“Mrs. Collins, Lynn, sorry to intrude,” was all Everett said as he pulled Jack away from the table by the elbow.
“Things have gone to hell across the border, Jack,” he whispered. “A Mexican professor, his male assistant, and Lance Corporal Udall are dead.” He looked around and Jack could see the anger in his face. “And Ryan is hurt real bad and is now at a hospital in Nuevo Laredo.”
Jack clenched his jaw and was staring at Everett, waiting for the rest.
“Whoever did it took Sarah, another girl, and the professor from Baylor that was on the dig list Sarah sent us from the site a day ago.”
Jack was thinking, but none of his thoughts were making it to the surface through the fear that suddenly gripped his mind. He wasn’t used to the feeling, as it had become second nature for him to think during the stress of command that called for quick and precise reactions. He didn’t notice Lynn as she joined the three men. She already had her cell phone out waiting to assist Jack in any way she could after hearing the last part of the conversation.
“Is that all we know?” Collins finally asked.
“We have a plane at the airport we’re using as a command post at the moment. Pete Golding is there along with an eight-man security and assault team. Pete is doing what he can with Europa. He has a list of suspects, but there is only one name that keeps coming across the boards, and the computer says it’s—”
“It has to be Juan Guzman,” Lynn said before Carl could finish.
Jack turned to his sister. Her job as the assistant director at the North American Operations desk at the CIA would give Lynn the expertise on everything that goes on within that continent.
“Explain,” Jack ordered hastily.
“Nothing happens in northern Mexico without his expressed say-so. He’s the undeclared winner of the drug war across the border. He has money and his own private army. He has never hesitated about going to war on this side of the border with anyone that crosses him,” Lynn explained as she opened her cell phone and made a call, stepping away as she did so. Looking back she said, “And that small regiment on his payroll is better equipped than the Mexican army.”
“The FBI and Homeland Security is on this, and Niles is talking to the president as we speak, trying to get us jurisdictional operating room. But everyone in Washington is throwing a fit. The stuffed shirts want the Mexican authorities to handle it. And us being secret, we’re the last in line when decisions are handed down.”
“No, I’m not leaving Ryan and Sarah over there while we wait to go through channels.” Jack looked at a worried Mendenhall and then at Everett. “Look, I need Pete and the intelligence he and Europa can come up with. However, you two won’t need the grief that would come down if the president orders us to stand down; you need to stay with the plane at the airport.”
Everett looked from Collins and then over to Will Mendenhall. He shook his head as he once more locked eyes with the colonel.
“You know damn good and well that isn’t going to work, Jack. Now we have to go.”
Lynn joined them after closing up her cell phone.
“Look, my desk at Langley agrees, Jack. It has to be the Anaconda—that’s the slick bastard’s nickname. Listen to me, Guzman is not only the largest drug dealer south of the border, he deals in women also. Let’s hope that’s why he took Sarah and the others; that will buy you some time. Whoever in the hell you people work for.”
“It won’t buy us time, Sis, you get Mom out of here and to a safe place. This town may not be safe for very much longer.”
“Jack, you can’t go to war with Guzman; he’s got an army over there. As I said before, he has never hesitated at crossing the border to take the fight to us before.”
Jack raised his left eyebrow in that irritating way he had and then went to kiss his mother goodbye.
“Mom, I have work I’ve gotta do,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.
“You be careful, Jack.”
Collins winked at Cally, and then he turned and walked past Everett, Lynn, and Mendenhall as he made a beeline to the front door of the restaurant.
“You have to stop Jack and make him think, Carl. If he goes barging over there with some hastily drawn-up plan he’ll get Sarah and everyone else killed. The Anaconda is ruthless as hell, but he’s also smart, and what’s more, he is a businessman. Tell Jack to use that if he can. Tell whoever your boss is that Jack wouldn’t stand a chance in hell over there. This has to be done through channels, so let the FBI handle it,” Lynn implored.
Everett watched as Mendenhall hurried to catch up with Collins, but stayed a moment to look Jack’s sister in the eye.
“I would rather go with a hastily drawn-up plan by Jack than someone else’s well-thought-out scheme. My money is always on your brother.”
Lynn knew Carl was right. She clenched her cell phone tightly and then placed a hand on Everett’s shoulder. “I’ll do what I can from the intelligence end of things. You go on now, I have more calls to make.”
Captain Carl Everett turned away and hurried to follow Jack and Will. Lynn watched a moment, hoping that Jack listened to her warnings. She turned and stood next to her mother.
“Don’t be scared Mom. Jack knows what he’s doing,” Lynn said as she watched Cally drain her martini glass.
“That won’t stop me from worrying, dear,” she said as she placed her empty glass on the table and then stood. “His father knew what he was doing also.”
Lynn could only nod her head as she saw her mom lower hers.
LAREDO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
LAREDO, TEXAS
By the time Collins, Everett, and Will Mendenhall made it through to the charter flight area, there was another Event Group aircraft parked next to the first. On either side of that were two UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters. The first aircraft was a small Lear Jet; the second was an old Boeing 707 conversion used as a mobile command unit. The trio had been notified that the director himself, Niles Compton, was now on station and had transferred Pete Golding to the command post to use the far-more-sophisticated equipment aboard the venerable old 707.
