by Jack Murphy
“He also mumbled something just before his expiration date passed. I asked him where the Zetas were getting the guns from and he said they were picking them up at AMIZ. I thought he was just babbling nonsense. He died a minute later so I figured he was delirious but when I was telling Aghassi about it he had heard of this place.”
“AMIZ,” Aghassi cut in. “Academia Militarizada Ignacio Zaragoza, no relation to our Ignacio, it is named after a famous Mexican General who kicked the shit out of the French in the 1860's. AMIZ is a training and operations center for Mexican police. It includes classrooms, a forensics lab, shooting range, helipad, everything needed to train modern counter-insurgency forces.”
“That many US military guns in Zeta hands,” Kurt said shaking his head. “No way was this just a simple theft from an American military base.”
“But we are not telling you anything that you don't already know,” Pat said as he sat down on one of the tables. “Right?”
Deckard took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall.
“Yeah,” Deckard said. “Yeah, I know.”
“What is problem?” Nikita asked.
“That massacre you guys found at the Christian mission is the problem. When I talked to Jimenez he told me that it wasn't him that ordered it, that it wasn't his crew that killed those people.”
“You believed him?”
“I'm afraid I do. Look, when we got attacked on Grand Cayman...”
Deckard rubbed his face.
“When we got attacked by those suicide bombers, we had successfully evaded the Mexican military. The CIA was supporting our mission with men and material. Whoever led that attack knew exactly where we were going to be and when. They also had the capability to move Middle Eastern extremists onto the island with a large quantity of explosives.”
“What are you saying?” Kurt asked.
“That whoever planned that attack had a sophisticated intelligence gathering network and previous experience running Islamic fundamentalist terrorist operations. It wasn't Jimenez, it wasn't the Mexican government, it wasn't the CIA up to some kind of hijinx. It was a fourth force, a new player that we were not aware of.”
“What the hell...” Aghassi trailed off.
“The massacre at the Christian mission was deliberately made to be as sadistic as possible. The message written in blood,” Deckard frowned. “I think was directed to me personally. It was a psychological operation.”
“A PSYOP,” Pat added, using the military terminology.
“Designed to draw me out Pat, just like you told me afterwards. They were trying to provoke a response, get me to do something reckless and effectively end our combat operations here in Oaxaca.”
“But who and for what purpose?” Kurt asked the obvious question.
“That prisoner that Pat captured in Guatemala called him The Arab. I think that is our guy, but he is as much a myth as a reality. The CIA can't find shit on this dude and they want him bad after killing their pilots.”
“You think The Arab and these US military weapons are related?” Pat asked.
“I have no way of knowing but I've got a bad feeling about it.”
“Shit,” Pat grunted.
“Tell me what else you know about AMIZ?” Deckard said looking to Aghassi.
“It is a police academy in Puebla that was built and stood up just a few years ago. While they train police officers it also serves as a staging ground where Mexican military forces can conduct training and rehearsals for major operations. Right now the Mexican Marines and select Infantry units are using it to launch their missions against the Zetas and other cartels. It's a major offensive across the whole of central and northern Mexico at this point with pitched battles on both sides.”
“Let me guess, it is all a part of the Mérida Initiative?” Deckard asked, referencing the international security cooperation agreement between the Mexican and American governments.
“That's right. Our government and theirs share intelligence information and we also provide them with war material, helicopters and whatever else they need to battle the cartels.”
“Including hundreds of rifles and machine guns?”
“Most of their guns are bought from overseas vendors, they are not using straight off the shelf US military weapons so it doesn't make sense for them to turn up in massive quantities like this.”
“We've been down this road before. The Mérida Initiative must also be serving as a cover for a number of covert operations.”
“Yeah, American military advisers. I've heard the rumors but I'm going to have to make some phone calls and see if I can get something specific.”
“Make those calls right now.”
“I will,” Aghassi said, stepping out of the loadout room.
“What do you think Deckard?” Pat asked.
Pat, Kurt, and Nikita stood by, waiting.
“This isn't over.”
“What's the plan.”
“Whoever is behind this is running an off the books unsanctioned operation. That, or it is compartmentalized to the point that no one who could take action against it is placed in a manner to know the full picture. That said, there are going to be simple physical requirements, logistical issues involved in moving large quantities of war material. It sounds like this operation is piggybacked on a Mérida Initiative project. This would allow it to use official government transportation to move the weapons around.”
“What are you thinking?”
“We chase the logistics tail and ride right up along it to its source. Find out who is behind it and skull stomp those fuckers.”
“I like it,” Nikita grinned.
“I've asked these men to sacrifice so much and too many of them are flying back to Kazakhstan in bodybags,” Deckard added. “They are exhausted and we have fulfilled out contractual obligations in Mexico. Understand that it is just going to be the five of us. We stay light, mobile, and agile. That way we attack and move on to the next target before the enemy can figure out what we are up to, but we will be on our own. I'm having Frank and Korgan take these boys home.”
