What if he’d been better trained in martial arts?
Impossible!
Plus, Trace was right behind me.
* * *
Mongoose and Shotgun appeared a few seconds after the excitement, reporting that the doctors’ office was empty of patients and doctors. But beyond the reception area in what was supposed to be an X-ray room, they had found a cache of weapons and a small stack of money, several changes of clothes, and a box of phony IDs. A raid by the police later that night would turn up evidence that the place had been rented by associates of Hezbollah. Unfortunately, the timing was bad. A raid on an apartment in Detroit a few hours later failed to net the two suspects the FBI traced to the little camp we’d crashed in Mexico. But some papers there implicated a local imam, who it appeared had provided aid and comfort to the visitors.
The imam also couldn’t be found. Rumor has it he’s been spotted sightseeing in Yemen, which is a lovely place this time of year.
* * *
Suffice to say my report to the State Department was received with great huzzahs and hurrahs. Aides and analysts literally did cartwheels down the aisles.
Heh.
I did, however, get paid quite handsomely. I received the full price agreed upon, along with expenses, which I swear to you as a fellow taxpayer I did not pad. And to top it off, the secretary of State wrote me a very nice, personal thank-you card, which accompanied a bouquet of flowers.
I had both thoroughly checked for poison and explosives before opening, of course.
Though documented, the connection between Hezbollah and the Mexican cartel failed to get much play in the media, mainstream and otherwise. Homeland Insecurity released some sort of press statement making a vague reference to the camp being discovered; if you read the report quickly, you might think they were the ones responsible.
If you read it slowly, you’d be positive they were.
Junior missed out on all the excitement because he had to stay around and wait for the U.S. Marshal’s office to show up and take full custody of de Sarcena, who by that point was pretty well addicted to painkillers. I understand he went cold turkey while waiting in prison to face trial on a record-setting 537 felonies. The cases haven’t begun yet, but I’m guessing at least one of the charges will stick, as long as they don’t pick a jury from South Florida.
Another dozen arrests were made of cartel associates in the States, due to evidence we provided. Said evidence included taped ramblings of things de Sarcena said while under the influence of Percocet—not admissible in court, perhaps, but vivid nonetheless.
As for the cartel: de Sarcena’s absence set the stage for a power struggle that is still going on. The result has been to split the cartel back into its “traditional” parts; how long that lasts is anyone’s guess.
The fallout can be measured, unfortunately, in the rise of violence along the border. Literally hundreds of people have died on the Mexican side in the past year due to cartel infighting. Juarez, never a pleasant place to begin with, is now the murder capital of the world.
The Mexican government has responded; some Mexican army units and the Mexican attorney general are waging a valiant fight. I can’t see far enough into the future to call a winner.
The tunnel under the border was shut down. I just read in the paper the other day about several similar ones being discovered in San Diego, so I’m guessing there was no real resolution or progress there.
Organized crime continues to smuggle people as well as drugs and everything else the banditos can think of across the border, in a variety of ways. But here’s a positive sign—the Mexicans who lived in the hamlet near Angel Hills are all still there, and say they’re doing well. A new factory making ceramic goods is locating nearby—another plus, I guess.
As for the Americans who opted to stay in Angel Hills: at last report, they’re still doing well. Rumor has it they tell of their exploits every afternoon around the pool, with the aid of a few cold ones. A number of people who’d left returned, but most of the complex is still unoccupied.
Melissa Reynolds got a good scolding from her dad. I’m sure it went in one ear and out the other. On the other hand, her sugar daddy, Jordan Macleish, tried to make up with her but failed, so obviously there is still some hope for the child.
Macleish at least put his money where his mouth was—our fee hit the bank account the next day, just in time to pay for our party.
There’s one other string that needs to be tied here. Remember that attack that opened the book? The kidnapping that wasn’t a kidnapping?
Apparently it had to do with a grudge I’d earned in North Korea sometime back. The dictator’s son put a price on my head, and thanks to some of his long-armed connections, was able to track me to the mixed-martial arts world and then figured out that I was in Mexico. My suspicion is that he had help from friends in Venezuela, though I haven’t been able to flesh that out yet. When I do, there will be hell to pay.
* * *
We booked a few rooms at the nearby Marriott, and after two solid days of sleep, had a party to wrap up our operation. I’m happy to report that there was no damage to the Marriott guest rooms or its lounge.
“I really enjoyed working with you,” Veronica told me toward the end of the evening. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for my grandparents.”
“We were lucky,” I admitted. “Very lucky.”