Jack, instead of running up the portable staircase, forced himself to walk only at a quickened gait, removing his coat and tie as he went. Everett and Mendenhall followed him into the aircraft where Director Compton met them just inside the door and took Jack by the elbow, steering him toward the communications center of the extensively modified Boeing aircraft.
“What have we learned so far?” Collins asked as he leaned into communications.
The navy signalman covering the radio removed his headset and looked first at Niles and then Jack. “So far the FBI has placed their field office on alert for a possible hostage rescue across the border. The State Department has already been in touch with Mexican President Juarez, but he’s hesitant about allowing an American rescue unit to cross the border. Our president is currently on the phone with him now.”
Niles pulled Jack away from the communications area and waited for Will and Carl to join him.
“The situation in Nuevo Laredo is still unstable. The armed men this Guzman has running around his hacienda number in the hundreds. The FBI has intelligence that says this warped bastard collects women for these mercenaries to use—part of their benefits package.” He saw Jack’s jaw clench. “Sorry, Colonel, I could have worded that far better.”
Collins just nodded his head.
“Niles, what is this Guzman into?” Everett asked as a way to steer the conversation toward something more constructive.
“Drugs of course are the number-one factor in his makeup. The FBI reports that he is responsible for the elimination of all of his rivals in the area, and that includes men that dealt directly for the Colombian factions. In other words, he’s one powerful son of a bitch. He has no problems sending hit teams into Texas or anywhere else he sees a problem.”
“Why would he have raided an archaeological site?” Jack asked as he started walking toward the computer center forty fee
t aft.
“Simple. Number one, he considers anything in a thousand-mile radius his personal territory. Number two, he does collect anything and everything concerning his Mexican heritage. He actually conducted an interview last year on Mexican television where he extolled the need to keep Mexico’s history and heritage in Mexico. I think Sarah and the field team were a convenient target of opportunity, nothing more.”
Jack listened and then pulled back the curtain to the computer center. There, revealed like the Wizard of Oz, was Pete Golding and his expanded computer team. Pete turned away from a large 55-inch monitor and rolled his chair back to face the colonel.
“Jack, you have my—”
“Later, Doc. What have you come up with?”
“Yes, of course,” Pete said as he turned to face the large monitor. “Well, thanks to the director and the U.S. Air Force, we have a Predator drone up and flying high over the Guzman hacienda. Thus far Europa has pinpointed seventeen guards on the outside of the immediate hacienda, but it has picked up numerous heat sources coming from the buildings outlying the main house, which as you can see is expansive as hell. There could be another hundred inside of those buildings, and according to the FBI and the Mexican national police, that estimate could be on the low side.”
Collins looked at the monitor and the large hacienda that belonged to Juan Guzman. He saw a large swimming pool, a tennis court, and riding stables. It had a private airstrip and hangars for at least five or six aircraft. A helicopter sat upon a helipad at the center of the compound.
“I see the drug trade is still paying high dividends,” Everett commented as he saw the same thing Jack was seeing.
“Pete, is there any intel on where this son of a bitch would keep…,” Jack swallowed, “would keep the women he has taken?”
“No, but I can ask Europa for her best guess just as soon as she steals the hacienda’s specs from the Mexican government.”
Jack and the rest knew the supercomputer’s job was “backdooring” other systems, and she was damn good at it. She had even broken into her sister Cray’s systems at Langley, the FBI, and the Pentagon in the past.
“Why would the Mexican government have his house plans? Wouldn’t that be under the state’s purview?” Niles asked ahead of Collins.
“Normally, yes it would be, but it seems Europa has dug up a title of deed that says this property and house used to belong to the federal government of Mexico at the turn of the century. And here’s another little bit of interesting history. In March of 1916, none other than General John “Black Jack” Pershing himself, with Lieutenant George S. Patton at his side, raided into Mexico.” At this point Pete turned to the large screen, punched a few buttons on his keyboard, and the screen changed to some very old photographs of the same Guzman hacienda, but in far-earlier times. The pictures were scratched and were stamped “Property of U.S. National Archives.”
“Europa got these from our own database?” Niles asked.
“Just now uncovered them,” Pete answered with a little bit of pride at what his supercomputer turned up. “It seems our own department, in one of the first missions ever assigned to it, had business in 1916, and Europa says that we have a vault full of information, but since it was one of the first missions of Department 5656 the material was never catalogued.” Pete looked up with a bit of sadness etched into his features, “Things may have been a little different for the Event Group in the early days.”
“No excuse. Find the vault number and get our archivists into it.”
“Europa already tracked the vault down. It’s in Arlington, the old complex site. Get this, President Franklin Roosevelt ordered the vault sealed and left behind when the department moved operations to Nevada.”
“Good information Dr. Golding, but what does this have to do with what’s happening now?” Mendenhall asked, frustrated at the slowness of the intelligence.
