Nick hoped the sniper logo on his shirt would remind the S3 members of the dozens of crazy, all-out scraps he had survived. Even as experienced as many of the combat vets were, no one had put as many men down as Nick had.
Nick’s black T-shirt was tucked into a pair of jungle camo trousers, bloused into a spit-polished pair of boots. Marcus stood behind him at parade rest, dressed the same except that his black T-shirt bore a Combat Hand-to-Hand Instructor logo from his days as a drill instructor at Parris Island. Both Nick and Marcus wore OD green boonie covers, just like the rest of the S3 unit.
Nick paced a bit in front of the platoon-sized element as he composed his words, just as he had seen countless leaders do. Then he stopped and faced them.
“Men, there’s no need beating around the bush. We’re in a hell of a situation. Again.”
A few men laughed, remembering how they had been forced to deploy early before their training was complete and then nearly had the entire mission yanked from them just a couple days earlier.
“Good point,” Nick said, acknowledging the laughter and thinking about what a disaster this whole gig had been to date. “Well, the good news is we don’t have to leave immediately as we nearly did earlier this week. We do, however, get a chance to complete the mission. There is one catch though, and it’s a big one. The bad news is we have a very short timeline to complete the mission.”
No one said anything or complained, so Nick continued.
“We, no shit, have two days to wrap this up.” Nick let that sink in as he looked them over. “Two days to claim that bastard who calls himself the Butcher. Two days to rip the balls off the Godesto Cartel and turn them from the most powerful cartel in North or South America to nothing but a bunch of crying Boy Scouts.
“The CIA believes President Rivera only has two more days left in office, and that means we also only have two more days. His likely replacement would love nothing more than to arrest a bunch of gringos operating in Mexico to score some easy political points with the public. But the main point of me yapping here in front of you is we need all hands on deck on this one. Marcus and I need every idea and brain cell that we have in this unit.
“And we need whatever solution we can come up with fast. You guys will break into squads, brainstorm how best we can take the Butcher out as well as wreck the Godesto Cartel in only two days. Then, your squad leaders will report to Marcus and me in forty-five minutes. Time is of the essence men. No screwing around in these brainstorming sessions. We’ll probably be locked and loaded and hunting in just a few hours, so get your game faces on.”
Nick looked back. “Marcus, you have anything to add?”
Marcus shook his head and Nick said, “Squad leaders, take your men and make it happen. Dismissed.”
It took more than three intense hours, but Nick and Marcus crafted together a plan that they thought just might work. It was their best chance, and there was no way of guaranteeing a successful plan given the two-day deadline, with the clock already ticking as they raced to plan the op and get everything into position.
With the plan as complete as they could make it, Nick stepped away to call President Rivera. Nick had assumed Mr. Smith with the CIA would want a briefing, but the man had said he didn’t want to know the details when Nick had called him first. Nick could sense the “plausible deniability” and feeling of being sold out if this didn’t work, but he had been sold out before so it was nothing new for cowards who led from behind desks.
Nick looked down at his watch and saw it was 9:13 p.m.
Late or not, Rivera had asked to be kept personally in the loop, since Nick didn’t trust reporting his info to any other Mexican official. Well, maybe Juan Soto, but he was no longer an option.
Rivera had persuaded Nick to call him personally in part because the President had felt confident that Nick would need his help. The President could move men and material, or gather last-minute intel through his generals without explaining what it might be used for. Nick felt comfortable with this arrangement and promised to call once his team had devised some plans.
With it now nearly 9:15, Nick would soon find out whether President Rivera truly wanted to be called no matter the time of day. He pulled out a throw-away cell phone and called Rivera on the man’s personal cell phone. If Nick and Marcus’s plans were going to work, then they would need some big favors from Rivera. Yet as the phone rang in Nick’s ears, he remembered the vengeful mood he had seen the man in… Rivera would come through.
Chapter 35
Just minutes after President Roberto Rivera approved Nick’s plans, the men of S3 crept down the farm’s driveway and slithered into the night.
The squads had been packing and making final mission prep for hours, even while the plans were being finalized by Nick and Dwayne Marcus. Now, with Rivera on board with the strategy, and completely willing to do his part, the deadly warriors of Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter were leaving to sow some hate and discontent.
And it was a good night to do it. It was black out -- darker than normal.
“Good night for hunting,” Nick said into his radio.
“Oh, yeah,” Marcus answered. “We’re going to bag some people tonight.” He rode in a vehicle further back in the convoy.
In many respects, this was the most dangerous part of the operation. The entire unit of S3 was moving toward Mexico City. All forty-four of them, minus their Mexican contact and CIA liaison, who they had left back at the farm. But otherwise the entire unit had grabbed as much ammo as they could carry and loaded all of their vehicles.
