by Dale Brown
“Hurry it up—we’re going to hit real hard if we don’t get power…” But even as the pilot spoke, the crew could feel the Osprey starting to pick up speed and altitude. “I think I got it. Stand by, guys, I’m going to bring it around and try for DZ Bravo again—it looks like that triple-A is sitting right on the edge of Alpha. We’ll be facing southwest instead of northeast so your target will be behind you. Gunners, keep an eye out to the southeast—we might have more triple-A or missile trucks inbound. Here we go.”
The digital maps playing in the CID units’ electronic visors told them what the pilot just reported: the initial plan was to drop to the northeast so their target, the central Internal Affairs Ministry building, would be right in front of them, but that was not going to happen now. The Osprey executed an impossibly steep-banked right turn, the good right engine now screaming at full power. The CV-22 Osprey had an automatic crossover transmission that allowed both tilt-rotors to be powered off one engine—it was generally thought that the system would only deliver enough power to do a controlled crash. The pilot obviously thought otherwise.
Everyone felt their bodies go a little weightless again as they executed the tight turn, but moments later they experienced some extra g-forces as the turn stopped—and then they felt a little weightless again as the Osprey dipped suddenly, then felt the g-forces push down on them again as the flight crew arrested the rapid descent and slowed to drop airspeed. The crew in the cargo bay had never heard screeching noises like that coming from any aircraft before—it sounded as if the tilt-rotor was going to burst apart into a million pieces at any moment.
“Stand by to release recon drones…ready…now.” The assistant flight engineer pulled a lever on the right side of the cargo bay, and a rectangular box containing four grenade-launched unmanned observation system drones shot out through the open cargo bay and disappeared into the darkness.
“Goose One and Two in the green…nothing from Goose Three…Goose Four…nope, lost that one too,” Jason said. “We lost the two southernmost drones, guys. Keep that in mind—coverage to our south might be poor.” He turned to the twelve commandos in the forward part of the cargo bay, then pointed an armored finger at a man handcuffed to them. “I want him with me as soon as we get in that building,” he said. “If he tries to run, shoot him.”
“Yes, sir,” the team leader responded.
“Five seconds.”
Another severe rumble and scream of metal split the air. “Is this thing going to hold together for that long?” Mike Tesch in CID Three asked.
The pilot didn’t dare try to answer that one. Instead, he shouted, “Green light! Go!”
Jason Richter and Jennifer McCracken in CID One and CID Two jumped first. There was no time to practice a good parachute landing fall—students in the U.S. Army Airborne School practiced them for five full days before being allowed to jump from anything higher than a three-foot platform—so Jason’s landing didn’t look much better than the first time he jumped from the Osprey. But Jennifer’s landing looked like she had been jumping from special ops planes all her life. “Good job, Lieutenant,” Jason told her after he picked himself up off the ground. “Done this before, I see.”
“Army Airborne School, class zero-four dash eleven, and Marine Corps Mobile Airborne Training Team certified same year, sir,” she replied. Even in the CID unit, Jason could see the look of confusion in her “body” language. “Are you telling me you’ve never attended jump school, sir? You’ve jumped out of planes twice now and never learned how to land? I’m surprised you haven’t broken every bone in your body, sir.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Lieutenant,” Jason said as he checked his systems. “Let’s go.” He and McCracken had jumped on the very outside of the easternmost spoke of the outer buildings surrounding the central Internal Affairs building. Tesch and Dodd had been dropped off on the other side of the complex. As soon as Tesch and Dodd reported they were on the ground and ready, they headed in.
Automatic gunfire from above erupted almost immediately as machine gunners opened fire from atop the administrative buildings. The GUOS drones picked up activity on the far side of the buildings, and the CID units were able to accurately target their backpack grenade launchers and machine guns on those positions—they had no choice but to run away from the gunfire.
