to Cal.”
Father Pietro smiled, and nodded his thanks. Daniel watched him walk away, his sure step punctuating the man’s newfound determination. For some reason that made the way clearer for Daniel. The unease he’d felt minutes before now seemed to fade away, like Father Pietro was indeed part of the solution. He made up his mind. One way or another, he was going to convince Cal that the priest should go. Daniel knew his friend wouldn’t like it, but the sniper had plenty of chips stocked up to ask for this one favor. After all, when was the last time Daniel’s call hadn’t resulted in a win?
Chapter 29
Brawley, California
4:17pm, March 15th
The buses were running behind, almost an hour late. The drivers had called, of course, but that still didn’t make El Moreno feel any better. After the snafu with the idiots at the border, his trust of independent contractors was at an all-time low. Part of the problem was that he was so far from his home turf. He’d already filed that issue away for later endeavors, planning to stay close to the Guerrero stronghold or using more force in the future.
He checked his phone again, frowning at the time. But then he heard a rumble. Less than a minute later, four buses pulled in front of the low brick building. They were of varying makes and sizes, and each one bore a different identifying logo or name. One was painted white and sported St. Augustine High School in navy blue writing. Another had a bleeding heart logo with Marymount Catholic Church painted in blood red over it. The other two buses were comparable, and all Catholic. Another similarity was that the windows were tinted almost black, so that nothing and no one could be seen from the outside. That had been a careful consideration for El Moreno, and initially he wanted to use tour buses. Felix had insisted on the painted Catholic modes of transportation instead. “More of a statement,” he’d said. It was a little more hassle, but El Moreno’s contacts said they could make it happen, for an increase in fee, of course.
El Moreno waved to the first driver and motioned to the back of the building. It would be easier to have the men load the cargo and the children there. While the vacant former shipping terminal was mostly shielded from prying eyes, it was better to be cautious, especially during this last leg of their journey.
As the buses drove to the back, El Moreno entered through the front door, his thoughts slipping back to his options. He hadn’t found anything that could be used as a weapon, and he now realized that Felix had skillfully kept whatever he would soon implement to himself, at least until he was free of El Moreno. That would happen the moment they pulled away in those buses, any chance of gaining the upper hand on his rivals a fading dream.
He had part of his millions from the jihadis, but money had quickly become a smaller and smaller part of his expansion plans. Ah well, maybe they would do business again. And while he’d at first worried about the welfare of the children, seeing himself in their eyes at times, the pathetic weakness he’d once endured, his professional mind now saw it as a business transaction. Without the children, the remaining sum would not be paid. Despite whatever reservations he held about giving the children over to the jihadis, the thought of los
ing millions was worse. Once the final deposit was confirmed, he would take the money and walk away.
They’d been ready for the buses, so by the time he made his way through the building, everyone was gone or streaming out the rear exit. When he passed the room where the Pope was, he saw the old man still sitting there, watched by eager guards who were ready to be done with their boring duty. El Moreno nodded to them as he passed and picked up his pace. Getting the fifty-seven kids loaded into the correct buses would take no more than a couple minutes, but he wanted to watch the process. Maybe there was still time to extend their business relationship, one more chance to find out what Felix’s plan was.
When he got to the parking lot, the children were mostly loaded. He noticed that the drivers were still in their seats. El Moreno waved for one of them to come out, but the man gave him a strange look and avoided his gaze. A cloud passed overhead, blocking the sun and shading the area in an unnatural dullness.
Something in El Moreno froze. His eyes swept the line of drivers. They either had their eyes focused dead ahead or were looking at their laps. He couldn’t see into any of the buses, and therefore couldn’t see his men who had escorted the prisoners on. Cursing under his breath, he just made it to the first bus, his foot moving up to climb the first step, his right hand on his gun at the small of his back, when he heard a voice behind him.
“Put your hands up, slowly.” It was Felix. He could feel the Spaniard’s glee even before he turned and saw the damn smile on the jihadi’s face. There was an AR-15 in his hands, its muzzle extended by a suppressor, and it was pointed right at El Moreno.