“On it. I wish there were another way, brother.”
I grinned. “Yeah, me too, Lucas.”
* * *
Lynn had silenced our captives by cutting Hector’s right ear off. Any whimper or sound from the captives elicited a visit from Lynn waving Mr. Manos’s ear in their face - very effective for captive crowd control. Casey had trouble keeping a straight face.
“You are a very sick puppy, Cruella.”
Lynn clucked a bit, while waving her ear hand around. “Man up, Case! It’s going to get a whole lot more gross before we’re done. Ain’t that right, boys? Imagine what part I’m going to cut off next.”
She always comes up with something different. Lynn is the end zone of interrogation. Hector was still sobbing, lying on the side opposite his bleeding and missing orifice. Clint pressed a bandage with adhesive against his open ear hole. Hector’s crew already seemed more than ready to help. Lynn had put on the mask of crazed serial killer, her eyes a molten font of fast moving sadistic twitches and tight lipped grins.
“Look, Clint! Still no takers. Let the cuttin’ begin! There’s my bitch right there!” Lynn kicked one of the crew over to his side. “Bring him over and strip him, boys! We need a demonstration!”
I shook my head, because in seconds we had more information flowing our way than we could handle. Casey settled them down while Clint held off the crazed Montoya, and I mean she made Freddy Kruger look like an altar boy. I helped Casey situate the now very helpful crew of pirates so we could begin our taped interrogations. They were both time consuming and entertaining; because when Lynn put on the bored serial killer mask, she had a tendency to start cutting things: articles of clothing, hair, exploratory nicks in various places. Lynn grabbed one of them by the hair, studying his face from inches away, and then tracing a line around his eye socket with the tip of her knife.
“You’ve got pretty eyes. I want one!” He screamed and Clint grabbed her wrist just in time. I’d say it was an act, but with her it’s damn hard to tell.
“We’re almost finished, baby. Jafar’s checking out what we can. Remember, we made a deal with these guys.”
Hector gave us everything: his account numbers, his Cartel affiliation, and a list of wrong doings where we could give some surviving relatives closure. They had murdered the yacht crews as we suspected they had, torturing them in front of the boat owners they now held in Cancun. The reason behind the helpfulness of the Cancun people became clearer to us. Hector and his crew also filled in every detail of the oil rig’s frame work, and access points from the lower platform. I had been correct in assuming they kept easier access to the main platform of the rig from the water, because of what their main objectives were. Using our own schematics of the oil rig, we were able to get a clear picture from the crew where the remaining personnel were located.
We had good news on two fronts. The rig was idle, and it had a skeleton crew on it maintaining lighting and utilities. Having separated each of Hector’s crew for individual interrogation when questioning them about the oil platform, we were told the number still on board was sixteen. If I could hold the main platform, Laredo could pick up my team at a specified time after I got into position. He would only be minutes away from the oil rig. Sixteen rig workers with me keeping the landing zone safe would not have a chance against my team unless they had a self-destruct mechanism. I figured on Lynn and Jafar in charge of the Wolf. Neither were trained in assaults like this one. Lynn did well on the warehouse rescue, but that had been unavoidable because of the girls we were rescuing. She was not happy after we had disposed of our Cartel murderers with a hot shot, and at sea burial. We consolidated our plans in the Wolf’s living area.
“Is this some kind of insult? I did fine flushing out the guys for Lucas to pop at the warehouse. Why the hell am I getting benched with the kid? Hell, you’re letting Lucas go, and he’s a geezer.”
After the laughter died down concerning Lucas’s age status I kept it simple. “You’re part of the team. You do what you do best, except in special circumstances. This assault is what we do best. The four of us have extensive experience with repelling from a chopper. Doing it in the middle of a hot LZ at night is something you’ll need more training for. Jafar keeps our communications and mission status in constant updates. You’ll be steering the Wolf in because I want Laredo out of there immediately after the guys hit the platform. Then we move through the structure until we can account for all sixteen workers. We know where their communications station is. I will take that out first before the team lands unless I freeze my ass off or get eaten by a shark.”
