Gray Ghost (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 1) (20 page)

These guys couldn’t possibly screw up a simple mission, could they? Blanco was beside himself.

He advised his men of the change in plans. Barely over an hour later, they were in the air, headed for the Bahamas.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

When Roger stopped the car in front of the restaurant, Dix jumped out hoping to ask Calhoun about the plane before they got inside and started drinking.
There’s no telling what I might say to this pompous jerk if I was buzzed.

He couldn’t figure how a guy making his salary could afford a forty million dollar plane. The Coast Guard had probably seized it, but he was also baffled why the same horse head from the narcotics was on the side of the plane.

Calhoun exited the vehicle with Commissioner Knowles.

Dix corralled him. “How does a guy on your salary get to fly around in such an expensive plane? Did you write the expenditure off in the Deepwater proposal?”

Calhoun smiled. “Don’t you read the newspaper? We seized the plane at Miami International last year during a drug interdiction. It belonged to one of the biggest dealers in Columbia. Unfortunately, he wasn’t on it at the time, just a bunch of his mules.”

“
So the Coast Guard gets to fly around in seized property like that? What if the owner came looking for it?”

Calhoun raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it’s a possibility, but highly unlikely. He’d need a legitimate reason to get the plane back and prove he purchased it without using drug money. We needed to get here quick. It was the best option. All the cutters headed out before I could catch a ride. I asked to use the plane, and the grownups okayed it.”

Dix wasn’t finished. “I see all the USGC stuff on the plane, but why the small red horse head logo?”

Calhoun chuckled. “That’s my own punch to the gut, directed at the plane’s owner. For years, I’ve been chasing a supplier using the same red horse head stamped on the kilos he produces. I know it comes out of Columbia, but I lose track of it until we find it in the Caribbean or in Miami. I left the horse there so if he sees it, he’ll be pissed the Coast Guard is riding around in his forty million dollar toy.”

Petersen stepped closer. “The cocaine in the storage facility has the same exact marking on it.”

Calhoun looked surprised. “You’re shittin’ me. Damn. Now I’m even more interested in this case. You guys have been hunting my bad guy for a few days. I’ve been looking for him for twenty years.”

He stepped back and looked thoughtful. “I heard about him when I was still in Special Ops. When he sees his plane here, he’s going to shit. The guy is aggressive and won’t let this load get away.”

Dix motioned to the restaurant. “Gentlemen, what say we grab a bite to eat?”

Except for a few of the local officers who stood guard outside, they entered and ordered appetizers and well drinks. Calhoun ordered lots of rounds.

Dix wondered if Calhoun was for real. Maybe the guy intended to get the men drunk to keep them off-balance when he came to take the cocaine. Too much about Calhoun didn’t set right with Dix. He just didn’t trust the guy.

* * * *

Calhoun glanced at his Rolex GMT-Master II and calculated in about six hours, he and his son would be safely airborne with his shipment and headed to Canada.

He continued to order the men as many drinks as it took to get them drunk, which he hoped would render enough of them useless.

Most seemed unaffected by the alcohol. They were supposed to be on duty, but Calhoun was impressed by how eager they were to spend his money. Since the commissioner was downing drinks with his men, he apparently condoned such behavior.

After several more rounds and the appetizers, the men appeared lethargic and intoxicated. Commissioner Knowles excused most of the locals and told them to go home to get some rest.

Dix asked Roger to take him and Petersen back to the lodge, and all three left.

Calhoun remained with a few local officers who appeared too drunk to drive. He’d tried to squeeze more information out of them with cash, but he couldn’t find any takers.

After everyone had found rides, Calhoun pulled out his cell phone to call his son. He hit the speed dial and got voicemail.
That’s odd. Maybe the phone’s turned off. But he knows better than that.

Commissioner Knowles emerged from the men’s room and offered Calhoun a ride.

Calhoun smiled. “No, thank you, sir. I’ll have my pilot pick me up here shortly. Thanks for the offer.”

“
Not a problem, Mr. Calhoun. Call me if you need anything.”

As the guy walked away, Calhoun had a moment of regret. He was going to embarrass the hell out of the commissioner in a few short hours.
Maybe I’ll send him a postcard from the Seychelles when it’s over.
Nope, never leave clues.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The DOG Unit arrived on schedule at the Mangrove Cay Airport on Andros Island at eighteen hundred hours. They met their contact standing next to a black Yukon Denali. Blanco, Lester, and Kemp didn’t know much about the guy, except he never seemed to be far from Lieutenant Commander Jim Calhoun.

Blanco offered his hand, and the guy shook it. “Can you fill us in on the new objectives?”

“
Certainly.” He unrolled underground schematics for the area beneath the storage yard where the narcotics were locked up and pointed to a specific spot. “Under here is a series of tunnels. They’re apparently not guarded and have been overlooked by the locals. Between the top of the tunnel and the floor is approximately five feet of clay, dirt, and concrete. We need to get a heavy duty vehicle underneath, drill a hole large enough for two bodies to get through and retrieve the drugs.”

Blanco considered asking Lester or Kemp how this should go down since they had expertise in concrete work, but they were busy throwing up. The other two members of his team were drinking Gatorade and eating Snickers bars.

Blanco shook his head. “Exactly what are we going to do after we get inside?”

“
You have to avoid detection and retrieve approximately twelve hundred and fifty kilos in large black duffel bags, locked in a cabinet near the boat. The locals were not advised of the details because the Coast Guard and DEA believe some of them are corrupt and are plotting to take the stuff themselves.”

“
I assume after we retrieve the duffel bags, we place them in the armored transport and drive them back here?”

The contact nodded. “Correct.”

“
Then what? And what do we do if we’re detected?”