“We understand,” Pat said.
“Once Aghassi makes his calls task him to find and hot wire a vehicle for us. Pat, I want you to set up the vehicle, Nikita you load contingency supplies before everything else gets packed on pallets and sent back to Kazakhstan, Kurt I want you to start building some charges. If we find another cache or a trans-shipment point I want to blow it sky high.”
“Roger that,” the German answered.
“So we are really going to do this?” Pat said smiling.
“Fucking A we are.”
42
The An-124 created a pall of white smoke as its wheels touched down.
The massive Russian cargo plane was a welcome sight. The remaining assault trucks that hadn't been shot to hell or blown up were standing by with the three deuce and a half cargo trucks in a single file. The entire compound had been packed up and turned over to Samantha as she was the only local police presence. Taxing down the runway, the An-124 spun around, as the rear cargo door opened.
One of the largest cargo carriers in the world, the Samruk-owned aircraft had to lower its hydraulics so that the rear end of the plane could get low enough to the ground to start loading vehicles and equipment. There was even a crane inside that ran down the length of the fuselage in the cargo area and could be loaded from both ends as the nose of the aircraft could rotate up and swallow everything from train engines to smaller aircraft hulls.
Sergeant Major Korgan ran up to talk to the flight crew since they were all native Russian speakers and could communicate easier. They would hash out a load plan as fast as possible to make sure all the vehicles were distributed correctly inside the An-124 to avoid weight and balance issues.
Deckard sat on the hood on one of the assault trucks, watching the flight crew drop two metal struts down to the tarmac for the vehicles to drive up. The shadows were growing long and everyone had a rough
day. It wouldn't be until later that they would be able to process it all.
Several pickup trucks pulled onto the airfield nearby and disembarked several passengers. As they walked towards Deckard he only recognized one because of the pipe sticking from the corner of his mouth.
“No scary balaclavas?” Deckard asked as he got closer.
“Not anymore,” Commandante Zero answered. “It is time for the people to see our faces and know that we stand with them.”
The rebel leader was older than Deckard would have thought, maybe close to sixty years old with his hair having gone mostly gray. His face and nose were broad, displaying clear indigenous Mexican heritage going back to the Maya.
“This is where your fight really begins. The cartel served as the only functioning institution in Oaxaca for a long time now, completely replacing the systems of government. Now that the cartel is gone, it won't be easy for you.”
“I know,” the revolutionary said. “Democracy does not just happen, people have to be ready for it. We will have competition from the criminals as well. Not just other cartels but from the biggest crooks of all, the politicians in Mexico City.”
Deckard slid off the truck down to the ground and shook the rebel's hand.
“Together we bled for nothing other than a narrow one in a million shot at giving these people something worth living for.”
“That's something,” Zero replied. “Something more than they had yesterday. Now it is time for the Zapatista movement to become something else, more than an armed rebel group or political movement.”
“Good luck. You've only got one policewoman but it is a start.”
“Thank you for what you've done here. I never thought that our arrangement would actually work, but to tell you the truth our backs were against the wall. We had ceased to be a relevant opposition force since the military came down on us years ago.”
“Now is the time to take that one in a million shot.”
“We will,” he laughed. “Now get your imperialist gringo ass the hell off our land!”
“I will, believe me. The military has a convoy that is just a few hours out by now.”
“We have a plan, we are going to go underground and let them think it is business as usual. With the war going on up north they will be recalled in a week or two. Then we hold elections while they are distracted.”
Commadante Zero waved goodbye as he slipped inside the pickup truck and drove off.
Switching up the order of movement, one of the deuce and half transport trucks was the first to roll onto the back of the logistics aircraft, followed by an assault truck. The vehicles were literally swallowed one by one. Each would have to be secured to hard points on the metal floor with ratchet straps to keep the vehicles from rolling around during flight.
Over the whine of the Antonov's jet engines, Deckard didn't hear the helicopter until it was right on top of them. The CIA helicopter set down behind the row of Samruk vehicles, the pilot keeping the rotors going and ready to take off at a moment's notice.
Deckard hurried over to Frank who was safeguarding the source, his wife, and child. It was a golden helicopter flight that would eventually take him to the United States, a house, a job, and more importantly a new name and the safety that came along with it.
The source looked at Deckard with sad eyes and shook his hand.
“Thank you for looking after us,” he said, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
“Get your family the hell out of here,” Deckard yelled over the rotor blast. “This is your freedom bird.”
The same tattooed military contractor that they had seen during the previous prisoner drop off got out of the helicopter and held the door open with his other hand resting on the pistol grip of his HK 416.
“I saw some of your men working on a van,” the source told him. “I thought you were leaving the country?”
“Of course we are.”
“Well, just in case,” the Mexican dug into his wallet. “Take this decal and stick it in the window. This is what we used to have on our trucks when we transported drugs up north.”
