Brown, Dale - Independent 02

by Hammerheads (v1. 1)

  Brad Elliott, Patrick McLanahan and Roland (J.C.) Powell got to their feet as the President entered the Oval Office several minutes later. The President immediately loosened his tie and sat down on the sofa, motioning for the others to join him. “Ah, press conferences.” He sighed. “A royal pain in the butt.”

  Jack Pledgeman poured coffee for all three of them. Automatically, the President reached for the little china pot with the blue ribbon tied around its handle. Just before he poured, he stopped and looked at the little white pot with a scowl.

  “What a hypocrite I am,” he muttered. “Here I am, on my high horse preaching against drugs, and I keep this crap around my office. What the hell is the difference between this stuff and marijuana? Where the hell do I draw the line? If I put some marijuana in a china pot and tied a blue ribbon around it, would it be OK then?” He looked at the three puzzled faces seated around him, none of whom knew about the Irish cream. “This is how we kill off society, gents— not with guns and bullets, but with tired old men with narrow minds, china pots, and blue ribbons tied to them.” He handed the pot to Pledgeman. “Take that out of my sight and clean out every drop of it you find in my offices. Do it right now.”

  The others were afraid to touch their coffee cups until the President picked his up. He looked at Elliott and smiled. “Sorry I had to fire you for real this time, Brad. No offense, General, but I just don’t think you’re cut out for public life.”

  “I say you're right, Mr. President.”

  “I’m glad you agree. Because I’m sending you and Patrick and Roland—”

  “J.C., sir.”

  “What?”

  Elliott and McLanahan winced, knowing what was coming.

  “J.C., sir. The name’s J.C. No one calls me Roland except my mom.”

  The President shook his head, looking at Elliott as if to ask, Where do you find these guys, General? Instead the President was heard muttering, “Jesus Christ . . .”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” J.C. deadpanned.

  “As I was saying, General,” the President continued, giving Powell a bemused look, “I’m sending you back to Dreamland. It would be too difficult to explain how you can be fired and promoted at the same time, so I’m sending you jokers out to the desert, where I don’t have to deal with you. I know it would be too much to ask you to stay out of trouble, so I’ll just say good luck and watch yourselves at all times.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Elliott said. “I think you’ve made a wise decision. We have some stuff cooking at HAWC that I think will really knock you out . . .”

  “Oh God,” the President muttered, “tell me no more . . .”

  Medellin, Colombia

  That Same Day

  “Our losses are impossible to calculate,” Jorge Luiz Pena, one of the senior Cartel members, was saying. He and ten other directors of the Medellin drug cartel were meeting at Gonzales Rodriguez Gachez’s offices in downtown Medellin going over the catastrophe that had just occurred. “You say only five billion dollars, Gachez. Only five billion dollars? You are able to sit there and smile and pretend nothing has happened?”

  Gachez was not really smiling, but he also was not whining like the pudgy Pena. The news of Salazar’s death and the interception of the three main drug shipments was bad, very bad. They had had losses before, but never in such devastating quantities. Still, he must be careful not to appear devastated. To show weakness would be fatal with these men.

  “You complain too much,” Gachez said calmly. “You lost less product than most of us, Pena. I personally lost over two billion dollars. Escalante”—he nodded to the man—“lost almost a billion.”

  “I say to hell with you, Gachez. You and your fancy education. They sure didn’t teach you much ...” Pena’s voice was rising. “I may not have lost much compared to you, but I lost everything. You can start making more cocaine and be back in production in weeks. I have no way of recouping my losses. Because of you. ”

  “I did not lose our product,” Gachez said. “Salazar was too confident, too cocky . . . too greedy. He actually believed he had wiped out the whole Border Security Force. He compromised all of us with his delusional behavior—”

  “What about Van Nuys?” Pablo Escalante said quietly. “You took on Van Nuys. You sent him to Mexico with Salazar . . .”

  “Van Nuys had arranged things. Van Nuys was a valuable asset. It was a traitor in the Mexican Customs Bureau that turned Van Nuys in to the Hammerheads. I guarantee I will personally take care of the Customs Bureau Chief—”

  “It is too late for that. He is long gone,” Escalante said. Gachez stared at Escalante. Normally animated and genial, he had been unusually quiet all during the briefing and the strategy meetings. Escalante did not have the seniority that was a traditional qualification for taking control of the Cartel, but he was rich and powerful enough to command attention when he spoke. How much had he been speaking to the others . . . ?

  “Never mind, he can never get far enough away to escape me,” Gachez said with more earnestness in his voice than he intended. “Now listen, all of you, it does us no good to point fingers at one another. We are here to discuss the future. All members will be supported through our ample contingency fund until we can resume our stockpiles and begin active shipments again. No one will suffer. We must and we will find a way to break through the Border Security Force’s new structure. They get tough, we get tough too. I propose—”

  The doors to the conference room opened and Colombian national police officers rushed into the office with rifles at the ready. Gachez instantly was on his feet as the soldiers surrounded the Cartel officers. “What is this? Are you crazy?”

  No one said a word. No one else had gotten to their feet, or protested. In fact, it seemed he was the only one in the room that was surprised by the raid.

  A senior police officer entered the room. Gachez turned to Escalante, who returned his look with a shrug.

  The police officer announced, “You are all under arrest on suspicion of trafficking cocaine. If you have any weapons, declare them immediately and surrender—”

  Gachez could no longer stand it. “You are on my payroll. All of you are on my payroll. I give the orders here.”

  Escalante now slowly rose to his feet, and the police chief moved beside him. Gachez understood without believing. “You? You, Pablo? You think they will follow you? You don’t have the guts or brains to run this organization. It takes strength, the willingness and ability to use it . . .”

  As if in reply, Escalante reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a small semi-automatic pistol. “You make too many threats, Gonzales. You are history, the past. You are a failure. You hired failures like Salazar, who was also a traitor and a thief.”

  Escalante slid the pistol across the table to Gachez, who did not look at it. He raised his hands and smiled. “You want to take over, Pablo? Fine. We shall see how well you do. I predict you all will come begging me to return—”

  “I don’t think so, Gonzales.”

  The police chief raised his pistol at Gachez. “Put down the gun, senor, or I will be forced to shoot.”

  Gachez stumbled back away from the table, his hands still raised as three shots rang out. Gachez was tossed backward and landed back against the wall, blood running from his wounds for several long moments.

  “Gonzales Rodriguez Gachez was wanted for questioning,” the police chief intoned. He withdrew a warrant from a tunic pocket. “Here is the warrant. He resisted arrest, tried to flee, and fired at officers of the law, who had no choice but to return fire.”

  Pablo Escalante nodded. The police chief saluted and left the office, closing the two solid oak doors behind him. Escalante returned to his seat, settled back. “Now, gentlemen, let us get down to the business at hand. A cooperative agreement has been proposed between ourselves and the government to control the violence and . . . the excesses of our past activity, including foolish and self- defeating challenges to the American Border Se
curity Force. At least for the time being. In return, the government will suspend its prosecutions and oppose further extraditions of our officers.” He motioned to the body on the floor. “Gonzales Rodriguez Gachez votes in favor of the proposal. What say you, gentlemen?”