Shadow of Death (17 page)

“Apo is a very talented man. We don’t call him the Chameleon for nothing. I’ve been around the best operatives in the world, Mr. Davis. The best. And although I’d love to spend a very long assignment with Heidi from the BND, there is no one I’d rather go to war with than Apo Yessayan. If he’s with your team, you get him this phone. He’ll get to your package and solve your problem.”

“Even if Apo was in Mexico,” Darren replied, “I can’t exactly FedEx him your most secret piece of technology so he can give ISIS a ring and see if they want to meet for a goat barbeque.”

“Of course you can,” said Shimon with his charming smile. “And we’ll even help you get it done.”

Darren studied the man. “Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that everything goes according to whatever new plan we draw up. A big, happy ending. Then what?”

“Your president sits down with the prime minister for a real conversation about Iran behind closed doors. No posturing. No politics. Just a plan to ensure that Iran’s nuclear facilities are destroyed before they can be defended so well that Iran becomes the newest member of the world nuclear powers.”

Darren sighed. “You know I can’t guarantee a meeting with the president. All I can do is explain Israel’s immense cooperation and assistance, and ask. That’s it. I can ask.”

“Understood. If the information on the EMP from Iran is accurate, which we obviously believe it is, your president will have no choice but to reconsider his current position. Well, we should hope so, anyway.”

CHAPTER 50

A Most Interesting Military Convoy

The truck rattled and bounced so badly, Ripper couldn’t drive faster than thirty miles per hour. The truck was an American Ford, the particular model being the topic of discussion for the first ten minutes of the trip. It was finally decided by general vote that it was an F-100, circa 1975, which made it older than everyone on the team. The age of the two horses that had disappeared over the ridge came up next, which were also estimated to be about forty, and finally, the age of the grandmother at the farmhouse, which was estimated to be closer to a hundred and fifty. It was unanimously decided upon, after eating her homemade tortillas, that a hundred years should be deducted because it was rude to call a woman out on her age. Especially when she fed you something so damn good.

They were headed south along a country road that would bring them toward Comalcalco and a real highway. They hoped to be able to steal a vehicle there and use Highway 187 as far as it went toward Arista.

Ripper held the wobbly steering wheel with two hands as they rock and rolled along the dirt road. Moose’s earpiece came on with Eric’s voice.

“Scout One to large bovine animal, come in, over.”

“I don’t think a moose is a bovine animal, so Golf Foxtrot Yankee. Give me a sit-rep, wiseass.”

“We’re a few klicks south of you in the woods on top of a little hill. I can see the outskirts of the town from here. Not sure what I was expecting, but it’s not a big city—more like a little town, spreads out pretty far. Clipping a truck might be a little trickier than we thought. Everything is pretty wide open. I can see you guys coming down the road. Clean and green.”

“Any signs of Mexican Marines or gangbangers? Civilians around?”

“Negative. Not here, anyway. Lots of farms, just like where we came from. If Jon and I go any farther, we’ll be out in farmland and someone will see us. We’ll need to wait here until you catch up. Couple of dudes in BDUs on horseback might be the most exciting thing that happened here since the Spanish invaded.”

“I’m impressed with your knowledge of local history. Maybe we can get you on Jeopardy. Sit tight and we’ll catch up. Out.”

Moose leaned back and spoke through the tiny slide window at the rear of the cab that opened into the bed of the truck, where the team was jammed in with all their gear and miscellaneous farming garbage. “Hey, Frogmen. Jarhead just called in. Gonna have to make room to squeeze them in back there with ya.”

“How about we make Cat Woman run alongside the truck to make more room?” asked Ray.

“Quit your bitching. Pretend you’re in a mini sub,” said Ripper.

“Easy for you to say, you two are up front in the lap of luxury,” replied Ryan.

“Yeah, lap of luxury,” said Moose. “I’m looking between my feet and watching the road through the hole in the floor with a spring shoving its way through my Kevlar into my spine. I just hope the whole fucking seat doesn’t drop out the bottom.”

McCoy piped up from his crowded corner of the truck. “Hey, I got an incoming on the sat-phone!” He pulled out the handset, which had a green indicator light flashing on it. He fumbled with his pack and pulled out the small umbrella-shaped antenna, which he opened and handed to Ray, who pointed it skyward.

“Papa Mike here. Go.”

Dex placed his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Darren Davis. “I’ve got Pete McCoy on the horn.”

“Give him the deal.”

“Papa Mike, what’s your current sit-rep?”

“One hundred percent good to go. En route, but moving slowly. No tangos since leaving the cathouse, over.”

“Roger, good copy. We have equipment being brought to you. Is Alpha Yankee with you?”

