Mega #02 Baja Blood

by Jake Bible

  Shane and Max politely clapped.

  “Well said, well said,” Max said in a bad British accent.

  “Nicely done, love,” Shane added.

  “I am not going to be abused like this,” Carlos said. “I am a genius and deserve-”

  “Can I shoot him?” Thorne asked, pulling his pistol and holding it against his leg.

  “No, please don’t,” Ballantine said. “At least wait until he has shown you the equipment.”

  “Funny,” Carlos replied then gulped as Ballantine glared at him. “Okay, this is a Maechter 459k compression rifle. It shoots the equivalent of .50 caliber rounds, but without gunpowder or a firing pin.”

  “So it’s a gas gun?” Kinsey asked.

  “No, no, no,” Carlos replied. “Well, yes, but not like any gas gun you have used. Ingrid, the target, please.”

  The gate around the armory lifted and rolled into the ceiling. Several shelves moved out of place and a container flipped up with a paper target inside. Carlos turned, put the gun to his shoulder and fired. The paper target flapped about, but showed no signs of being penetrated by the round.

  “That was really impressive,” Max said. “Can it make a farting noise too?”

  “Ingrid,” Carlos said as he sneered at Max. “The tank, please.”

  A long tank of water lifted up from the floor and connected to the target container. The container sealed itself and filled with water rapidly.

  “As you can now see, the target is fully submerged,” Carlos said. “Now, we’ll see who wants a farting noise.”

  “I do,” Shane said.

  “Me too,” Lucy agreed.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Max said. “I’d prefer more of a raspberry sound, not a full on fart noise.”

  Carlos lowered the rifle into the tank and fired. This time the target was ripped to shreds as the round exploded on contact; pieces of paper slowly floated about the water-filled container.

  “How the hell?” Max and Shane said at the same time as they stepped forward.

  “Explosive rounds that only activate when submerged,” Carlos said. “Don’t ask me why because I’m not at liberty to say. It’s what was developed for a different client that didn’t-”

  “That’s enough, Carlos,” Ballantine said.

  “Right, yes,” Carlos nodded.

  He pulled the rifle out of the tank, shook off some of the water, then ejected the magazine. He slid his thumb along one of the rounds and popped it free.

  “See the channels?” Carlos asked, showing the round to each of the Team members. “It’s similar to the rifling in a rifle barrel, but reversed. This time the rifling is on the round itself. The round will actually pick up speed as it flies through water. The farther the target, the more damage it will do. It actually means you have more stopping power from longer distances.”

  “That’s not physically possible,” Darren said. “Has Gunnar seen this? He’d back me up. It’s not physically possible.”

  “Yet you saw it happen,” Carlos said. “Ingrid?”

  “There are also pistols,” she said and set out eight large pistols on the Toyshop counter as the tank and container withdrew and the armory cage rolled back into place. “But we have limited rounds. Which doesn’t matter since the weapons can only hold a gas charge for a single magazine.”

  “Always a catch,” Max said.

  “So when the magazine is empty so is the gas?” Shane asked.

  “Exactly,” Ingrid said. “You would have to bring it back to the Toyshop to be recharged. Do not try it yourself! We don’t use compressed air!”

  “What do you use?” Kinsey asked.

  “Proprietary information,” Carlos smiled.

  “He smiled,” Max whispered to Shane. “I’m scared.”

  “Boys,” Thorne snapped. “Knock off the bullshit.” He turned to Carlos. “How about above water? Anything new?”

  “Nope,” Carlos said. “You all have your weapons of preference. Far be it for me to get in the way of an operator and his, or her, guns. Right, Ballantine?”

  “Carlos is subtly saying that he had some ideas, but I nixed them because I wanted him to focus on the channel guns.”

  “Channel guns?” Kinsey asked.

  “That is what I call the submersible, pre-rifled round firing weapons,” Ballantine said. “Channel guns. Because of the channels in the rounds.”

  “Stupid name,” Carlos muttered then cringed under Ballantine’s glare.

  “I like it,” Kinsey said. “Easy to understand. Rolls off the tongue.”

