by Jack July
T took in the room, nodding her head. Smiling, she said loudly in Spanish, “Emile, I did not know you were a faggot.”
Emile shrugged his shoulders, took a sip of wine and calmly replied in English. “How can I help you?”
“Glad you asked—let’s take a little ride.” T pointed to two Delta shooters who jerked him roughly out of the bed, bound his hands and feet together with large plastic zip ties, and carried him out like a piece of luggage. Tatiana drifted over to the nightstand by Rosa’s bed. Necklaces, a gold and diamond watch and several gold rings, studded with large rubies, diamonds and emeralds lay on the table. T scooped them up, handed them to Elle and said, “Put these in your pockets—we’ll talk about it later.”
Three MC-130H Combat Talon II cargo planes made their way to separate targets. The first was a sprawling ranch and mansion in Rancho Las Cascadas. The second, a mansion and compound situated on a mountainside high above and to the north of Zihuatanejo on the Pacific coast. Zeroing in on their current position, the last plane headed directly for Emile’s largest compound. These were the castles of Emile Rosa where his family, friends and objects purchased with blood money were gathered. Operation Genie was twenty minutes from completion.
“T, it’s the director,” said the Delta team leader, handing her his satellite phone.
“Elle!” Tatiana barked, “get our guests situated, I’ll be right back.”
Tatiana picked up the phone and listened. “Yes, sir—go ahead.”
“Thing One cracked Rosa’s finances. Within a week after nineteen of the twenty-two kidnappings, two hundred thousand dollars was deposited into Rosa’s Cayman Island account.”
“Okay, where’s it coming from?” asked T.
“We’re working on it. The electronic transfer has been bounced around the world.”
“Okay, we have Rosa and Reyes, I’ll call you back in an hour.”
“Go get ‘em, T.”
“Wait, ah, Director? Who is this State Department asshole with Delta?”
“Leftover from the previous administration. A watcher, if you will. I have to speak to Grant about that. Sort of reminds you of the Soviets, doesn’t it?”
“He says shit to me—I cut his throat,” said Tatiana before she hung up.
Yeah, I was afraid of that, thought the director
T grabbed the Chinook crew chief by the vest and told him to tell the pilots to get them in the air, climb to 3,000 feet and circle five miles from the compound. As the Chinook lifted off, T immediately turned her attention to Rosa. Elle handed Tatiana Kristy’s picture. She held it in front of Rosa’s face and said, “Okay, motherfucker—where is she?”
Reyes was unable to speak through his gag, but his eyes grew big as Elle watched the terror shoot through his body. Rosa, on the other hand, maintained his calm and gave T a little smirk. “I’ll wait to talk to a lawyer.”
T pulled her knife and grabbed him by the ear. With a quick jerk, she sliced it off and held it in front of his face, shouting, “Are you hearing me now, motherfucker? WHERE IS SHE?”
The State Department official jumped to his feet from his seat next to the Delta team leader and began to protest. In one fluid movement, Elle was up with the muzzle of her Desert Eagle planted on his forehead between his eyes. Satisfied that she had his attention, she shouted over the noise of the rotors, “SIT, OR DIE.”
The Delta operators lining the bench seats of the Chinook began to laugh and their commander said, “Young lady, don’t pull that trigger in here. It would be very bad.”
Without a word, Elle simultaneously returned the SIG to its holster as the KA-BAR she wore strapped upside-down on her vest dropped into her other hand. Holding the combat knife up with a questioning look, the Delta commander nodded approvingly and said, “That’s better.”
As the federal interloper shakily returned to his seat, Tatiana was still ranting at Rosa while slicing and poking at choice bits of his anatomy with her knife. It was starting to dawn on Rosa that this wasn’t a typical arrest. Elle noted the look of horror on Reyes’ face with grim satisfaction. This wasn’t about Rosa at all. Tatiana and Elle both figured he wouldn’t know where Kristy was, but they thought Reyes would. That’s what this was, a big show for Reyes.
