by Frank Perry
intel they needed and were waiting for their ride.
Within minutes they heard the whispery sound of the experimental S-97 high-speed scout and attack aircraft as it landed: The new design is half helicopter and half turbo-prop conventional aircraft. The coaxial-rotor system uses two stacked counter-rotating blades on top of the fuselage and a five-blade rear “pusher” propeller to carry troops silently at more than 250 miles per hour then deposit them without a runway. The small experimental version only had room for two soldiers and equipment. It was designed using classified stealth technologies. General Gardner had convinced the manufacturer in Arizona to “loan” the plane to the CIA, which was assuming responsibility for the operation.
The pilot was a factory test pilot volunteer with more than five thousand hours flying combat helicopters in the active Army. His name was Chief Warrant Officer Steve Perry (U.S. Army retired) and he was excited to be called to action. He excused himself to use the men’s room and stretch, while the soldiers loaded their gear aboard.
With only ten minutes on the ground, the assault team was cleared for takeoff by air traffic control through Bliss and across El Paso commercial air space, staying below 2000 feet. At this altitude, they were silent and invisible in the moonless sky. Perry wore Night Vision Goggles (NVGs), flying around the outskirts of Juarez to GPS coordinates provided by Shields.
Elsewhere, Sandy Vitale closed the door to his office and scripted the discussion before dialing the phone. He really didn’t know Cardenas, and when they had met years earlier, he was a Congressman, not the head of the CIA. His first call was to Juan Padilla.
“Hola.”
“Yes, I would like to speak to Juan Padilla, please.”
“This is Commandante Padilla.”
“Well, Commandante, my name is Sandoval Vitale. I’m with the American CIA.”
“Yes, Mr. Vitale. I am honored by your call.”
“Yes, Commandante. I am calling because I wish to speak to Mr. Hector Cardenas. I was told that you would know his phone number.”
Padilla was silent for several seconds. “Si, Señor Vitale. Of course, I do not have the phone number of Mr. Cardenas.”
“But you do know how to contact him?”
“I have talked to him in the past when examining some matters.”
“Look, Mr. Padilla. It is a matter of national urgency for me to speak to him.”
“Whose national urgency?”
“Excuse me. The U.S. security.”
“In that case, Señor, I am pleased to assist you. If you will give me your telephone number, I will make some calls, and maybe Mr. Cardenas will oblige you.”
“Yes, well, all right. Tell him we met many years ago when I was in Congress. I would like to speak with him as quickly as possible (he gave the number).”
“Yes, Señor, sure. I will try hard to get your message to him. Thank you for calling.” Padilla hung up before Vitale could speak more. He thought, “So it begins, the Americans want to bargain.”
Almost an hour later, near the hour of Rachael’s execution, Cardenas called Vitale. “Hello. This is Hector Cardenas.”
“Ah, hello, Mr. Cardenas. How are you today?”
“I’m fine. Is this a social call?”
“Oh, ah, no. Do you remember meeting me ten years ago? I remember meeting you.”
“Si, si. You were in Congress then, and now you have the whole CIA.”
“Ah, yes. That’s me.”
“Look, Señor Vitale. I am a very busy man tonight. What is this about?”
“About? Oh, well. My associates in Government heard some news stories that you would kill Ms. Aston at seven tonight.”
“Yes, it is all arranged. Several of my men are going to enjoy her body first. It should provide quite a long bit of entertainment, if you understand me?”
“Ah, well. That’s what we need to discuss.”
“No! We need to discuss nothing. You call me assuming I care to talk to the great CIA. Well, I do not care. You see, I am more powerful than you, or my government in Mexico.”
“Yes, well. I do respect your position there, but please understand how we might react. Ms. Aston is no ordinary citizen. She’s a senior government executive. The U.S. Government will not tolerate such action.”
“How will you stop me?”
Vitale didn’t have an answer. “Look, Mr. Cardenas, What do you want to stop this?”
He smiled at the thought of the CIA begging. “I want my father back alive. I want my money for the drugs captured at what you call ‘Smuggler’s Ridge.’ I want to live in peace and not worry every time my shipments cross the border. If you give me all this, then I will spare Ms. Aston.”