“Yes, sir. Wait one.” Pete handed the phone to Apo.

“Go,” he said.

“Friends of yours have been helpful. They took a big risk for us. I have a phone of theirs that’s cloned to appear as though it’s across the pond. You’ll use that phone to contact a man named Mustafa. He’ll think you’re Qassim Bayazid. They will negotiate a deal with you on behalf of the Sinaloas, you copy?”

Apo’s face showed his surprise. He was thinking in hyperdrive. He remembered Qassim from his time in Syria. The man was fairly high up the food chain. Dex must have been referring to the Mossad when he said “friends,” as he’d worked with them a few times before. But for them to give the CIA a cloned phone was nothing short of shocking. “This phone, how is it going to get to us?”

“That’s the fun part. It’s currently on an F-18 Super Hornet heading south to deliver it to a flattop. Once there, the phone will be put on a small drone and sent to you, wherever you are at that time, over.”

Apo looked at his teammates, thinking, “Holy shit. They’re sending me a
drone phone
.” He spoke back into the sat-phone. “Good copy. Will wait for your drone phone. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now. Stay healthy. Out.”

He handed the phone back to Pete and moved up the bed of the truck to the cab, climbing over his crammed teammates. Apo leaned into the window and whispered to Moose so El Gato couldn’t hear anything. “Mossad rigged a phone. The Company’s sending it to us by drone. I’m going to fake being Qassim Bayazid, an ISIS commander in Syria, and set up some sort of deal to try and get to the package.”

Moose nodded. “Okay.”

“
Okay
? That’s it? No ‘Holy shit, the Mossad is sending us a phone by drone to try and contact the Sinaloas and fake being ISIS?’ You took that right in stride.”

“Dude, after being around you for a few weeks, nothing is going to surprise me anymore.”

Moose’s earpiece came back on again. “Moose, it’s Echo, you copy?”

“Good copy, go.”

“Just spotted two Mexican Marine Humvees hauling ass from Comalcalco. They must have come through there from that airport. They’re
flying
, man. Should be on you in a few minutes. Find some cover.”

“Cover hell, we just found our better transportation. Work your way back to us. We’ll ditch the truck and set up an ambush. They have mounted machine guns?”

“Negative. Looks like four Marines per vehicle. Troop transport only, old models, no up-armor. We’ll start following. Moose, we gonna take them out? We’re supposed to be on the same side.”

“We’re going to try and play nice, but we need those Humvees. Get off the horn and beat feet. Out.”

Moose pointed to a spot where there were large trees and boulders on both sides of the narrow dirt road. “Stop the truck at that chokepoint. Leave it right there in the middle of the road so they can’t go around you. Apo, you try and get the Mexis to stop and get out, and we’ll come in from the sides. No shooting unless we have to. Unass this truck! Let’s move, people, they’re coming fast!”

Ripper stopped the truck between a large boulder and the trees and cut the engine. There was no way even large Humvees could knock over the trees to go around the “disabled” vehicle. While they could push the truck out of the way with their vehicles, that would require stopping and at least a couple of them getting out to investigate the situation.

The team jumped off the back of the truck and pulled El Gato into the trees, where they pushed him to the ground facedown on his stomach and zip-tied his hands to a large, low branch that pinned him uncomfortably in place. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he still had the gag in his mouth.

Ripper leaned down and whispered into his ear. “One fucking peep out of you and I will
end
you with my knife from your balls to your face. You copy, muthafucker?” El Gato’s expression became even uglier than his regular face, but he couldn’t speak to curse at Ripper.

The team disappeared instantly into the foliage on both sides of the road while Apo popped the hood of the pickup truck and stood there waiting. Although Apo couldn’t see them, he knew they were in their ambush positions. He casually announced, “It’s a wonderful feeling, standing in the road by yourself, while eight hostile troops in two Humvees roar in on your location with fully automatic weapons, said no one ever.”

Eric and Jon had their horses at full-out run until they emerged from cover, then dismounted and ran on foot to catch up to their friends’ ambush location. Once they were within sniper range, Eric pulled his rifle from its padded sheath and set up behind a rock, which he could use for some extra stability and cover. Jon quickly set up the spotter scope and began scanning in all directions for any other possible incoming threats.

“Clear as far as I can see,” said Jon quietly. Eric was one hundred percent focused on the two Humvees that were slowing down as they approached the truck that was blocking the road. Apo, a short, dark man in slacks and a black shirt, could have been any Mexican with a disabled vehicle, and looked very nonthreatening, although very annoying to the Marines trying to make top speed to reinforce their team at El Gato’s mansion.