“You poor baby,” Lucas nailed me right away. “Big tough recon marine still whining about a little swim in the pool before action. I’m not even going to allow you to play the Marine’s Hymn before your next pantywaist fight. I think ‘Kum ba yah’ or maybe ‘Tiptoe Through the Tulips’ would be better theme songs for you to consider. We’ll have to change the lettering on your robe from ‘Hard Case’ to ‘Sissy Boy’.”
Even the formerly outraged Montoya was having a good time with the geezer’s sendup of my male status. “If there are no more comments about my man card, I’m thinking after I take out the com center, things get tricky from there. Unfortunately, we don’t know how much danger there is even with the rig idle. Hell, on an active oil rig, the workers can’t have anything electronic outside of the living quarters due to the danger of triggering explosions. There’s bound to be some fumes or pipes that we can’t afford to spray with machine gun fire, or anything else. That’s what makes it a perfect base for the Cartel’s pirates. Hector told us the only weapons are on board the ship we just took over. Even the bad guys on board have only clubs and knives.”
“Denny’s working this on the backside through channels, but for the time being, we need to do as little damage as possible. He’s going to put a team on board, after we find out how many of the survivors are just maintenance workers, and how many are murderous Cartel scumbags. Until we get those people out of Cancun, it’s possible we can use the workers on the rig to keep it viable until someone from the Mexican Government confiscates it.”
“There’s a half dozen bad guys on board the rig, according to our former cruise guests,” Lynn said. “I hope the regular oil rig workers have sense enough to go along with this no shooting allowed assault. It will be tedious enough sending all their pictures, DNA, and fingerprints to Denny before we head for Cancun. Hector said his Cancun bosses checked in once a week unless something special happened, and they called in two days ago to warn about our proposed meeting. We won’t have much leeway getting to the people being held.”
“I wish Hector had known the specifics about Cancun. He didn’t have much more than what we already knew,” Jafar added. “Once you have secured their com center, I will block all out-going communications from any hand held electronics they have, John. At least it’s in the living quarters.”
“That will be another key to Cruella being ready to steer the Wolf in close, so you can do just that.” I exchanged the usual deadly stare-off with Ms. Deville. I won yet again as she grinned. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, Sissy Boy, I want to know when you’re getting into the water,” Cruella boinked me but good. “I need to take some pictures and video during the launch.”
Chapter Twenty-One: Night Swim
With The Sea Wolf anchored a mile from the rig, Clint helped me with my pod I’d be towing along behind me to the floating platform. Yes, we had the smiling and filming Lynn with her digital camera. She had the spotlight from it on us while the rest of our mates enjoyed the start of my mile approach. Yeah, there’re really no compassionate partings amongst us monsters. We interact on the same level as surgeons in a combat front do. If we can make each other laugh, we do. Like them, what we do doesn’t always come out well. What the hell’s the use of getting maudlin about what we have to do? I enjoy the hell out of it. What would bother me is this bunch hanging around like I’m already dead. They know
I can do a mile over the water in my sleep. Once I get on board, they know damn well what I can do once I get on the main platform.
“Hey, Sissy Boy, get some fish for breakfast tomorrow morning before you go,” Lucas munched on me some more. “Oh hell, I forgot, you’re already whining about that little mile to swim. A real Recon Marine could dive down, get dinner and breakfast for us, all without missing a beat starting the mission. Shit! Instead of a Recon Marine we got you! Okay… try to get to the rig before daylight.”
Even I was howling. When I could speak, I waved him off. “Thanks, Lucas. I needed that. Doing a single-handed takeover of an oil rig with no dischargeable weapons really had me worried.”
“Get in the water, pussy, and quit delaying your mission… damn it!”
