Shadow of Death (7 page)

CHAPTER 18

Mexico City
Agencia Federal de Investigación

General Hernando Ortega of the Agencia Federal de Investigación sat in the conference room with his right-hand man, Colonel Rafael Lozano. Lozano was the only man the general trusted completely, and no one else from the AFI had been brought in for the operation briefing. Lozano’s face showed his surprise as the general went over the details.

“President Nieto is aware of the operation?” he asked, looking worried.

“It was his concept, along with the Americans. The order came directly from him.”

“And when do the American forces arrive?”

“Soon.”

“And doesn’t the president understand that this makes him look weak? It makes
us
look weak! We can take care of our
own
problems. It’s practically a foreign invasion.”

The general scowled. “You’re overreacting. It’s a very small force, not an invasion. It’s my understanding that El Gato’s capture is only the goal because of something else that’s going on. The president was vague on that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, fully. The president is being very tight-lipped, even with me.”

“That’s yet
another
insult. He’s been in office for five minutes and he’s already undermining our operations, and now insulting us to our face. You’re the commanding general of the entire drug task force, and he doesn’t trust you with the details?”

The general shrugged casually. “I’m not as sensitive as you are. The last operation got two American DEA agents killed. It caused problems for the president. He can’t have this turn into another disaster.”

“Well, I don’t see how we’re supposed to do our job with only half the information.”

“I’m sure more will be given in due time. Now, do
your
job and prepare the Marine assault force. They’ll be flown into Villahermosa. You have less than seventy-two hours to organize three hundred men, but you’ll have everything you need. If you run into any obstacles whatsoever, you call me directly.”

“Yes, sir,” said the colonel, rising from his chair. He snapped a salute and walked briskly out of the building to his Mercedes in the underground garage, and then roared out into the impossible traffic of Mexico City. The smog was so thick the sky was greyish-brown.

He wasn’t driving for two minutes when he made his first phone call from his burner phone. “I have information you’re going to want . . .”

CHAPTER 19

Moroccan Freighter
Hassani

The four of them had just finished
fajr
, the morning prayer. The sun was breaking the horizon, and it was already getting very warm. They now turned their attention to the coastline off the port side. They remained at the stern, with the container, but could hardly contain their excitement at the sight of land. The journey had been mostly smooth sailing, except for the night before, and they were all very anxious to get on land and rid themselves of the constant queasiness in their bellies.

Hamid spoke quietly to his men. “When we arrive at the port,
that
is the most dangerous moment. The captain of this boat has been given enough money to take care of the customs official, and then the container will be off-loaded to a tractor-trailer. We will drive the truck ourselves across Mexico, where we will get aboard another ship for the final part of our mission. Nothing is to stop us. If there is a problem at the port, we will kill everyone we see. For now, keep your weapons out of sight in the duffle bags, but have them with you at all times. Try to act casual.”

Mohammed, Mustafa, and Marwan smiled. Marwan said, “Look casual?” He started laughing, which made everyone else laugh.

“That’s good. Keep smiling. Just four seasick passengers happy to see land,” said Hamid.

“That’s not even a lie,” said Marwan, still smiling broadly.

They watched in silence, staying out of the way as the crew moved into action preparing the ship for docking. A small tugboat came alongside and helped the captain guide the large freighter next to the dock. There, the crew moved rapidly, throwing lines and tying them off as the freighter was docked. The captain blew the horn and cut the engines, and the men each said silent prayers of thanks as the deck beneath them finally stopped moving.

CHAPTER 20

Send-Off

Apo stood at the pier to see the team off to the USS
Forrest Sherman
, an
Arleigh Burke
–class guided missile destroyer. The ship was a thing of beauty, sleek and low in the water, with light grey lines. With her five-inch gun at the bow, machine guns and torpedo tubes, and full array of missiles, she was a graceful warrior. The ship had been in Virginia for a brief stop before crossing the Atlantic again, and the team would be grabbing a quick lift to rendezvous with their other ride, the USS
Greeneville,
a Los Angeles–class submarine.