“Maybe your famous Mr. Murphy does good as well as evil.”
“Murph is an equal opportunity son of a bitch. He doesn’t really care about good and bad. All he wants to do is throw a monkey wrench in somewhere.”
She smiled, took another sip of her white wine, then put it down.
“I feel like kissing you,” she said.
“You could do that.”
She did. It was long, sweet, and deep.
“I’m going to go upstairs now,” she said. “Are you?”
She was beautiful. In that light, every bit as beautiful as Karen Fairchild.
And Karen wasn’t here.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to make it,” I told her.
There was just the vaguest hint of regret on her face before she vanished it with a smile.
“I’m sure she’s a wonderful woman,” Veronica told me. “I’m jealous.”
I watched her walk away. I was sorely tempted to join her.
Just a few years before, I would have. Maybe you can teach an old Rogue new tricks.
ALSO BY RICHARD MARCINKO
FICTION
Violence of Action
With John Weisman
Red Cell
Green Team
Task Force Blue
Designation Gold
Seal Force Alpha
Option Delta
The Real Team
Echo Platoon
Detachment Bravo
With Jim DeFelice
Vengeance
Holy Terror
Rogue Warrior®: Dictator’s Ransom
Rogue Warrior®: Seize the Day
Rogue Warrior®: Domino Theory
NONFICTION
Rogue Warrior (with John Weisman)
Leadership Secrets of the Rogue Warrior: A Commando’s Guide to Success
The Rogue Warrior’s Strategy for Success
About the Authors
Richard Marcinko is a living, breathing hero—he was honored with the silver star and four bronze stars for valor, along with two U.S. Navy Commendation medals. After serving in Vietnam, he founded and commanded SEAL Team 6, the U.S. Navy’s antiterrorist group, and Red Cell, a high-level antiterrorist unit whose exploits, fictionalized for security and legal reasons, have formed the basis of his novels. Besides an active speaking and consulting calendar, Marcinko keeps his hand in the field as the president of a private international security company. He lives in Warrington, Virginia.
Jim DeFelice is the author of many military-based thriller novels and is a frequent collaborator with Stephen Coonts, Larry B
ond, and Richard Marcinko, among other New York Times bestselling authors. His solo novels include Leopards Kill, Threat Level Black, Coyote Bird, War Breaker, and Brother’s Keeper. He lives in New York.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
ROGUE WARRIOR®: BLOOD LIES
Copyright © 2012 by Richard Marcinko and Jim DeFelice
All rights reserved.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Marcinko, Richard.
Rogue warrior—Blood lies / Richard Marcinko and Jim DeFelice.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
ISBN 978-0-7653-2541-9 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4638-4 (e-book)
1. Rogue Warrior (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Special forces (Military science)—Fiction. 3. Terrorism—Prevention—Fiction. I. DeFelice, Jim, 1956– II. Title. III. Title: Blood lies.
PS3563.A6362R57 2012
813'.54—dc23
2012017067
e-ISBN 9781429946384
First Edition: September 2012
1 Hezbollah is the Iranian-funded terror group that controls the Gaza Strip, hates Israel, and has sworn to do things to the U.S. that don’t include giving us a birthday cake. We’ll go into more detail later.
2 The lawyers suggest I add the standard disclaimer here, to the effect that you should not try this at home; I am a trained professional who has taken several counterterrorist driving classes. But I say screw the legal beagles. If you have keys and a driveway, give it a whirl.
3 But to complete my earlier thought—if you do try this at home, I recommend using a rental car, preferably something along the lines of Rent-a-Wreck, definitely not your own wheels. And buy—what am I saying?—steal a set of cheap tires because you are going to burn the ones you start with down to the cords. It’s all shits and giggles—shit when you fuck up and giggle when you pull off a maneuver out of your ass. Think of it this way: it’s a self-taught defensive driver course. Probably deductible on your taxes as an education expense.
4 I can’t believe I have to explain who Murphy is, but I will: the proprietor of the famous law dictating that whatever can go wrong will go wrong, but only at the worst possible moment.
5 Readers of a certain age and aficionados of Nickelodeon will notice the similarity to the device used by Maxwell Smart. Shunt, who designed it, swears he never heard of Don Adams, though if you’ve seen Shunt’s apartment, you’ll know he’s a big fan of Chaos.
