Shadow of Death Page 7

  Apo stared and smiled. “Seriously? It has a camera?”

  “Yup. Two.” Rachael smiled proudly. “We call him Doctor Who. ‘Doctor’—D.R.—is for digital robot. ‘Who’ is because no one will see him. This little guy runs remotely from your laptop or tablet. You’ll get live feed from his cameras. Once you get over the target area, you hit the ‘fly’ button, and this little guy will fly a natural dragonfly pattern so he won’t be noticed. The pattern is based on real insect behavior. The beauty is that the camera will adjust for his flight so it won’t be jittery. That was the tough part, but it’s perfect now. Maybe my all-time masterpiece. Well, our masterpiece. I had plenty of help. But he’s amazing.”

  “Wow,” was the best Apo could muster. “Can I pick it up?”

  “Sure. It’s not as fragile as it looks. It’s a silicon-polymer blend. Wings look perfect, don’t they? But as thin as they are, they bend, they don’t break.”

  Apo picked up the long green insect. Its double wings were colorless, with perfect black veins. The body was green and black with six tiny legs. It was an exact replica in every detail.

  “Amazing. How long can it fly and send images?”

  “He’s almost weightless, so even with his tiny battery, he can go almost three hours, nonstop. Each eye is a separate camera. One is regular vision, one is night viz. He flies day or night.”

  Apo shook his head. “Do you have a sample of his feed?”

  Rachael walked over and typed in her computer. On the screen, a video feed of their headquarters appeared. The image clarity was like watching a high-end television.

  “Holy shit,” Apo whispered without even meaning to speak.

  “Wait. I zoomed in a few times.”

  They watched and eventually the video changed to the SEALs running the confidence course out in the field behind HQ. At one point, the drone focused on each face, one at a time. Apo could clearly see the faces of every team member. None of them had a clue they were under observation.

  “Absolutely incredible. You have audio?”

  Rachael folded her arms. “Jeez, Apo.”

  “Just asking.”

  “No, we don’t have audio. It’s hard enough miniaturizing everything else in there already.”

  “Okay, okay, sorry. So you just press ‘fly’ or something and off he goes?”

  She took the dragonfly from his hands. “Actually, you spread the legs into their natural position during flight and just throw it up into the air. The wings will activate and off he goes. Then you use the computer to give him the target. Once there, he’ll start flying his pattern. If you want to key on an image, you just tap the image on your screen, and he’ll zoom in on it. To remove zoom, tap again and off he goes.”

  “Well, I think you just solved our recon problems. You rock.”

  “Yes I do. Tell the boss to give me a raise. Try and bring Dr. Who back in one piece. You break it you bought it. Anything else?”

  “Just the latest and greatest communication equipment, and then I’ve got to go see the armorer.”

  “No problem. Just tell Maurice what you need and he’ll hook you up. While you do that, I’ll get Dr. Who installed on a tablet that you can take with you to practice with.”

  Apo smiled. Moose was going to like his new toy.

  “Oh, and we need to get you wired,” said Rachael, walking to a medical cabinet.

  “I hate this part,” said Apo. He unbuttoned his shirt and sat in a chair while Dex stood and watched. Rachael returned with a cotton ball and swabbed his chest with alcohol. She gave him a shot of local anesthetic in his right pectoral muscle, then rubbed it with her gloved hand.

  “It would feel better with the glove off,” said Apo with his best fake smile and wiggle of his thick black eyebrows.

  Rachael turned to Dex. “Sexual harassment. I have a witness.” She looked back at Apo. “No glove, no love, baby. I’ll try and make it hurt for you.”

  She picked up a small instrument that looked like a gun, placed it against the same right pectoral muscle, and pulled the trigger. There was a small pop, and she was finished. She grabbed a gauze pad and pressed it against the small hole to stop any bleeding. After a moment, she let go and looked at his chest. Other than a tiny red dot, there was nothing to see.

  “Okay, you big baby. We can now find you anywhere on planet Earth for the next thirty days or so.”

  “Shit. I was hoping to fly down with two million in cash and just go to Cancun and tell you I was working.”

  “No shot,” said Dex.

  Rachael walked to a laptop and started typing. “Yup. You’re five by five. GPS is fully operational. All set.”

  Apo stood up and buttoned his shirt. “Always a pleasure, Rachael.”

  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 dri
ve 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 i
n 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.