  “Thank you, Kinsey,” Ballantine said.

  “Kiss ass,” Max coughed.

  “Brown noser,” Shane coughed also.

  “Boys, for the love of God shut the fuck up,” Thorne said. “What else do you have for us?”

  “The suits and guns aren’t enough?” Carlos asked.

  “Are they?” Thorne countered.

  “The rebreathers?” Ballantine suggested. “Are they operational?”

  “They are, yes…,” Carlos replied. “But untested.”

  “We already have rebreathers,” Max said. “What’s special about these?”

  Carlos sighed. “Ingrid. Will you fetch the-”

  “Mustaches!” Ingrid squealed. “I love these!”

  “I hate that name as well,” Carlos muttered. “Channel guns and mustaches...”

  Ingrid hurried deep into the Toyshop’s shelves then came running back with two large, black cases. She flipped the catches and opened the cases, spinning them around so the operators could see what was inside.

  “Try them on! Try them on!” she squealed some more. “I’m going to get a mirror!”

  Max and Shane were first as they each grabbed a matte black hunk of plastic and metal about the size of a small banana connected to some seriously strange looking goggles.

  “Huh,” Max said. “Where’s the rest?”

  “That’s it,” Carlos said as Ingrid came back with a mirror. “Is that really needed? Seriously?”

  Ingrid grabbed one up and placed it under her nose and over her eyes.

  “Now, these can work in water and out. It doesn’t matter,” she explained. On her face, the part under her nose made her look like an old time villain with a thick mustache. She pulled a tab on each end.

  The tabs became small chords which she wrapped around to the back of her head. She gave a quick turn and showed the Team how the chords fused together snuggly then cinched themselves up so the rebreather was secured to her face.

  “Now, you’ll panic slightly at first,” Ingrid laughed. “I did. Kinda peed my jumpsuit. Freaky.”

  “You really know how to sell it,” Shane said.

  Ingrid smiled at him and pressed two buttons simultaneously that sat right by her nostrils. Two black tubes extended from the top and snaked their way up inside Ingrid’s nostrils. After a second, she choked and gagged a bit them seemed to relax. She took several deep breaths through her nose then tapped her ears.

  “I’m activating the com system,” Carlos said. “Didn’t want you to freak out and shoot me or anything.”

  “Dude, if we wanted to shoot you it would be at night and up on deck,” Max said.

  “That way we could just push you overboard and no one would know,” Shane added.

  “I hate SEALs,” Carlos replied.

  “Hi guys!” Ingrid’s voice rang through the com. But her lips didn’t move. In fact, her mouth was wide open. “Isn’t this cool?”

  “Explain it to them, Carlos,” Ballantine ordered. “We don’t have much time.”

  “The tubes extend up the nostrils, through the sinuses, and down into the trachea,” Carlos said. “The rebreather actually seals off your airways from your mouth. You can swallow all the water you want, but it will just make your stomach bloated. It is impossible to drown with one of these operational.”

  “How are we hearing her?” Kinsey asked.

  “The tubes also work as conductors fro
m the larynx,” Carlos explained. “Speak normally, just with your lips closed, and you will be able to hear each other over the com just like a regular mic. There are processors that clean up the diction and any distortion the placement of the tubes might create.”

  “What happens if the rebreather is damaged?” Thorne asked.

  “Then don’t breathe seawater,” Carlos nodded. “Or you drown.”

  Ingrid pressed the buttons again and the tubes withdrew back into the mustache. She coughed a few times and smiled at everyone. “It’s a little rough, but you’ll be fine.”

  Carlos pointed at the cases. “The goggles are set for multiple spectrums. Just tap the button up by the temples, either side, doesn’t matter, and you can switch between everything from infrared to night vision.”

  “Night vision?” Max asked.

  “It can get dark in the water,” Carlos said.

  “Yes, it can,” Max nodded. “Thanks.”

  Darren walked forward and picked up a “mustache” from a case. He looked it over them threw it on the ground and stomped on it. Carlos shrieked, his eyes going from Darren to the mustache and back to Darren.

  “Why…why? Why would you do that?” Carlos sputtered.