The team members shook hands with Apo and wished each other good luck before walking to the gangway. Their combat packs were heavy with food, weapons, equipment, and a small dragonfly. Moose was the last to shake hands. “Alpha Mike Foxtrot,” he said.
Adios, motherfucker.

Apo smiled. “Golf Foxtrot Yankee.”
Go fuck yourself.

Moose laughed. “Ah, you
knew
that one!”

“I told you, I speak several languages, including profanity. I learned profanity just so I could communicate with Frogmen. Safe travels, my friend. See you down range.”

They shook hands again, with serious faces the second time.

Would it be the last time they ever saw each other?

Just another day at work.

Apo drove back to CIA’s small, private airport, where he’d be hitching a ride to Florida, waiting a few days, and then changing to another small, private jet to arrive in style in Mexico as Cuban kingpin Alex Ferdinando of the Havana Tiburón, a new gang in the Miami area that put him on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.

Apo and the SEAL team would be having two very different trips.

The team was treated like VIPs by the ship’s captain, and given two four-man rooms next to each other. Understanding that their mission was rated as top secret, he also gave them access to his private briefing room. The men sat there now, drinking coffee after a surprisingly good meal.

“Man, I’ve been on plenty of boats, but none of them ever had grub
that
good,” said Jon, leaning back in his chair.

Moose laughed. “I hope you can still fit in your wetsuit.”

The group of them chatted about nothing in particular for a long time, just enjoying the downtime with each other. They were at sea, on their way to a mission, and could feel the ocean under them. For a Frogman, it just didn’t get any better.

The conversation randomly came round to “What’s the weirdest thing you ever saw?” It started funny, with answers ranging from various bad tattoos placed in anatomically interesting locations, to insects that they’d watched their Ranger friends eat. Eventually, Eric changed the conversation to combat.

“Once, I’d been watching this dude for a while through my scope. An Iraqi officer. I was waiting for clearance to take the shot, so I just kept scopin’ him. Right before I get the call, he starts picking his nose, all nasty-like. Then the fucker eats it. Then I blew his head off. His last meal was a bugger.”

That got a few groans and laughs. Eric looked at Moose. “What’s the weirdest thing you ever saw in combat?”

Moose looked at Ripper. They both said “Fallujah” at the same time. “You tell him,” said Moose. He didn’t look happy to think about it.

Everyone quietly waited for Ripper to speak. He wiped his front teeth with his tongue and made a little scowl, then began. “Well, you remember what a clusterfuck
that
was. Moose and I were going door to door through this building, clearing it, you know? We kick in a door and find two guys sitting at a table next to a hole in the wall. Neither dude had a head. Looked like a TOW maybe came through the wall in a perfect shot and simply decapitated the two of them, and went straight through a few more walls before it took out the back of the building. They were just politely sitting there, like they were drinking tea or something. They just didn’t have a head to pour it into. Just sitting there, totally normal. Except the head part.”

The room remained silent.

Ripper looked at Jon. “You?”

“Off the record, right?”

Ripper nodded.

“A different shithole in Iraq. Found a basement where some locals had been captured and tortured by Shiite insurgents. It was like some kind of horror movie.
Totally surreal
. These animals had been cutting off body parts, using power drills on skulls, ankles, and elbows—you name it. There were at least twenty mutilated corpses down there and another four guys hanging on by a thread. We killed almost all of them outright when we hit the basement, but the leader and a couple of thugs ended up being taken alive.”

“What happened to him?”

“Man, you don’t want to know.”

Ripper stared at him and waited.

“Lieutenant Commander Evans was in charge. He was one hundred percent badass. A great commander, and always cool. But he lost his shit that day. He personally shot every single one of those animals in the head except their leader, who the others were hasty to give up when questioned. Evans put that guy’s head in the same vise we found a corpse in. Then he picked up the drill. No one said a word. I mean, we looked at each other, like, maybe someone should tell him not to do it, you know? But fuck it. We just stood there and watched him drill holes in this fucker until he was dead. When we left, Evans called in an air strike and flattened the whole block. No one said a word about it afterwards. Just one of those fucked-up days.”