Rosa began to scream and beg, which seemingly just pissed Tatiana off more. The crew chief waved at her to get her attention and gave the fifteen-second signal. The pilots turned the Chinook so the open ramp at the rear would be facing towards Rosa’s compound. T cut the zip ties binding Rosa’s feet and jerked him upright, walking him back towards the ramp. Over the rotor noise she shouted, “WATCH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! WATCH THIS…”
Sixty seconds earlier, the cradle carrying the GBU-43/B Massive Ordinance Air Blast had rolled from the back of the C-130 on a cradle. After being pulled out of the plane by a small drogue chute, it separated from its cradle and began its radar-guided journey to the center of Rosa’s compound. The MOAB, affectionately referred to by the U.S. military as the Mother Of All Bombs, is a 22,600-pound behemoth, yielding more explosive power than any other non-nuclear weapon on the planet. Originally intended to replace the venerable “Daisy Cutter” fuel-air explosive bomb used so effectively in Vietnam to clear helicopter landing zones of trees, the MOAB had never been used in combat. Three were dropped simultaneously—one on each of Rosa’s three compounds. In a trio of blinding flashes, everything within a quarter-mile of the impact areas was obliterated.
The shock wave expanding over the ruins of Rosa’s compound hit the Chinook from 5 miles away, rocking it as it hovered. As much as for Reyes’ benefit as for Rosa, Tatiana shouted, “ALL GONE, MOTHERFUCKER! EVERYTHING YOU HAD, EVERYONE YOU LOVED, DEAD OR DESTROYED.”
T turned her head, looked at Reyes and shouted, “DID YOU SEE THAT, REYES? DID YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HURT AMERICAN CHILDREN?
Then she turned back to Rosa, “YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE WITH YOUR MONEY? DO YOU?” Moving behind Rosa on the ramp, she screamed, “YOU SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT SOME FUCKING WINGS!” Grabbing the handrail at the top of the ramp’s opening, Tatiana kicked him in the center of the back. His hands still zip-tied behind his back, Rosa bounced awkwardly off the ramp and disappeared over its edge. He pinwheeled through the sky as he fell, screaming in terror until his sudden impact with the desert below silenced him forever.
Tatiana turned to look at Reyes with a maniacal grin on her face. There was a spreading puddle of urine at his feet and he was rocking back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.
“HEY, REYES,” Tatiana yelled. “YOUR TURN!”
Elle smiled as two things occurred to her at once. First, she was now more than ever sure that they were going to find Kristy. Second, she figured out why it was called Operation Genie. They made everything disappear.
November 23rd 11:00 A.M., The White House
President North walked into the Situation Room and took her seat at the head of the table. “Report?”
Grant Engel, Secretary of Defense said, “Ma’am, Operation Genie is a success. All targets destroyed. One Delta operator with injuries, but he should fully recover.”
“Collateral damage?” asked the President.
“Yes, ma’am—well, the seaside resort town of Ixtapa received the worst of it. The mountain shielded them from much of the blast, but there was still some broken glass and several tourists were injured.”
The President nodded thoughtfully. “Is the Combat Support Hospital on its way to Zihuatanejo?”
“Yes, ma’am. And the Tarawa is off the coast with the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit for support.”
“Good. Colin, quietly reimburse all parties inconvenienced for their losses.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have you delivered the package to the President of Mexico?”
“Yes, ma’am, an hour ago. He is currently on standby, waiting for your call,” said S
ecretary of State Colin Danforth.
President North nodded and turned to the Director of the CIA. “Okay, Tim—where is Kristy Wilson?”
Director Tim Dotson sat up straight in his chair. “We think she’s in a container on board the freighter Ava Maria. It’s been at sea for a little over two weeks and we are searching for it now. When we find it, a SEAL Team will board and secure the ship. The cruiser Cowpens is in the area and will escort the ship to the nearest port. They can’t search the containers without taking it to port so it could be at least a week.