  Darren bent down and picked up the mustache and handed it to Carlos.

  “Did I break it?” Darren asked, grinning.

  Carlos snatched the mustache from him and quickly looked it over. He stared at it for a second then looked at Darren.

  “Uh, no, it’s fine,” Carlos responded.

  “I want one,” Max said.

  “Me too,” Shane added.

  “We all get one,” Thorne said as he pointed to the gear. “Get your shit together people. Meeting on deck in twenty.”

  ***

  “Holy shit,” Darren said as he stepped onto the bridge on his way to the Team meeting. He stopped next to Lake and stared out at the water. “That’s a blockade.”

  They looked out of the bridge at the dozen Mexican naval vessels that formed a rough, half mile long semi-circle in the ocean just off the coast of Playas Rosarito.

  “I didn’t know Mexico had that many ships,” Lake said. “And even if they did, how’d they get them here so fast? Shouldn’t some be out on exercises?”

  “I gave up trying to figure out governments a long time ago,” Darren said. “I have to meet with the Team. You got this?”

  “I’ve always had this,” Lake replied. “It’s why I’m here. So someone does.”

  “Thanks,” Darren said. “Just keep steaming through. We’re going to park it in the middle.”

  “Right where the sharks are?” Lake asked. “Great. What could go wrong?”

  “The B3 can handle the sharks,” Darren said as he walked out of the hatch. “Trust me.”

  “Right,” Lake said. “Because that’s gone so well in the past.”

  Lake popped open a small compartment and pulled out a Desert Eagle. He ejected the magazine, made sure it was full, then slapped it back into the pistol. He racked the slide and set the gun by the wheel.

  ***

  “Where should you be?” Ballantine asked Carlos.

  “In the bay with Moshi,” Carlos frowned. “Working on the sub.”

  “Exactly,” Ballantine said. “You had your fun showing off your new toys, now get back to work.”

  Carlos glared, but didn’t argue. He grabbed up a tool bag from the counter and stomped out of the armory.

  “Why are you so hard on him?” Ingrid asked as she gathered her own tools. “He idolizes you.”

  “Does he?” Ballantine replied. “I didn’t think he idolized anyone but himself.”

  “Please,” Ingrid laughed. “He hates himself. That’s why he’s such a jerk. He knows what happened and I don’t think he’ll ever live it down.”

  “He shouldn’t,” Ballantine said.

  Ingrid frowned and punched Ballantine in the shoulder. Hard.

  “Ow!” Ballantine exclaimed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “What happened to the first Beowulf wasn’t his fault,” Ingrid said. “You know that so stop acting like it was.”

  “He could have done more,” Ballantine replied, rubbing his shoulder.

  “Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” Ingrid said as she walked out of the armory. “Like you haven’t ever fucked up.”

  ***

  Gunnar slammed his fist down on the lab counter, his face scrunched up in frustration.

  “What?” Mike asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “The exact same results,” Gunnar said. “Every single sample of cocaine yields the exact same results.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Mike asked.

  “Yes,” Gunnar said. “Because kilos shouldn’t be identical.”

  “But it’s all the same coke, right? So why wouldn’t the samples be the same from kilo to kilo?”

  “Because they aren’t the same,” Gunnar said. “Sure, two samples from the same kilo can be identical, but not from different kilos. Difference in handling, packaging, atmosphere when packaged, possible contaminants in the bags themselves. All kinds of variations should show up. They’d be minuscule, but I’m running tests to pick up minuscule!”

  Gunnar slammed his fists down on the counter again and again.

  “Whoa, chill, Gun,” Mike said, wheeling over to him. “So run them again. This time look for the opposite of what you were looking for before.”

  Gunnar turned and raised his eyebrows. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You were looking for difference and couldn’t find them. So look for the sames this time.”

  “The sames isn’t exactly a scientific term,” Gunnar frowned.

  “That’s why I’m a SEAL and not an egghead,” Mike replied. “Or was a SEAL. Just a sad, broken man now.”

  “Boo hoo,” Gunnar laughed. “Cry me a river, frogman.”

  He looked over at the pallet of cocaine kilos and narrowed his eyes.