Now the convoy of various vehicles -- SUVs, compacts, trucks; all bought with the purpose of not sticking out -- was dispersed over a two-mile distance. They had waited a couple minutes between each vehicle departing to avoid moving as a large pack. Had they been bunched up together with that many headlights traveling as a group at night, they would have likely been pulled over by some police officer worried they were a cartel group rolling out in force. (Of course the officer would know he couldn't stop that many, so he’d probably call it in, which was even more dangerous.)
Nick couldn’t afford a shootout with a bunch of cops, or a delay if they were stopped and arrested, given how many weapons they carried. President Rivera would have gotten it sorted out eventually, but the delay might still last an hour or two. And their element of surprise would be totally gone once the police department started talking about the large formation of men that had been pulled over and then released following a call from the President.
Nick swallowed down an uneasy feeling as they drove north. Just another hour or so and they’d be at the pick-up point, and then the mission would really get interesting.
President Roberto Rivera stood in front of his bullet-proof window and stared out over the massive city. As part of the emergency renovation to restore national pride, the Presidential Palace had been mostly repaired from the attacks it had sustained. Still, Rivera felt unsettled. After such a ferocious and brazen attack on the Palace, he would never feel safe and secure again.
He sighed. The lack of even a basic feeling of safety was just another frustration of trying to rule Mexico. How could you be a strong leader when your own sanctuary felt like a combat outpost in some Third World country? How could he achieve anything when his orders were leaked as fast as he issued them?
Foreign leaders had no idea of how many unique challenges he faced. He suppressed the nagging thought that maybe Mexico was closer to being a Third World country than he cared to admit.
No. Not even close, he thought. He’d fix Mexico or die trying. And with luck, his country’s fortunes would change in a big way tonight. Rivera no longer cared if he survived his second term. And this was a bigger deal than he could ever explain. He had spent his whole life getting to this point, and yet he had come to grips with the fact that he’d gladly sacrifice that. His legacy meant nothing compared to the necessity of saving his country.
He stared at the cell phone in his hand -- it
was one he had taken from one of the lowest aides in the building. He had asked the steward if he had a cell phone on him, and once the young man had said yes, he had handed him five hundred dollars and said to go buy a new one -- that he needed to make some calls with it and he needed a phone that wasn’t monitored.
And as Rivera looked over the city, he knew that now was the moment of truth. With the first of several calls he was about to make, he would break so many laws that he shuddered to consider how long he would serve in prison if it failed and Nick and his team wasn’t successful.
But Nick had laid out the facts as only a non-national could do. Nick didn’t care that he was speaking to the President of Mexico. He frankly and directly told Rivera that he was being told by CIA intelligence that Rivera probably had two days, which meant Nick and S3 had only that much time as well.
Rivera hated to agree, but the wolves were closing in. Congressional hearings were already scheduled and his close aides were jockeying for their own political careers in case Rivera’s nose-dived.
Nick explained that he and his team had devised some possible plans that just might crush the Godesto Cartel and put the Butcher in the ground, if Rivera was game for helping them.
Nick’s ideas were off-the-wall good, and Rivera had slightly improved them, at least in his mind. Nick agreed the additions were sound and once he was sure that Rivera was on board, he asked the man -- the President! -- to take out a memo pad and write down some detailed instructions, as well as what time they needed to happen.
Rivera had complied and now he was seconds from completing step one.
He looked up from the steward’s cell phone and shifted his eyes north toward America. If Nick and his men failed to pull this off, he and his wife, as well as the remainder of Juan Soto’s family, would be flying to America to seek asylum in just a couple of days, if not sooner. Possibly even tomorrow. And once that occurred, someone else could worry about Mexico’s problems.
Maybe one of the bastards in Congress ripping him on 24-hour news channels at this very moment could find out what it felt like to be looking out this window into the dark night, wondering if an RPG would come flying toward you from the apartment complex across the way. He wished they could see what it was like. To go to work wondering if your family or the families of your supporters would survive the day. To have to decide whether to stand up to the cartels or get in bed with them.
He glanced at his watch. It was time for the first task Nick had assigned him.
He typed in the numbers he had looked up earlier. He had written Nick’s plans on a yellow memo pad, adding in necessary details in the margins. No way would Rivera let any assistant help him on this, though it had felt weird having to look up a phone number for the first time in nearly five years.
The phone rang three times and then someone picked up.
“Police Department,” a man answered. “Is this an emergency?”
“No,” Rivera said. “I need to speak to--” he looked down at his memo pad to find the name of the duty officer, “Captain Millan. Immediately.”
“Who is this? What is it regarding?”
“This is a Class 5 Emergency. Password J587IWM.”
A pause ensued, doubtlessly as the person fumbled and looked up the numbers.
“One moment, sir. I’ll get him.”
So far, so good.
Thirty seconds later, a captain picked up the phone. He sounded like he had been running and Rivera figured the man had been down the hall watching a movie.