6 Doc is Al “Doc” Tremblay—aka Cockbreath and other assorted terms of endearment—one of my original partners in crime; he’s been with me since the invention of gunpowder. The gun Shotgun was using was built for him by Heckler & Koch, one of several my company (Red Cell International) is testing. We also have somewhat similar M4 derivatives built for us by a company owned by a former SEAL; the weapon may or may not go into general production and I’ve been asked to avoid publicizing it. Basically, it’s an M4 on steroids; do a Google search and odds are you’ll come across it. From here on out I’ll just refer to it as an M4. We also had SCARs, a few Chinese AKs, and of course my trusty MP5 at our disposal during this op.
7 My interpretation. Judge for yourself by reading Seize the Day. Available at fine bookstores everywhere.
8 For the record, I feel that striking terror camps is a government military function, as opposed to something the likes of yours truly ought to be retained for. Hell, that’s why I set up SEAL Team 6. Not that I won’t do it if asked.
9 I might mention something about an alleged difference in age, but I value my body parts too much.
10 Sounds like my editor’s love life, I know.
11 I’m tempted to take a timeout here and expound on the idiocy of allowing criminals to operate freely a few hundred yards from American soil, or maybe berate the idiotic government rules that prevent Border Patrol members from properly defending themselves from these thugs even when it’s clear their motive is murder.
12 We occasionally supplement them with Google. But there are a number of advantages of using a commercial provider; you do get what you pay for.
13 I’m not sure how technical to get here, and I don’t want every tango asshole playing with mines. Basically, I made an assumption about the type of mine likely to be used, and how to fail-safe it. You can probably work out what the alternatives are on your own, but then you’re also probably smarter than the average terrorist.
14 The good sister was one of my former teachers. She now leads the Rogue Warrior Book Club at the Holy Rollers Home for Lost Causes and Retired Nuns.
15 The words he used were nariz mugrienta—an interesting insult, and I assume some sort of perverted pun, though no one has been able to untangle it for me.
16 FUBAR: Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. Probably an exaggeration here; a more appropriate term probably would been goat fuck. It was definitely beyond SNAFU (situation normal, all fucked up).
17 The publisher informs me that, in fact, they are readying a special Twitter campaign just for drug dealers and other miscreants in the near future. I’ll let you know how it goes.
18 Wachovia is now part of Wells Fargo, and I hope the new regime has cleaned up the act. To keep the lawyers happy, I should also note that while the bank paid a $160 million fine, there were never any criminal prosecutions.
19 In the interests of keeping them below the radar, we’ll neglect to mention the name here. I hope you understand. And if not—tough turds.
20 You understand why this is, right? If the route seems impassable, defenders will more than likely forget about it. And as I like to remind my minions, if it hurts you’re doing it right!
21 Blame Shunt, not Murphy on that one.
22 I’m sure he meant to say something more politically correct. There’s no one more PC than Shotgun.
23 For my fans who make the annual Rogue Warrior Musters at Fort A.P. Hill: it looked like a cheaper, plainer version of the lodge we use there.
24 The grenade seems to have ignited something flammable; either one of the men in the front had whiskey breath, or they used a cheap ten-minute-lube place that left the engine streaked with oil.
25 All of the estimates of illegal border crossing and the like are really just guesses, since obviously no one is standing there ticking people off as they come in. The Government Accounting Office published a report in 2006 that is often referred to by others looking for reliable numbers. While the report focused on border deaths, it estimated illegal crossings averaged roughly 454,000 over the seven years ending 2004. The same report put apprehensions at 1.27 million a year in the same period. The report used U.S. Border Patrol numbers as well as GAO analysis.
26 In retrospect, I should have opened the window first. Not only would it have been quieter, but it wouldn’t have sent glass splattering all over the place. The grenades won’t explode until they’ve gone a certain distance, so firing through the glass wasn’t any more dangerous in that respect. Of course, that did assume it was working properly—and we all know what can happen when we ass-u-me.
27 Which war this may have been was never explained.
28 The Procuraduría General de la República (PGR), which is the Attorney General’s office in México, operates a number of Bell 206L-4 LongRanger helicopters to assist in the war on drugs. These look like stretched versions of the Huey we all knew and loved in Vietnam; they’re much more potent aircraft, though, as they take advantage of the improvements in technology since then.
29 I use the term loosely.
30 Rumor has it this was from the stas
h of money I’d borrowed from de Sarcina. I plead ignorance; accounting is not my thing.
31 The payments varied slightly, but were between $9,000 and $11,000. Typically, smugglers are said to get anywhere from $7,000 to $30,000. I’m somewhat skeptical of the higher numbers, unless they include money paid after being transported. That can actually add up to considerable pocket change.
Blood Lies - 15 Page 33