The trucks came to a stop, and the passenger door of the lead vehicle opened. A lieutenant jumped out and began screaming at the top of his lungs at Apo, who just stood and opened his arms as if to say, “What am I supposed to do?”

The man stomped over and kept up his screaming. “Move that truck! This is official business! Move it or I’ll have you arrested!”

“Arrested for what? The truck broke down! It’s old, like me!”

“Push it off the road!”

“I can’t. I have back problems. Maybe your men can help me? Can you call someone for me? Maybe give me a lift?”

“Do we look like fucking taxis? Mother of God!” He turned and began screaming at his men, and the doors of the green-and-tan camouflaged Humvees began opening. “Get this piece of shit off the road!”

All eight men hopped out of their trucks and jogged up to the pickup truck. Apo casually said, “It’s out of gear. You can just roll it back a few feet and then you can drive around it.”

The lieutenant didn’t like listening to any suggestions from the man who was slowing him down and told him to get out of the way. Apo quietly backed away as the men all put their hands on the truck waiting for the order to push. As soon as their hands were on the truck, five commandos stepped out of the brush from all sides with assault weapons out and shouldered.

In Spanish, Apo sternly commanded, “Nobody move and nobody gets hurt! We are United States commandos here on an international mission to take down the Las Zetas drug cartel! We are working with the permission of your president and General Hernando Ortega. Your colonel, Rafael Lozano, double-crossed us at El Gato’s estate and was killed in the fighting. We are not your enemy! But if you make a move against us, so help me God, we will kill every last one of you. We have snipers covering you as well. Please don’t do anything stupid. Hands on your heads, now!”

The entire time he was speaking, the team was moving in on the surprised Mexicans. They glanced at their lieutenant, but Ripper was already on him, removing the Colt .45 from the officer’s holster and jamming into his own waistband.

“You speak English?” Moose barked from the other side of the truck.

“Enough to say ‘Go fuck yourself,’” the lieutenant replied, his face twisted in anger and embarrassment.

“You listen up real good. We came here to
help
and your colonel fucked us over and almost got us killed. We’ve got no beef with you, but we’ve got a mission to finish. We’re taking your trucks. That’s not a request, you
capisce
?”

Apo repeated the entire thing in Spanish so every Marine understood what was happening.

“These trucks are the property of the Mexican government. If you touch them you’ll be arrested—”

Before he could finish, Moose scoped his FN SCAR at eye level on the lieutenant. “I’d much prefer to borrow these vehicles and leave with a handshake then blow your head off and take them. Either way, they’re ours.”

Moose’s earpiece filled with Eric Hodges’ Oklahoma twang. “Echo to Big Mike, you have beaucoup vehicles coming up the road behind you. Guessing from the all-black SUVs with chrome rims shining so bright that I can see from here, El Gato’s boys are coming to look for the boss. Maybe three klicks to your location. Please advise, over.”

Moose’s command voice filled the air. “Listen up! We’ve got several vehicles full of Las Zetas gangbangers coming up the road to rescue their boss. You’re either going to be left here without weapons to deal with them by yourselves, or you’re going to take them out with us. You have about ten seconds to decide who you trust, and then I’m taking your trucks and leaving your asses here to be used as target practice for those animals.” Apo repeated everything in Spanish.

Ripper moved closer to Moose. “Skipper, you sure? I don’t trust these fuckers any more than that colonel. Why not take the trucks and beat feet?”

“Because on the outside chance that some of these young men would actually like their country back, I’d like to think we did the right thing.”

Apo began speaking in Spanish at a hundred miles an hour, giving something of a pep talk to eight very confused and scared-looking Marines, along with one still very pissed-off officer.

Eric’s voice again filled Moose’s earpiece. “One and a half klicks, Skipper. Four SUVs. Tinted windows—I don’t know how many tangos. You say the word and I’ll start changing the odds. The road’s narrow. I stop the lead vehicle, they’ll have to dismount or work their way around off-road, which will make them easy targets, over.”

Moose turned back to the Mexican officer. “Lieutenant, you have a decision to make. You can fight a drug cartel that’s ruining your country, or surrender to them when they arrive, at which point you’ll have no weapons or trucks. I’m sure they’ll treat you very well.”

The lieutenant extended his open hand and stared at Moose, who was still eye level with his FN SCAR. Moose lowered his weapon, pulled the Colt from his web belt, and handed it back to the lieutenant, who holstered it.

Moose surprised the man with an offer of a handshake. “Senior Chief Al Carlogio. This is my team along with my second, Senior Chief Colgan. Only my mom calls me Al. Moose and Ripper are fine.”

“Lieutenant Ramon Santiago, Mexican Marines, Batallones de Comandos Anfibios, Sixth Platoon. Colonel Lozano?”