“Possibly nothing, but maybe everything,” Pete said as he tapped the screen. “The official reason for the raid into Mexico by the 8th United States Cavalry regiment was to capture or kill the Mexican bandit, Pancho Villa. Now according to history and U.S. Army reports, Villa was nowhere near the border town of Nuevo Laredo at the time of the raid, yet the regiment spent two days in Laredo and at this very same hacienda, named Perdition’s Gate. Three of its outer buildings were burned to the ground and several people were killed by American troops. It caused quite a stir in the Mexico City newspapers. Thus far we have found no justification for Pershing’s raid on that particular hacienda or the Event Group’s involvement in the attack. But if we can get into that vault, number 0011 inside the old complex, we may find a way inside that hacienda.”
“Maybe it was a safe harbor for Pancho Villa,” Everett said.
“Not likely. Now here is the most interesting part. This very same land two years before was owned by none other than Ramon Carbajal, a very close ally and friend to Villa. It is documented that Pancho Villa never went there, and he gave orders to his men never to frequent that particular part of Mexico. That is documented from former members of his revolutionary council. And here is something far stranger gentlemen. The land and hacienda were not owned by a Mexican national; they were sold to an American citizen, a Professor Lawrence Ambrose. We’re currently running a check on him as we speak. However, I get off the point. This Professor Ambrose is the reason we have the hacienda floor plans, a detailed drawing by an Army Corp of Engineers captain during the time of the Pershing raid. According to the grids on this property map, they were very systematic, like they were searching for something. This is how Europa will base her best guess as to the location of any hostages.”
“Damn good Pete,” Everett said. “Can we get a printout of those drawings?”
“Does the FBI have access to this?” Jack asked.
“No, I haven’t forwarded any of our information through the president as of yet.”
“Don’t. This stays in-house for the time being,” Collins said as he looked over at Niles, who reluctantly nodded.
“I’m with you Jack—for now. But we have to wait for the president’s word on when to go in.”
“What is Mr. Ryan’s condition?” Jack asked, ashamed that his lieutenant had been his second thought in all of his worries.
“The American consul in Nuevo Laredo got to him before he was wheeled into surgery. He was then secured by a field team from the FBI and he’s now on his way to Las Vegas. It’s serious, but our docs say he’ll make it. He hasn’t given us a statement as of yet.”
“Colonel, what if we’re rushing this on Ryan? If he needs surgery, why didn’t we leave him in place and allow the surgeons to take care of him there?” Mendenhall asked, worried about his close friend.
“What do you think this Guzman is going to do when he learns he may have left an eyewitness to the murder of two Mexican nationals and the kidnapping of two American women?” Without another word Collins turned and left the computer center to make his way into the tactical room where he would pore over every bit of intelligence Pete had come up with.
Will nodded his head and then followed the colonel.
Carl Everett hesitated a moment before following Jack and faced the director.
“Niles, you know Jack’s going to that hacienda with or without the president’s order.”
“I know that, but we need to give him the time to plan it out right,” Compton explained and then took the printout of the hacienda plans from Pete. “Use these and find a way in there. I need to find out exactly why our Group was there almost a hundred years before we even heard of Perdition’s Gate, and exactly why the mission wasn’t catalogued in our archives. Now, please find a way in there and get Sarah the hell out.”
Everett smiled as he took the offered floor plans.
“That, Mr. Director, you can count on.”
NUEVO LAREDO
10 MILES SOUTH OF THE BORDER
The brand-new Sikorsky S-76C++ executive helicopter, painted in magnificent maro
on and gold colors, circled the hacienda twice before the pilot saw a man step out onto the heliport at the center of the compound and with two brightly painted paddles, start to wave him down next to the helicopter already there. It had taken three minutes of radio communication with a man who had claimed no English before they were allowed in. The whole time the passenger in the rear compartment knew instinctually they were being tracked by not only one but several heat-seeking missiles.
As the garish executive Sikorsky slowly sat down upon the well-maintained heliport pad, it was immediately surrounded by ten men with menacing-looking automatic weapons. The pilot chanced a look into the back compartment and shook his head.
“It seems we have a welcoming committee, sir,” he said into his microphone.
The tall man in the back didn’t respond; he just removed his headset and then ran his fingers through his blonde hair. As the helicopter sat down gently he leaned into the pilot’s cabin.
“Stay inside and be ready to exit this place on a moment’s notice.”
The pilot didn’t like the sound of the order but nodded his head nonetheless.
A man in a white business suit stepped from the shadows of the hacienda and came out to meet the tall man stepping from the helicopter. The suit he wore was silk, and the blonde man could see he was sweating through it. The white shirt was stained with something at the collar and his face was unshaven.
“Mr. Jones, my employer was surprised to hear from your representative. After the failure of our last negotiation, we thought we would not hear from you again.”
The man going by the name of Hanover Jones was loath to take the man’s offered handshake. His nails were filthy and he had an odor that while not disgusting, was at the very least unpleasant. The helicopter’s rotors wound down and Henri Farbeaux took the man’s hand and shook.
“Speaking of my associate, he was to meet me in Laredo, but he didn’t show up. I just had a text message telling me to come here,” Henri said as he released the man’s hand and fought against the urge to wipe it on his own black trousers.
Ripper Page 10