As Harry Dodd reached the end of the southwestern admin building, a Humvee with a large missile launcher unit suddenly appeared. “SAM unit!” Dodd shouted. Just as he set his aiming reticle on the vehicle, it launched a missile skyward. “Poppa Bear, missile launch, missile launch!” he shouted, seconds before ordering his grenade launcher to open fire. Just before his two grenades hit, the Bofors RBS-70 missile streaked away.
But as he watched, several dozen streaks of light and blobs of white-hot energy fanned out across the sky less than a mile away, bright enough to light up the Bosque de Chapultepec for miles around—the CV-22 Osprey ejecting decoy flares. Dodd knew that all of the CV-22’s other countermeasures were active as well—an active missile-tracking laser that blinded an enemy missile’s seeker head, decoy chaff, and electronic radar and laser jammers as well. The RBS-70 missile stayed dead on course, but just for an instant. Moments later Dodd could see the motor exhaust flame wobble, slightly at first and then greater and greater. Seconds later it exploded—and there was no secondary explosion.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Talon,” the assistant flight engineer radioed. “I saw that missile coming up at us and thought it was heading right for the blank spot between my eyes. Good hunting down there.”
The CID units spread out once they reached the central headquarters building, with each CID unit taking a cardinal position. On Jason’s order, Mike Tesch sent two grenade bursts into the front entranceway from forty yards away, blowing the doors open. Seconds later came a murderous burst of heavy machine gun fire, followed by several grenade detonations.
That was the signal to begin the real assault. The other three CID units on the other sides of the building began climbing the outside of the Internal Affairs Ministry. Each CID unit would simply leap up to the windowsill above, pull itself up to the window, jump up to the next window, and continue. When it reached its preplanned floor, it climbed inside. Jennifer McCracken continued up to the roof of the building, where she planted explosives around the base of the antenna tower and blew it apart moments later.
“We lost the microwave datalink and all radio contact, sir,” Deputy Minister Elvarez said. “They probably destroyed the antenna tower on the roof. The secure hardwire lines and circuits are still operational.” He leaned toward Felix Díaz. “The roof of this building is the most vulnerable spot, sir. If they have troops on the roof, it is only a matter of time before they get inside.”
“What is the status of the document destruction?”
“Just started, sir. Magnetic records can be erased in minutes, but the paper documents and any records stored on other than the mainframes and servers will take much longer.” The lights flickered and went out, and this time only the battery-powered standby lights stayed on. “Sir, you will have to evacuate to a secure location, and do it quickly,” Elvarez said urgently. “We may have only moments before this building is overrun.”
Díaz nodded. “All right. The information officers will have to ensure that the data destruction is completed.”
“Yes, sir.” Elvarez picked up a phone and punched in an extension number. “Report…very well, we are on our way.” He hung up the receiver. “We will have to take the stairs because the elevators are out,” he said, “but the tunnel to the Metro system is open and guarded. We have already closed down the number seven and nine lines, and a train is available immediately to take us to the airport. A plane is waiting to get us out of…”
At that moment they heard a loud crash! and the very walls of the command center started to shake. “What in hell…?”
Elvarez studied the readouts on his computer screen, but he didn’t need a computer
to tell him that the outer doors to the command center had been blown in. “This way, sir—there’s no time!” he said. “The emergency chute.” He unlocked a cabinet in a corner of the room, moved a hidden lever, then swung the cabinet aside, revealing a hidden doorway. There was a dark hole in the floor, surrounded by what appeared to be a thin, gauzy white material. “This is the emergency fire escape tunnel, sir,” Elvarez said. “The material is fireproof and is designed to slow your body as you slide down. Simply extend your arms slightly to slow yourself down if you feel it necessary, but allow yourself to go all the way down without delay.”
“Where does it lead?”
“It leads to a fire valve inspection room in the underground parking area in the first subfloor,” Elvarez said. “I will go first and secure it.” Elvarez drew a sidearm, removed his shoes, and stuffed them into his pockets, then stepped into the fabric tube and disappeared. “It is safe, sir,” he called from several feet below. “Take off your shoes and follow me.”