This information came from Geraldo Reyes who ran human trafficking for the cartel. T scared him so bad he was barely making sense. But we do know the freighter is owned by the cartel, along with a few others. We are attempting to track all of the cartel’s ships as we speak. Reyes is on his way to…” The director stopped and looked around the room. “We are having further discussions with Reyes.”
“Very well.” The President signaled her aide and pointed to the screen. Moments later, the President of Mexico appeared.
“What is happening? Are you bombing us, Madam President?” asked Manuel Garza, the President of Mexico with a sense of amazement and urgency.
President North remained silent, regarding the Mexican head of state with a contemptuous stare. She signaled her aide, who transmitted several files to Garza over the video link. He spoke again, “Madam President, what are these disgusting pictures? Why do you send them to me?”
Ice in her voice, President North nodded and said, “That is Amelia Brennan, seven years old. She was kidnapped last year from somewhere in North Texas on the orders of Emile Rosa. Those are stills from the movie they made of her rape and murder! There are more. More American children kidnapped and murdered. Close to two-dozen. The American people are upset!” President North growled, stabbing her finger at President Garza’s image on the screen.
“But, what does that have to do with me?” asked Garza with sincere innocence.
“You know Rosa.”
“The leader of the Rosa’s cartel?”
“Don’t do it, Manny. Do not treat me like I’m an idiot.” President North had her aide project additional photos on the screen. “That’s you with Rosa at your inauguration, and here is one with you two horseback riding together and… oh, would you look at this! Is this Geraldo Reyes, Rosa’s second-in-command, screwing your wife? Yeah, you know Rosa.”
Garza’s jaw visibly tightened. President North gave him a moment to process what he was seeing. “Manny, we both know you are the front man for a narco-state. We know to whom you answer and why. So here’s how it’s going to be: The “natural gas” explosions in your country were very unfortunate and we have sent help to Zihuatanejo. I expect the Mexican Army to be polite and helpful. If not, I have a couple thousand Marines and two warships offshore to ensure their cooperation.
“We have received reports that Rosa and his gang will not be heard from again. Let your cartel friends know—when you harm an American, the price will be high. Do you understand?”
His jaw still tightly clenched, President Garza nodded slowly and said, “Yes, Madam President, they will be informed.”
“Goodbye,” said President North, and disconnected. She let out a deep breath, looked around the situation room and said, “That went well.”
President Garza reached into the humidor on his desk for a Cuban cigar. Clipping the end, he lit it and leaned back in his chair. He had two thoughts on his mind. The first was of how happy he was that two hundred million dollars of Rosa’s laundered money would be in his bank account. The second was of how painful was he going to make the last days of his whore of a wife’s pampered life.
November 23rd 12:30 P.M., Germany
A mile away from the Stuttgarter Platz, a major red light district in Berlin, sits a refurbished warehouse, which is the production studio of Andric Huber Enterprises. There were no signs on the doors and no indication that this was anything other than simply an old building. Nothing about the structure hinted that it was the headquarters of the man responsible for the production and distribution of the most disturbing and successful BDSM movies in all of Europe. Cody sat a block away behind the wheel of an old, blue four-door Mercedes, watching over Bogus and Brandon as they sat in a Citroen sedan, waiting for Huber. They had knocked at the warehouse earlier but no one had answered.
“How come he gets the good car?” wondered Bogus aloud.
“He’s bigger than us,” said Brandon.
“You are a very quiet man.”
“Yes, I guess so,” replied Brandon.
“I know who you are, what you did, and why. Had you waited for help, you would have gotten away with it,” said Bogus, looking out the window.
“Thanks for your insight. I’ve had six years to contemplate my mistakes. I would rather not discuss them with a stranger.”
“I am T’s friend, therefore I am your friend. I am hardly a stranger. T wanted me to discuss something with you.”
“If it’s about not going back, don’t bother. If I don’t go back, nobody can protect her, not even Dotson. She’s going to jail.”