  “Okay, let’s try this again,” he said. “Look for the sames.”

  ***

  Darby sat in the Wiglaf II, her legs crossed beneath her as she relaxed in front of the controls, ready and waiting for Ballantine’s signal. She took several deep, cleansing breaths then closed her eyes. Just as Ballantine called over the com.

  “Be ready,” he said.

  “I am,” Darby replied.

  “When you drop in the water, you’ll have only minutes, maybe seconds, to clear the blockade and get away from the area,” Ballantine said.

  Darby’s eyes shot open. “Blockade?”

  “Espanoza has pulled out all the stops,” Ballantine said. “Half the Mexican navy is here.”

  “How’d he manage that without raising suspicions?” Darby asked.

  “He used us,” Ballantine said. “He used the company’s influence as a smokescreen. He has an agenda.”

  “Feels like he’s scrambling,” Darby said.

  “That’s when he’s at his most dangerous,” Ballantine said. “You get to the launch site of the subs and complete the mission. That’s all I need you to do. We’ll be close behind.”

  “You hope,” Darby replied.

  Ballantine sighed. “I do.”

  ***

  Thorne watched from the bow as the B3 steamed past two Mexican ships and into the secured area of ocean. He turned around and faced the mesh wetsuit clad Team Grendel. Max, Shane, Lucy, Kinsey, and Darren waited for him to speak as he looked each one in the eye.

  “Who thinks this is all bullshit and there’s something else going on?” Thorne asked.

  Everyone raised their hands.

  “Excellent,” he grinned, but there was no warmth in the smile. “Good to know I don’t have idiots on my Team. Darren? Would you care to tell us what you know?”

  Everyone looked at the captain and waited for him to respond. It was obvious the internal struggle that was waged inside him.

  “Spill it, Ditcher,” Max said.

  �
��We know part,” Shane said. “Want us to start?”

  “Fernandez,” Darren said. “El Serpiente.”

  Thorne’s eyebrows raised. “You killed him.”

  “Nope,” Max said. “Gave him a nice scar though.”

  “El Serpiente?” Lucy gasped. “What does this have to do with that monster?”

  “He’s on the ship with Espanoza,” Darren said. “They’re half brothers. Espanoza is head of the Colende cartel.”

  “The coke,” Kinsey said, shaking her head. “”This is about the coke, not the sharks, right?”

  “No,” Thorne said. “You all saw the footage. This is about the sharks. For us, at least. For those fucks?” He pointed back at Espanoza’s ship as it took its place in the blockade, letting the B3 continue on. “I don’t know what their fucking agenda is, but I can guarantee it isn’t the same as ours.”

  “So what’s the plan, Commander?” Max asked, all joking lost. “We focus on the sharks and let Ballantine sort the rest out?”

  “Yes,” Thorne said. “We focus on the sharks. After we kill those fuckers then we deal with Espanoza.”

  “Sharks first,” Darren reiterated. He screwed up his face. “I wish Ballantine would tell us where the fuck Darby is. We could use the air cover.”

  “Yes, we could,” Thorne said.

  “Not to worry, operators,” Ballantine said as he walked from a hatch and out onto the deck. “I’ll handle the Wyrm II.”

  Team Grendel turned as one and gaped at him.

  “You can fly a helo?” Max asked.

  “And we are just finding this out now?” Shane added.

  “Never show your cards unless you have to,” Ballantine said. “I’ll go prep. Let me know where and when you need me.”

  Thorne glared. “I was under the distinct impression you could not pilot a helo. Why would I be under that impression?”

  “Because I told you I couldn’t?” Ballantine grinned.

  “That would be why,” Thorne growled. “Where the hell is Darby?”

  “Around,” Ballantine replied. “I’ll be in the Wyrm II if anyone needs me.”

  “Hold on, meeting isn’t done. Lucy, you’re with Ballantine,” Thorne ordered. “I want that bird in the air and circling the area the second I stop talking here. Your job is to put .50 caliber rounds in any large shadow you see. I don’t give a fuck if it’s a goddamn manatee. You shoot the fucking thing.”