How could I fail with back up like that? I dived into the churning surf without any further pokes at my manhood. After making sure my equipment pod was strapped to me comfortably, I made contact with the GPS transmitter on board the Wolf for my bright, divers’ digital Navimate GPS wrist display screen. I already had the rig’s position programmed in. Since I would not be approaching the rig underwater, I had on a full wetsuit with mask, buoyancy compensator, snorkel, weight belt, and fins. Emergency air I packed in a small Spare Air cylinder strapped to my compensator in case I had to go under for some reason. My equipment pod could be submersed out of sight with its own buoyancy adjustments. I adjusted everything so no one would see me or the pod, except for my small black snorkel, and my black wetsuit hood covered head.
Inside the equipment pod, I had a state of the art meter for reading hazardous explosive fumes. My Stryker 380 crossbow would be my only weapon other than the old Kabar bayonet I’d had since the Marines. I also had duct tape and plastic restraints. The team would all have Stryker 380’s when they came on board. Only Lucas would also have a MAC 10 in case we had to drop the pretense and risk an explosion. The deceased Hector had explained only one man would be on watch in the communications center. The rest would be in the living quarters. The man on watch also did a walk around once an hour, including the lower platform.
The overcast night provided very little light. It can be disorienting when moving through water in darkness without being able to glance up at a skyline, but my GPS screen helped with the weird feeling of not knowing up from down. The taste of salt water in a choppy sea can kick in anyone’s gag reflex, but the trick is to keep moving, and concentrating on your destination while keeping your snorkel up above the chop. It wasn’t long before I had no frame of reference other than my GPS screen as the Wolf was no longer in sight. Nearly a half hour later, I could see the lights on the oil rig. I’ll admit that sight made me feel a bit happier. I noted the low ship dock on the right side of the rig as I closed to within a hundred yards. Hector had told the truth, added on ladders provided access all the way to the upper deck.
I slowed my approach to a crawl, airing up my compensator slightly while pulling my mask and snorkel down around my neck. I pulled the waterproof night scope out of my zippered compensator pocket. At nearly one-thirty in the morning, there was no movement I could see, but the bulwark of pipes and framing made it difficult to be sure. I didn’t want anyone glancing over to see the glowing eye of my scope, so I did my scanning in short intervals. The low boat ramp made it easy to get my pod up out of the water. I tied it off, opened it, and stripped off my wet suit and gear.
With my all black Kevlar clothing, thin black mask, and black no-slip shoes, I would be very hard to see. I put on my night vision headset with com gear. Slipping into my pack, I heard the noise of someone descending toward me. This was not in the plan. The bad news was he’s a half hour early on his walk around. The good news is he should also be the guy in the com center. His destination could only be the boat ramp I was standing on so there wasn’t much left to do but wait with my Kabar near the ladder.
The guy didn’t even look around until his feet touched the ramp. He stood about six feet tall with heavy black beard, coveralls, hardhat, and foul weather coat. I had an arm around his neck and my Kabar jammed against his kidney the second he cleared the ladder. “Keep silent and you live. Nod if you understand.”
He nodded.
“Get on your knees, and then on your face, using your hands full out in front.” He did as he was told. I plastic tied his wrists and feet. I helped him sit up. “You the guy on watch in the radio room?”
“Yes… who are you? It is very dangerous for you to be here. You don’t know who you’re messing with. The Sinaloa Cartel runs this rig. Their guys will be coming back soon.”
He spoke with a Southwest Texas accent. If I had to guess, I’d say this guy might be able to help me. “No they won’t. Is everyone in the living quarters?”
“Yes, but-”
“How did you come to work this gig?”
“I answered an ad. I’ve worked oil rigs before. I didn’t know what they did here until it was too late. These Cartel guys will cut your heart out and eat it.” He looked around. “How the hell did you get out here?”
“What’s your name?”
“Gary Cantler.”
Time to break radio silence. “DL to the Wolf. Come in.”
“We read you,” Jafar’s relieved voice answered.
“Run this name – Gary Cantler – oil rig worker.”
“On it.” Jafar came back on line a few minutes later. “He’s an oil rig worker, but he’s been missing for nearly six months. No priors except a DUI five years ago.”
“Start the party. I’ll have the landing pad ready.”