“I love hanging out with you guys. It’s always so uplifting,” said Ryan quietly.

Ripper shrugged and pointed at Eric. “
He
asked.”

“Here’s a funny one for you,” said Ray, trying to lighten the mood. “I was doing an overnight at a forward operating base in Iraq after finishing up a two-day op. We were staying with the Brits. These guys were supposed to make a fuel run the next morning, but their CO declined, saying it was ‘too hot’ along that route. So, the 119th Corps Support Battalion gets volunteered to make the run instead. Our guys show up before dawn and take the fuel trucks for the run up to the Abrams tanks. When the Brits woke up later that morning, they see that one of the dudes from the 119th had climbed their water tower and painted the unit insignia on it—this big red flame. And under it, in
huge
letters, he had spray-painted, ‘We Roll ‘Cause You Won’t.’ It was
classic
, man. Their CO was so pissed! I couldn’t stop laughing all morning. When I rolled out that day, I said goodbye to their CO and whispered, ‘Nice tower.’”

“Oh man, that must have gone over big.”

“He told me to go fuck myself.”

Moose laughed and stood up. “Okay, enough. Time to go over this one more time.”

They groaned, but together they began reciting the timetable for their mission before retiring to their bunks.

CHAPTER 21

Friday, 1350
Ciudad Pemex Airport, Tabasco

The Beechcraft Premier touched down gently on the hot tarmac. At six million dollars, the jet was just about as luxurious a six-person aircraft as had ever landed at Ciudad Pemex. Apo, now “Alex,” had wanted to arrive in style and make a statement, and that he had.

Two black SUVs were waiting for him. The CIA had been working with the FBI and DEA for several months setting up the introduction between El Gato and their fictitious Cuban drug lord. Up until a few weeks earlier, they didn’t even know which agent would be sent to portray Alex Ferdinando, an FBI Most Wanted criminal and leader of this new gang called the Havana Sharks—
tiburon
in Spanish. After a lot of work and worry, the meeting was about to go down.

Apo stepped off the jet into the hot Mexican sun and smiled. He looked up at the blue skies and sunshine, and then turned around to accept the bags from the copilot. It was a six-seat luxury jet, but only the pilot, copilot, and Apo were aboard. One duffle bag contained a change of clothes, the other contained two million in cash.

The doors of the black SUVs opened and Marco and Felix stepped out of the rear vehicle. Three other men with Uzis stepped out of the lead vehicle. Felix walked over to Apo to greet the new business associate. He was exhausted. He and Marco had just returned from a cross-country trip where they had partially paid off the other cartels for safe passage of a truck. While it wasn’t unheard of to pay a tax or toll for such special circumstances, it was still extremely dangerous. They could have been double-crossed at every stop, or simply attacked and robbed of their cash. Their stress levels had been high, and they hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours in two days. They had returned the night before and crashed out for a few hours before going to the airport to pick up this VIP stranger.

Felix extended his hand. “Welcome to Mexico, Señor Alex. I’m Felix. El Gato extends his warm welcome and is waiting for you.”

Apo placed the bag of clothes down and shook hands. “Thank you.”

“This is Marco. He can take your bags.”

Apo smiled and handed him both duffle bags.

Marco smiled. “This one’s heavy.”

“Yes it is, isn’t it?” replied Apo with his best evil smile. While Felix’s and Marco’s Spanish accents were pure Mexico, Apo made sure his was Cuban. A subtle difference, but mastered, nonetheless.

Felix apologized, and then searched Apo. He was thorough, looking for weapons or a wire, but unless he had an X-ray machine, they weren’t going to find the seed-sized GPS locator in his chest muscle.

They drove through pretty countryside, meandering through narrow roads that seemed to wind back and forth through endless farm fields and tiny villages. Occasionally, Apo noticed spray-painted graffiti where Las Zetas tags had been marked.