The guy looked stern. “You’re paid to be untraceable and work undetected. However, should that occur, complete the mission at any cost.”

“
That means taking out cops?” Blanco was skeptical.

Without hesitation the man said, “Affirmative. Once the narcotics are brought to the tarmac, you and your men will help me load them into this jet.” He smacked the tail section with his hand, “Then, you guys go one way, and the Lieutenant Commander and I go another.”

“
You mean the Coast Guard wants this dope so bad it’s authorizing the use of deadly force against cops? This smells dirty. Unless Calhoun confirms the order, we won’t proceed.” Blanco had heard enough.

The contact scowled. “The men guarding the cocaine are corrupt and have ties with the Caller. We’ve brought along some non-lethal options to incapacitate them long enough for you to get on your way. But, if push comes to shove, you may have to kill them.”

Blanco remained skeptical. “When I hear it from Calhoun himself, we’ll continue. This sounds like a training mission to me. Where’s the armored vehicle you were talking about?”

“
You’re standing next to it. That Denali has been outfitted as a highly mobile, miniature tank. Small arms fire won’t penetrate the skin, and spike strips are useless. We hope no one will know the narcotics are gone until we’re all clear. Should the situation get hot, a Stingray Helicopter will be on standby status just north of the tarmac. Proceed to the helicopter, unload the duffel bags, and get the hell out of here.”

Blanco still didn’t like the sound of the mission. It didn’t make sense. He and his team were not going to take out cops, regardless of how dirty they were supposed to be. Speaking to Jim Calhoun was now imperative, and soon.

The team inspected the equipment in the back of the Denali. They agreed it was sufficient to complete the objective, should they continue. They got their gear on, loaded the weapons and jumped in the SUV to wait for orders from Calhoun.

As he started the vehicle, Blanco looked back at the contact. “You coming?”

“
Nope. You guys are the experts. I’m just a lowly assistant. Mr. Calhoun will contact you in approximately five minutes with the final orders. I know you don’t need it, but good luck.”

The men headed for the access point to the underground tunnels. Exactly as predicted, Blanco got a call from Calhoun while they were on the way.

Calhoun said, “Blanco, you’re exactly right. This is a training mission, nothing more. We made it as real as we could, but obviously I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Blanco felt better. “So there isn’t a hundred million dollars of cocaine in the warehouse right?”

Calhoun never skipped a beat. “Of course not.”

Blanco was miffed that it was only a training mission, but he felt much better knowing he’d sniffed it out. “Copy that, sir.”

* * * *

Wilfred and Bubba had never fought in a war, but they understood street warfare, where those who were the smartest and quickest to react tended to live longest. When the second plane landed at the airport, they cringed. Five guys deplaned and surveyed the surroundings while taking defensive positions. Each man was armed with an M16 rifle. Once they seemed satisfied, there were no immediate threats, they covered each other as they made their way to a man standing beside the Denali.

Bubba figured the guy who seemed to be doing most of the talking was the leader of the new group that had just arrived.

Wilfred and Bubba took turns looking through the binoculars trying to gather as much information as they could in the hopes of relaying it to Roger, Dix, and Petersen. They watched as the pilot produced papers that resembled schematics they’d seen. The pilot and the other men huddled over them.

As two of the new arrivals began to vomit, Bubba chuckled. “Dem boys don’t look so good. Two of ’em just threw up.”

Wilfred was concerned. “They look serious and ready for action to me and with those heavy weapons, they look mean as hell. The pilot for the Coast Guard bigwig is showing them equipment, but I can’t figure out what it is or what it would be used for.”

Bubba took the binoculars. “Looks like someone’s gonna work on concrete. But I’m not sure. One of those things looks like a monster drill.”

While Wilfred took the binoculars, Bubba called one of his friends who worked construction on the islands. Bubba described what he’d seen.

“
My buddy says it could be masonry drilling equipment, based on the size and type of bit.”

Wilfred looked at his brother. “What would they need drilling tools for? This shit gets stranger with every minute. These have to be the guys we thought would come to get the cocaine. I say we follow them. I bet they’ll lead us to the Caller.”

Bubba agreed, so they hunkered down in the hopes of getting a piece of the action later.

The newcomers checked their watches, talked for a few more minutes and loaded the black SUV with gear from the plane. Then they headed off the tarmac while the pilot remained with the jet.

As soon as the SUV was out of view, the pilot made a phone call that lasted less than ten seconds. He hung up, retrieved an M16 rifle from the jet and slung it over his shoulder. He lit a cigarette and slowly inhaled.

Bubba turned to Wilfred. “That pilot isn’t going anywhere. Let’s follow the dudes in the big SUV.”

Wilfred turned the key. “Okay. I’ll drive. Keep an eye on them.”

Bubba sulked. “Why don’t I drive?”

Wilfred looked at his brother. “Man, you already wore out the springs on this side. Our tires wouldn’t last ten miles if you drove. Besides, you’re a better observer. Tell me where to go.”

Bubba acquiesced. “Next street, turn right. We’ll run parallel to ’em for a bit.”

They hadn’t discussed what they’d do if they actually confronted the bastard who ordered the hit on Sean and Preston. Bubba locked and loaded their weapons and set out the extra magazines. At a red light, they donned their vests and slipped on their game faces.

Staying several car lengths behind the Denali, they drove about eight miles without saying a word. Their target vehicle stayed precisely at the speed limit and stopped at all the stop signs and the lone signal. It made a series of right-hand turns followed by a couple of left turns.

After ten long minutes, Wilfred broke the silence. “I don’t think these guys are going directly to the storage yard. In fact, it looks like they’re headed about four miles south of it. You got any idea where they might be going?” Before he let Bubba answer, Wilfred asked another question. “You think maybe we got this wrong?”