The tube was snug but not constricting. All Díaz had to do was to think about making his body narrower and he slid faster, and when he thought he was going too fast, his elbows would unconsciously protrude and slow him down. He heard Elvarez say something, but he was at least a couple floors below him now and it was hard to hear inside the tube.
“I’m down, sir,” Elvarez said a few moments later. “It’s clear. I can see you now. Keep moving.” Díaz slid faster. “The way is clear to the tunnel to the Métro station, and the train is waiting to take us. Slow down a little, sir, just a few feet more…”
He felt like a turd passing through the colon when he popped free of the fabric fire tube and landed on the gray painted concrete floor. The plain concrete block room was lit by a single lightbulb overhead and was filled with pipes of all sizes. Díaz took a few moments to put his shoes back on, then followed Elvarez outside. “How far is it to the Métro station, José?” he asked. “Are we going to walk, or…?”
He stopped…because his path was blocked by four soldiers in black fatigues, Kevlar helmets, and automatic rifles—American rifles! “Freeze, asshole!” one of the soldiers shouted in English, then in Spanish. “¡Consiga en sus rodillas! ¡Manos en su cabeza!”
Díaz complied immediately, lowering himself to the concrete floor and locking the fingers of both hands atop his head. “I am Minister of Internal Affairs Díaz!” he shouted. “Who are you and what are you doing in my building?”
“Task force TALON, United States of America,” the soldier said. He covered Díaz and Elvarez while two others searched them and took their weapons, radios, telephones, and identification. “You are under arrest.”
“Under whose authority?”
“I have a warrant for your arrest, Felix Díaz,” the soldier said.
“A warrant? An American arrest warrant? Signed by whom—Mickey Mouse?”
“A federal judge in San Diego,” the commando replied. “We’ll take you to see him shortly.”
“On what charge?”
“Murder of federal officers, conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder, and destruction of…”
“¡Cada uno para inmediatamente!” someone else shouted. Suddenly about a dozen Mexican army soldiers ran from the tunnel leading to the Métro station, quickly entered the garage area, and surrounded the American soldiers with rifles raised. “This is the army of the United Mexican States! No one move!”
“Thank God you showed up!” Díaz exclaimed happily, rising to his feet.
“El ministro Díaz, es usted lastimó?”
“No, I’m fine,” Diaz said. He pointed to the TALON commandos. “I want these four men bound and gagged and taken away—and no one is to have any contact with them, understand?”
“Entiendo, señor,” the Mexican soldier responded…and then two of his men spun Díaz around, slammed him up against the concrete wall, and stripped his jacket down over his arms.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Díaz screamed. “I am the Minister of Internal Affairs and the acting president of Mexico! Do as I ordered you or I will have you all shot!”
“Or drugged…like you did to Carmen, you rancid piece of shit?” Díaz gasped and turned around…and saw none other than the Minister of National Defense, General Alberto Rojas, standing before him.
“Rojas!” Díaz exclaimed, forcing himself to choke down his surprise and panic. “Where in hell have you been? I have had the entire ministry out looking for you!”
“Hiding from you and your Sombras, Díaz,” Rojas said. “Making a few phone calls as well—to my new friends in Clovis, New Mexico.”
“You are helping the Americans? You will hang for that, Rojas!”
“I am not afraid of facing a court-martial for what I have done, Díaz—but I cannot say the same about your own prospects in a courtroom,” Rojas said confidently, “especially with the evidence we’ve discovered here.” He turned and watched as a gurney carrying a body under a white sheet was rolled out of the garage to be carried upstairs. “You didn’t even have the brains to dispose of the body, Díaz.”
“Me? Why would I dispose of the president’s body?” Díaz asked incredulously. “The president was being kept here, secure, until an investigation could be concluded. But I think I know who killed the president: Ernesto Fuerza.”
“Fuerza? Comandante Veracruz?” Rojas exclaimed. “How do you know this?”