Deckard looked at the decal, a yellow Ferrari sports car logo.
“It's a recognition signal between members of the Zeta cartel and their allies. It lets allies pass through the drug corridors without getting shot to pieces. You might still get stopped at some Zeta check points and have to pay a bribe, but at least they won't execute you.”
“Thanks,” Deckard said, putting the decal in his pocket. “I'll hold on to this, just in case.”
The source nodded and turned to his family, ushering them towards the helicopter. His wife helped their son through the door before they climbed on board. The military contractor got in last, closing the door behind them just as the pilot pulled up on the collective and got them airborne. In seconds the helicopter had disappeared from view.
Deckard turned to see the last deuce and a half roll up the ramp and into the airplane. The assault trucks were now fully loaded. Frank limped up to him, having left his crutches behind.
“I can't believe you are sending me back to Astana while you guys go on some kind of suicide mission.”
“I'll make sure you are on the next one once you've healed up.”
“How about once you've healed up? You look like hammered shit!”
“I'm the leader, I just sit back and stick colored pins on maps and walk around with a clipboard so who cares?”
“Fuck you, dude. We'll talk back in Kazakhstan.”
Frank limped his way to the aircraft. He was pissed about getting left out just as any of his men would be if they knew what he was planning.
“There is one more item of business to attend to before wrapping this up,” a woman's voice said from behind him.
Turning, Samantha walked right up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Pulling Deckard down to her she kissed him deeply.
“Give me a call the next time you decide to shoot in and out of Mexico.”
“Even if it is two in the morning?”
“Especially if it is two in the morning,” she said. “Especially if you are already five tequila shots deep in the night.”
“I will.”
Sighing, she released Deckard.
“I have to go now and act as a liaison with the Mexican military as they arrive in a couple hours. I also have to act as if I have no idea what the fuck has been going on in my city for the last week.”
“I guess it is a good thing you don't know anything about what has been happening here the last week.”
“You know it,” she said smiling.
Deckard couldn't help but stare at her ass as she walked back to the parking lot.
43
Deckard, Pat, Kurt, Aghassi, and Nikita looked out the windshield as the convoy of Mexican military vehicles passed on the opposite lane of traffic down federal highway 135. There were approximately one hundred vehicles in the fighting column including HMMWVs, tracked infantry fighting vehicles, Silverado pickup trucks, and cargo trucks transporting several hundred Mexican Infantry soldiers.
With Aghassi behind the wheel, Deckard was grateful that Samruk International was in the air and already somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, heading back to Astana, the capital of Kazakhstan. Once there, Frank and Korgan would make sure each man was paid from the bundles of cash they had confiscated from Ortega as well as what was found hidden away by Jimenez. They would have their work cut out for them attending to burials, hospital visitations, and making sure that life insurance payments were made in a timely manner to the families.
Meanwhile, the stay-behind element drove their van north while the military headed south, into their previous Area of Operations. They were just a few hours too late. Samantha would have her work cut out as well, playing dumb and doing damage control until the military withdrew from the area.
Thirty minutes later, the van pulled through a checkpoint manned by civilians with AK-47 rifles and bandannas covering their faces. In
the night, they had not seen the checkpoint until they were right on top of it. The guards saw the Ferrari logo stuck in the upper left hand portion of the windshield and waved them through. The Zeta secret handshake.
The Zeta cartel was now the largest and most powerful drug cartel in Mexico. They controlled most of the northern portion of the country but were in competition with the Sinaloa cartel, the oldest cartel in Mexico. The Zetas had been elite Mexican airborne soldiers who defected to the cartels and eventually splintered off to form their own faction, bringing military training and experience with them. Efficient and ruthless, they came to dominate the drug trade and were soon moving into other lucrative ventures such as vehicle thefts, human trafficking, extortion rackets, real estate, and more.
With American monetary and intelligence assistance, the Mexican military had been engaged in combating the Zetas for years but had only recently pushed towards an endgame as their operations came to mimic American Counter-Terrorism tactics developed during the War on Terror in Afghanistan, Iraq, and beyond. Now the military and the Zetas were engaged in a full blown war for survival.
The five Samruk mercenaries had absolutely no interest in fighting it out with the Zetas. That was way over their head and best left to the military. Their goal was simple, identify where the large volumes of US military weapons were originating from and shut it off at the source. Anything they could dig up on The Arab would be an added bonus.
Nikita was fast asleep in the passenger seat. Aghassi was nodding in and out while driving. Kurt and Pat were both passed out on the floor of the van amid the tactical gear and weapons they were hauling. Deckard felt like he'd been hit by a train and was about to go down at any moment.
“Aghassi, pull over in this parking lot on the right,” Deckard said.
Pulling into the lot Deckard nudged the other mercenaries to wake them up.
“We're halfway to Puebla, we can take six hours but might not be able to once everything starts moving again. Keep one guard up front at a time, everyone else needs to hit the rack.”