“Captain Millan, you don’t need to know my name, but I am a high-ranking official who works at the Presidential Palace and is in the know, you might say. I wanted to warn you that you will soon be getting a call -- approximately thirty minutes from now -- that will come as part of an emergency set of orders from the Presidential Palace. And I wanted to warn you that you might want to get twelve of your standard, green police trucks fueled up and ready to go. The ones with rails in the beds for troops. Trust me on this. Gas tanks, fully fueled, as they should be, but often aren’t because officers are too tired at the end of their shifts.”
“Why are you telling me this?” the captain asked.
“My father was a police officer,” Rivera said, telling a lie, but for a good cause. “Now, I must go before I’m busted for alerting you, but make sure you fuel those twelve trucks up. You’re going to thank me, believe me.”
Rivera hung up, then picked up his own cell phone -- government issued and probably tracked, but necessary. So be it, he thought. He had to use it for these calls, or things would seem too odd to those who picked the phone up this late at night. And ultimately, either he and Nick would succeed and that would give him a shot at retaining his Presidency and saving the country, or they wouldn’t, and if they failed, then none of it mattered anyway. He’d be on that plane to America.
His first call was to the head of his Secret Service.
“Herrera, this is President Rivera. I apologize for calling you so late, but I need you to call up two hundred of your men. Full battle gear, in the Presidential Palace as fast as they can get here. And I need your shift leader in my office in the next five minutes. Please, no questions. I must go now and will fill you in later. Just do it.”
Rivera hung up and called his Chief of Staff.
“Mateo, this is President Rivera. I apologize for calling you so late, but I need to call an emergency Cabinet meeting. Get everyone here immediately. And then get with the stewards and have them call some people in. We’re going to need food and drinks since everyone will be here for a while.”
Within thirty minutes, the last Cabinet member had arrived. A police escort had accompanied each of them, so their arrival was unimpeded. And since there had been an earlier Cabinet meeting that afternoon, all of them were in Mexico City instead of out touring their departments across the country.
Rivera kept his distance as they arrived. He stayed in his office and ignored them while they muttered and waited anxiously. Many of them texted him, hoping friendship would trump his plans, but he dismissed their queries without an answer.
He also knew a few would try to meet privately with him to find out what was going on, so he had stationed twelve Secret Service officers in full battle gear, including M4 assault rifles, to stand at his door and admit no one. (And given that he had told the shift leader that a possible coup was under way, these men would listen to no one but Rivera himself, no matter how high ranking a Cabinet member might be.)
Once his Chief of Staff texted to inform him that the last member had arrived and all were seated and ready, Rivera took a deep breath and charged into the conference room. If the door flying open uncharacteristically didn’t get their attention, then the eight men entering behind him in full combat gear did.
All chatter ceased around the conference table and Rivera stopped behind his seat at the head of the table, his hands on his hips. He didn’t plan on sitting down. He stared down at them and said, “Tonight, I’ll be issuing a number of orders. I expect them to be executed immediately and without comment.”
He pulled a folded yellow sheet from his pocket. It provided both his instructions and the only proof that existed of his conversation with Nick Woods from earlier. It would certainly be burned soon, but for now, it supplied the blueprints for his and Nick’s war plans.
He turned to his head of Federal Police -- Mexico’s equivalent of America’s FBI.
“Luis, call the Mexico City Police Department. A Captain Millan is the duty officer. Instruct him to immediately deliver twelve police trucks to this address.”
Rivera popped one of his business cards face down on the table and slid it toward the head of federal police.
“The address,” Rivera said, pointing to the back of the card on which he had scribbled down the address, “is an abandoned warehouse. There will be a number of men there, and these men are American. The police officers are to say nothing to these men, but simply leave the keys in the ignitions and conf
irm there’s a full tank of gas in them before they drop them off.”
Luis shook his head in confusion.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Rivera shot back. “Tell Captain Millan to have his men drive a couple of vans down with them so they have a way back to the police station once they’ve dropped the vehicles off. Oh, and if he hears or an officer reports of twelve trucks running throughout the city with their lights on, tell him to leave them alone and ignore the call.”
The Secretary of Interior, Marcos Sanchez, jumped to his feet. He was in charge of Mexico’s internal security.
“This is absurd,” he roared. “Why don’t I know of these Americans? Are these the men of your S3 or some other group?”
“Sit down,” Rivera said.
“I will not sit down. This is how blue-on-blue situations occur. I command all security operations inside this country and I will not allow something to be done without my knowledge.”
“Fine,” Rivera said. “Step out of the room and type up your resignation letter. These two officers will take your cell phone from you and then escort you to one of my offices. By the way, don’t plan on going anywhere. You won’t be allowed to leave the premises for at least the next thirty-six hours. Probably forty-eight.”
Rivera shifted his view from the stunned Secretary of Interior to the rest of his Cabinet.
“Nor will any of you.”
No one said anything. Good, he had them where he wanted them.
“Now may we proceed?” he asked.
The Attorney General spoke up.
“Sir, if there are Americans here and if they’re going to be impersonating police officers and driving around in police trucks, then we better discuss the implications immediately. You are quite likely breaking a number of laws by this action.”
Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) Page 28