“I made the mistake of bringing him and the Russian terrorist Yegor Zakharov to meet the president, as she requested,” Díaz said. “I was told to leave them alone, and I complied with her wishes. The next thing I know, Fuerza and Zakharov were gone, and the president was dead.”
“Why did you not report this immediately, Minister?”
“I initiated an immediate investigation and sent agents out across the country to track down Fuerza and Zakharov. But the government was in disarray, and I took it upon myself to preserve the president’s body and continue the investigation in secret. I dared not reveal any of this to the Council of Government, in case one of them was involved in…”
At that moment one of the Cybernetic Infantry Device robots entered the parking garage, carrying a man by his arms in its armored fists…none other than Yegor Zakharov! “You caught him!” he exclaimed. “Where did you find him?”
“Our friends in the United States had him in custody,” Rojas said. “He told us a very interesting story about you and your alter ego—Comandante Veracruz. If you are lucky, Felix, the judges of the Supreme Court will only sentence you to a single death sentence, instead of dozens.”
“What? You are not going to believe this man, are you, Rojas? He is an international terrorist, a mass murderer, and the most wanted man in the world! He would do or say anything to save his skin! He will lie, cheat…”
Díaz stopped…when he saw the Mexican soldiers help José Elvarez up. His eyes bulged in horrible realization. “What is going on here?”
“Just helping a key witness to his feet, Felix,” Rojas said. “You are correct, Felix: no judge on earth would believe Yegor Zakharov even if he swore on a roomful of Bibles that the sky is blue. But they might believe your own deputy minister.”
Díaz gulped deeply, his mouth dropping open in sheer numbness. He looked at the faces around him and could not recognize one man who might help him at all. His gaze finally rested on Alberto Rojas. “You win, General,” he said. “But you know that I did all this for one reason: to help our people. Our citizens were dying and being exploited by the United States by the millions. Someone had to do something. Only I had the guts to take the fight to the Americans. I provided the inspiration for freedom and justice that the rest of the government could not.” Rojas said nothing. Díaz took one step toward him and said in a low voice, “You may not like what I did, Rojas, but you know I did it all on behalf of the Mexican people. Yes, I failed, but not for lacking the courage to try.”
Rojas averted his eyes, and Díaz knew he had hit a nerve. “I have the coura
ge for one more thing, General. Give me a gun and put me back in that room and I will save all of you the time and trouble of putting me on trial.”
The defense minister looked at Díaz, put his hand to his holster…then shook his head. “At one time I might have granted your request, Felix—but then I had to walk into your torture chamber and identify the body of my dear friend, President Carmen Maravilloso, lying on a slab in your house of horrors down there,” he said. “You are not a patriot or a revolutionary, Felix Díaz—you are nothing but a murderous piece of human shit.
“You will be taken to the United States and put on trial first, and then if you are not sentenced to death you will be sent back to Mexico to face murder and conspiracy charges here. Get him out of my sight.”
Jason carried Yegor Zakharov outside to the waiting CV-22 Os-prey tilt-rotor aircraft, surrounded by both Task Force TALON commandos and Mexican army soldiers. Internal Affairs agents and employees were being escorted out of the ministry buildings at gunpoint, and boxes of records were being carried out and loaded into trucks. “So, Major Richter,” Zakharov said casually, “I have done what you have asked. You should let me go now. That was part of our deal, was it not?”
“It was not,” the robot’s electronic voice replied.
“Then you intend to kill me, after all I have done for you?”
In the blink of an eye, the robot spun Zakharov around so he was now facing the robot, still suspended in the robot’s grasp; then, Richter deployed the twenty-millimeter cannon in his weapon backpack. The huge muzzle of the weapon was now pointed forward over the robot’s right shoulder, inches away from Zakharov’s face.
“I could do it now, Zakharov,” Jason said, the robotic voice slow and measured, “and no one would say a damned thing about it.”
“I could have slaughtered Vega’s entire family…!”
“Everyone expected you to do it. We were prepared for it, believe me.”
“But I did not do it, Major. I spared them, turned myself in, and helped you get Díaz.”