Felix had been thoughtful enough to bring a cooler of beers for the ride, and each of them drank one as they made their way west. When they reached the city of Comalcalco, Felix announced, “We’re getting close.”

Comalcalco was the third largest city in Tabasco, and completely controlled by the Zetas. The Mayan ruins there were in excellent condition, and tourists often visited from around the world. There were a few decent hotels and many restaurants in the city of almost forty thousand. Apo was able to see a couple of the Mayan temples as they drove, and commented on their beauty.

“One day you’ll come back and spend more time, Señor Alex,” said Felix.

Apo smiled and kept his thoughts to himself.

Twenty minutes later, Apo spotted the mansion on a hill. It was the only hill for miles of flat farmland. Its slopes were covered in thick forest, and Apo was glad the assaulting team would have the cover of the vegetation. It looked much thicker than it had in the pictures. The SUVs began their trek up the windy road to the mansion.

“El Gato’s
hacienda
welcomes you,” said Felix as they arrived at the wrought-iron gates.

A guard in the small tower recognized Marco behind the wheel and the gates opened. The SUV rolled across the spotless cobblestone driveway and stopped in front of the massive wooden front doors. The estate was magnificent, and Apo admired the perfectly pruned hedges and beds full of Mexican gladiolas and sunflowers. A square flower bed featured
Laelia
orchids, in their beautiful lavender. Hummingbirds and butterflies added to the quiet beauty. El Gato was responsible for the murder of tens of thousands of fellow Mexicans, yet lived in one of the most beautiful estates Apo had ever seen.

Apo followed Felix and Marco through the mansion to the back of the house, doing his best to memorize every step. Marco carried both bags, and readjusted the shoulder strap on the cash several times as he walked. Two million dollars was a little over forty pounds.

The rear of the house was mostly glass—a series of repeating arching glass doors, with wrought-iron decorations that also served as security. From the rear rooms, one could see out to the pools and fountains, and the view of the lush green countryside was incredible. Out on the horizon, at the very edge of vision, was the Gulf of Mexico.

In the rear of the house, Gato’s people had set up a little welcome party for their new guest. A buffet table had been prepared with everything from split-broiled lobsters to empanadas and fruit. Music was being piped in from the house’s sound system, and fresh flowers were all over the rear yard. Eight of the most beautiful women Apo had ever seen were lounging with cocktails by the artificial waterfall near the large pool. A small pig was slowly rotating over hot coals off to the side, as much to impress as to eat. Several bottles of Dom Pérignon were sitting in sterling silver ice buckets.

Apo’s eyes went from one item of beauty to another, until his eyes came to rest on one of the ugliest faces he had ever seen. El Gato. The pug-faced, crater-skinned man who wasn’t much taller than Apo himself. El Gato saw him and smiled broadly. His horrid teeth made Apo wretch inside.

“Mr. Alexandro!” he announced with open arms when he saw his new guest. El Gato walked towards Apo and shook his hand with two of his own. Both of his hands were covered in tattoos. “Welcome! I hope you had an easy journey.”

“Thank you, Señor Gato. Your estate is fantastic. The most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Just amazing.”

El Gato smiled proudly. “This way, come.” He eyed Marco and Felix. “Put the bags in the rear study for now. Señor Alex must be hungry and hot.” He led Apo to the table and spread his hands wide. “I hope you will find something here to eat that pleases you.” He looked over at the women who lounged under the umbrellas. “Or maybe there.” He laughed at his joke.

“I’ve been waiting to eat lunch myself. Come. Fix yourself a plate and we’ll sit. Do you prefer champagne or cold beer? Or both perhaps? Or, I have the finest tequila in the world, if you wish, but maybe it’s better to save that for after business.” He laughed again at his own commentary.

“The feast looks amazing, thank you.” Apo picked up a plate and tried a few things that looked delicious to him. He was actually hungry. His mind went to the team and wondered what they’d be eating.