“Will do.”
I took the plastic ties off of Cantler, and then shouldered my pack with the Stryker 380 strapped to it. I picked up the explosive gas meter. “How dangerous is an idle rig like this if weapons are fired on board?”
“You don’t want to do that, partner,” Gary replied. “There are always stray fumes on a rig like this. Even the bad guys don’t bring their weapons off the boat. They mostly have knives and clubs. Can I buy a ticket off here and back home with you?”
“If everything goes right, we may have you stay only a little longer until the Mexican Government takes it over. Okay… lead me to your communications room.”
The rig was a maze, a tinker toy looking nightmare. Gary knew his way around though. In short order we were in the communications room. I noted the helicopter pad was just as our schematics outlined, on a platform above. “Can you temporarily disable the com gear without me having to wreck this place?”
It only took him ten minutes to pop up with a handful of parts. “This will do it.”
“Do you know who the Cartel guys are?”
“Sure, everyone does. We don’t mess with those guys. Three of us objected to being stuck out here incommunicado. The next morning, they were gone, only not back to the States.”
I had an idea how to make this a bit less thrilling. “Gary, could you go in the living quarters and get the rest of the regular workers out on the main platform?”
Gary brightened. “Maybe. The Cartel guys bunk in together. They know we don’t have any way off the rig.”
“Go for it.”
Gary jogged out of the com room and I followed. He entered another complex, gesturing for me to stay put. I did, with crossbow in hand, and Kabar within reach. It took maybe twenty minutes before Gary had led the rest of his compatriots out on deck. “That’s the last of them. They’re excited about getting the hell off this rig.”
“Get them over there on the other side of the rig and come back. I have a nice bonus for you if you can lead my team to the Cartel boys. By the way, would they hear a Stealth helicopter?”
“I don’t know,” Gary replied. “What’s it sound like?”
I grinned. “One’s approaching from a hundred yards out behind you.”
Gary turned startled at the nearly noiseless approach. “Damn. Believe me, if I can’t hear it from here, they won’t from where they’re bunked at.”
“Get your friends
over in the safety area, well away from here.”
Gary left to take care of it. By the time he returned my guys were repelling down on the pad. Laredo moved away from the landing pad. “Stay here. I’ll bring my team over.”
I glanced at my explosive gas meter. It wasn’t picking up anything, but I still didn’t want to test it out, even in the crew’s quarters, which was supposed to be explosive proof as far as electronic gizmos. I waved at my crouching team of cold blooded killers.
“Hi guys. I have a guide down into the bad boys’ bunks. Maybe we can take the whole bunch for questioning aboard the Wolf.”
“Damn, boy, I may have to make you a Marine again,” Lucas allowed, although somewhat reluctantly. “What’s the firing danger?”
“Bad, according to my contact. The meter reads good, but I’d rather not chance it. Let’s go with the crossbows. I’m hoping you don’t have to fire Lucas.”
“That makes two of us. Denny sent a few men with Laredo who know how to keep the rig safe since you still have the maintenance men alive and well. He’ll bring them on board the moment we sort out the locals. Let’s do this.”
Gary led us through the crew quarters to where our six Cartel guys were sleeping. A few were stirring uneasily, noting unfamiliar noises. Then, we were on them, and no amount of anything helped. One frosty dude jumped up with a knife he kept under his pillow. Clint put a crossbow bolt through his shoulder, while Casey and Lucas tumbled the rest out of their bunks. The Stryker 380 at close range had passed right through the knife wielder’s shoulder without striking bone. The impact and shock put him back on his bunk in agony, clutching the wound. Clint tied a pillow case around Mack the Knife’s wound, and secured him.
This is the way it ought to be, the plan coming together without firing a shot. We plastic tied our prisoners, who were already threatening us with annihilation if we didn’t give up. Oh boy. That’s going to be a tough sell. My team was already kicking the Cartel guys’ asses up on deck without even bothering to brandish weapons, except for Lucas. There were as alluded to by Hector only six of them.
Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books) Page 88