“I can see where you would—”
“There he is,” Brandon cut in.
Andric Huber, a balding man with facial piercings, was dressed like a street tough in a black t-shirt and jeans with a leather biker jacket and a big studded leather belt. He walked with a bag holding what appeared to be his lunch. Bogus laughed to himself, thinking Huber was way too old to try for the thug look.
“How do you want to handle this?” asked Brandon.
Bogus started to speak when Cody’s car pulled up beside Huber. He got out, waved and smiled. Huber smiled back and reached out to shake his hand. Slapping aside Huber’s outstretched hand, Cody grabbed him by the back of his belt and his jacket collar. Lifting him off his feet, he carried the struggling Huber to the Citroen. Brandon jumped out and opened the back door, stepping aside as Cody bodily tossed him into the back seat. Huber started to scramble back towards the still-open door, but pulled up short when Brandon slid into the car, closed the door and aimed a silenced pistol at him.
“I guess we’ll handle it like that.” said Bogus.
CHAPTER 30
November 23rd 1:00 P.M., NAS Corpus Christi
The stairs were already down on the white Gulfstream G-4 when Elle and T walked across the tarmac to climb aboard. Elle looked up and saw a familiar face. “Hi, Doc,” said Rocky.
“Rocky? You fly planes, too?” Rocky had flown Elle in an MH-6 Little Bird Special Operations helicopter to the starting point of her last military mission in Afghanistan.
“Boats, blades, wings, wheels and tracks—if it moves, I can drive it,” said Rocky with well-earned self-assurance.
Something occurred to Elle. “My last mission was a CIA op, wasn’t it?”
T rolled her eyes and said, “Get on the plane. Schönefeld, Rocky—let’s move.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Rocky, disappearing into the cockpit.
The jet taxied and quickly climbed into the sky. T and Elle changed out of their tactical gear, trading their Nomex and Kevlar for more comfortable jeans and t-shirts. Tatiana briefed Elle on their destination and asked her if she had any questions.
“So, is the search for Kristy over?” asked Elle.
“What do you mean?” replied T.
“She’s on the Ava Maria, right?”
“She’s not on that ship—it’s too easy. We keep searching until she is found.”
“Reyes said—”
Tatiana cut her off. “Fuck Reyes—he’s a lying piece of shit. They all are.”
“What’s with all the swearing during this mission? I don’t remember you swearing so much.”
T shook her head and said, “All right, yeah—I know. It’s part of my behavior when I hunt. Does it bother you?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—will you please let that go, for now?”
“No,” said Elle, with a little smile.
Tatiana never capitulated anything to another human being. There was something about this young woman—her kindred spirit and a level of trust Tatiana had never given to anyone. To her, it was frightening. Frightened was another thing Tatiana had never been.
“All right, just so we can get back to the mission,” Then she told Elle the story of her and Brandon.
“So, you would be married now?” asked Elle, still in disbelief at the account she was hearing for the first time. She knew Representative Abe Goldman had been shot and killed but knew nothing of the rest of the story.
“Yes, at least that’s what I hoped. What bothers me most was that I wasn’t there for him. I could have handled it—wouldn’t be the first time. Remember Senator Hollis?”
Rocky chimed in over the intercom with, “Coldest jump I ever made.”
“Rocky, turn off the damn intercom!” T shouted.
“It’s boring up here with no one to talk to,” said Rocky.
“Rocky!”
Sighing, Rocky complied. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Anyway, Senator Hollis was giving away intelligence secrets to an American businessman, who was in turn, trading them to the Russians for financial access to their country.”
“Wait a minute—wasn’t he killed in a plane crash?” asked Elle.
“Yes, he was. Rocky was his pilot. He put on an oxygen mask, dropped the cabin pressure until the occupants were unconscious, aimed the plane at the Rocky Mountains, set the autopilot and bailed out. Hence, his nickname.”