When the two men had piled up food on their large platters, they sat at a table under a large umbrella. It was just the two of them. El Gato picked up a tortilla and took a bite. Grease ran down his chin, and the disgusting man chomped through it like a rabid dog. Apo looked at his food to avoid watching the man eat. He pulled a lobster tail from its shell and smiled.

El Gato began speaking with a mouth full of food. Billions had bought him everything except couth. “So your government is looking for you. Does that worry you? You took quite a risk flying here and then having to return, no?”

“Not really. My private jet is registered to a shell company out of the Caymans. I’ve been using it for years without a problem.”

“You and your people, the Havana Sharks, you seem to have appeared out of thin air.”

Apo smiled and sipped the champagne. Damn, it was good. “We managed to stay under the radar for several years. I wasn’t looking to make headlines. We’re businessmen, no? It’s easier to conduct our type of business when no one knows who you are.”

“In the United States, perhaps. Here in Mexico, Alex, it’s much better if
everyone
knows who you are. I go out of my way to make sure everyone knows exactly who I am. And what I am capable of.” He looked into Apo’s eyes, and Apo realized he was looking into the eyes of death. The man was a soulless sociopath, no matter what cologne he wore.

“Yes, I suppose here, things are much different. You can run the whole country here. Back in the US, if you catch the attention of the government, it gets more complicated.”

“Exactly. Which is what worries me a bit about you. About doing
business
with you.” El Gato reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper, which he opened and smoothed out. It was Apo’s face on the fake FBI Most Wanted page, printed off the Internet. “Even here in the countryside, we have Internet. The FBI has a price on your head.”

“Yes, I know. I was insulted at the amount.”

El Gato laughed loudly and slapped his hand down on the paper. “Exactly! You’re worth much more than that, no?” He laughed again, food still in his broken teeth. He drank his champagne with a quick chug and poured more sloppily. Then he leaned forward and looked very serious. “I don’t want your FBI or DEA coming to visit me, you understand?”

“Of course. Nor do I want them visiting me. But I am prepared to move one hundred kilos of heroin a week. I can have the flights in and out of the same airport I came in on today. It won’t be me in the future, but my people are professional. Cash in, heroin out. I brought you a two million dollar security deposit so you know I’m serious.”

El Gato smiled and sat back. He stared for a moment, making Apo nervous inside, but then El Gato roared with laughter and refilled both their champagne glasses, pouring almost as much onto the table as in the glass as it exploded into tiny bubbles—a 2004 vintage worth a couple hundred dollars a bottle, treated like spring water. He raised his glass. “Here’s to our new venture. You’re going to like it here, Señor Alex!”

They clinked glasses and drank their champagne. Apo averted his eyes when El Gato ripped off the lobster tail and crammed it into his mouth.

Felix walked over to his boss. “Excuse me, Jefe. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need a word, please.”

El Gato excused himself and the two of them moved across the patio. Apo was watching their mouths, trying his best to lip-read, a skill he had worked on for many years.

“I got the call. The package has arrived. Marco and I will be leading them along the same route we took before. We need to leave now.”

“Excellent. It’s a lousy chore, I know, but it will reopen our heroin traffic, and we have a new customer who wants large, steady quantity. You’ll be rewarded for your drive.”

“You’ve already been most generous, Jefe. We leave now.” He bowed slightly and hustled off. Marco, who had been standing by the rear door, followed him back through the house to their waiting SUVs.

“Everything okay?” asked Apo when Gato returned to his seat. He had lip-read the word “package” and understood Felix and Marco were leaving in a hurry. He wondered if it was drugs, or the package he was really looking for.

“Oh, yes. Good news, actually. Just ensuring the quality and quantity of your shipments. How long are you staying?”

Apo made a big show of looking at the girls. “Well, I was going to fly back out today after our business was concluded, but I could easily be persuaded to stay longer.” He smiled.

“Ha! That’s the spirit, Señor Alex!” said El Gato with another of his obnoxious laughs. “Yes, my new friend. You’ll stay the weekend and enjoy yourself! You might not want to go home!”

“That sounds perfect,” replied Apo. Because it did.