“Look, be reasonable. You know I can’t do these things. Your father is dead.”
“Yes, my father is dead! You people killed him. Now it is my turn.”
“Look, there must be something?”
Cardenas was tired of the dialogue, and it was time to set up for the execution. “Okay, Mr. Vitale, I ask your government for one billion dollars. You must pay tonight by ten o’clock in Mexico City. I will make the announcements of the delay.”
“But ... ”
“Good day!”
Resistance
The men congregating outside Rachael’s cell were the ugliest humans she had ever seen. They glared and joked at her. She sat on the cot and stared away from them at the wall, trying not to show emotion, although fear was overwhelming her. Fast footsteps down the hall signaled something happening, when Hector Cardenas yelled something to the others. He pushed his way past and opened her cell.
“Good evening, Ms. Aston. You really do look terrible. Oh, you are still a beautiful woman, but fear is not becoming on you.”
Rachael wanted to say something, but he had total control, so she remained silent.
“I had a chat with your Mr. Vitale. He is a weak person.”
She remained silent.
“Do you know what we have planned? You see these men? They have a hard life, so the Mexican women don’t like them very much. When you came to this old Federale prison, they became very excited.
“I told them that each could have you as his own toy tonight before they kill you. You will be a movie star, a dead porn star after your first movie. So sad. But, your Mr. Vitale, he is trying to bargain for you, and I have asked for him to get only one billion dollars, so that I won’t kill you at ten o’clock tonight. What do you think of that?”
He was standing next to her as she turned her head. “I think you’re shit, and I’ll enjoy watching you die.”
He slapped her hard, knocking her to the floor where she covered her face, silently whimpering.
“You will show respect in front of my people.”
Holding her face, she screamed, “Go to hell!”
She feared he would unleash his dogs at that point, but he left her cell instead, locking the gate. It was reassuring, knowing that the creatures were momentarily outside the locked bars.
Coming
Neither soldier had flown at such speed this close to the ground before. The S-97 had a completely enclosed front and rear cockpit for streamlined operation. There was mild wind noise, but the flight was otherwise quiet, in eerie contrast to the throbbing torque from the 1500 horsepower turbo-shaft engine, radiating through the hull. It was difficult to see land features, but occasional lights on the ground showed a breakneck speed reference.
Over the intercom, the unseen pilot in front said, “Ten miles to touchdown.”
They had organized everything at Bliss and were already wearing almost everything. Loose items were gripped firmly as the plane slowed and descended in one controlled transition from flight. The pilot came on again, “Once on the ground, crouch low, the blades on this thing are only slightly above head height. I’ll secure the bubble then depart back to base. Call me for pickup.”
Peter responded, “Thanks for the ride,
Chief. We’ll call when ready.”
“Roger that.”
The plane settled quietly in a small clearing. They hardly realized it was on the ground. Opening the side-lifting window, a vortex of desert dust enveloped them. Peter jumped out, and Stokes handed loose gear, then jumped down himself. The pilot was standing nearby to latch the door with a gloved hand over his nose and mouth to shield against the dust, patting them each on the shoulder before climbing back into the cockpit. Within seconds, they were moving through the brush in darkness, completely silent.
They crouched low as a car passed on the nearby dirt road. Peter, said, “It’s only about a half klick (half a Kilometer) from here.”
“Roger that.” Both were wearing tactical headsets, and the military Sincgars radio was inside Peter’s pack.
The brush raked against them, depositing small spores and barbs as they jogged around cactus in the partial-moon light toward the lone ranch home. Peter didn’t expect Padilla to be home, but hoped someone would know where he was. He would do anything tonight to get information.
A hundred meters away from the house, Peter signaled to stop and kneel. Light wind blew through the sage as he whispered. “Okay, John. Last time he had guards front and back, but I got around them, so watch for more now. You take the front and this side. I’m going to reconnoiter the back and far side.”
Stokes nodded, “Roger. Be careful.”
He gave a thumbs-up signal then disappeared into the night.
Stokes moved to the edge of the brush about fifty meters from the house. He was positioned closer to the rear corner and could see partway down the back of the house. It was