Oath to Defend (7 page)

15

Barak looked down at the silver sea below reflecting the full moon’s light. The cartel’s Bell 429 helicopter was flying west from the coast of Baja Mexico. Back at the villa, after taking care of the Architect’s brother, he had been treated with respect and served a Mexican feast of green
poblano
chiles stuffed with meat, fruits and nuts, lamb shank with chiles, tequila and garlic and the favorite of El Verdugo, a brick red
mole
served with grilled iguana. Unfortunately, the celebration had been interrupted by a phone call warning them that the army was on its way.

Now, Barak had been informed, they were headed for an island in the Pacific where the cartel sponsored a research station at an abandoned abalone fishing village. Two university students who were sons of his cartel’s
familia
were doing legitimate research there, studying the shrinking abalone beds. The true purpose of the facility, however, was to serve as a base for the cartel’s helicopters as they retrieved drug shipments from oil tankers from Venezuela headed to Los Angeles. Special shipments like his demolition nuke were also brought in this way.

He had to admit that he had underestimated the sophistication of the cartel. He knew it was international in its reach, but now he was learning it was also a finely tuned business. Violence was a tool it used with great effect, obviously, but its real power lay in its wealth and growing influence both in Mexico and elsewhere. Investments in real estate, the construction of new resorts, marinas and hotels, and even philanthropic involvement all served as legal means to influence local authorities. When that wasn’t enough, outright bribes were usually successful. When they weren’t, those who refused to cooperate simply disappeared.

The cartel’s leader, El Verdugo, wasn’t what Barak had expected. In appearance, he was ordinary, a short, thin man with thinning hair who wore round, wire-framed glasses that made him look like a professor. Behind those modest glasses, his eyes burned with a cruel ferocity that was intimidating, even if you didn’t know his reputation. Those eyes softened slightly only when he smiled, which was infrequently. As a host, however, he was as gracious as a desert sheik welcoming a weary traveler into his tent.

When they landed in front of a concrete block house at the end of a row of four metal Quonset huts, El Verdugo waved for Barak to follow him as they climbed out of the helicopter.

“Come inside, my friend,” he said. “We’ll have a drink while I see if we’ve learned why the army came for us.”

Inside the block house that was part office, with desks, computers, and phones, and part laboratory, with fish tanks, metal trays of specimens, and microscopes, Barak examined a wall of underwater photos of brilliantly colored fish and other sea organisms. If this research station was just a front for a smuggling operation, he said to himself, it was a very convincing front.

When El Verdugo got off the phone, he joined Barak in front of the photo wall. “The beauty of this is getting paid by the government to study global warming and its effect on abalone,” he said with a smile. “The abalone have not been good here for a long, long time, or the village would not be deserted. They pay us anyway to find out why. Science is a beautiful thing, no?”

When Barak nodded, El Verdugo went on. “My men tell me the army was looking for you, Señor Barak. They say you are a terrorist. That must be worse than a criminal. They never raided my villa before and like you, I have killed.”

“Were Americans involved in this raid?” Barak asked.

“One DEA and two others. You know them?”

“Maybe, they could be the ones from Cancun.”

“Then the sooner you are on your way, the better. I know when our army is coming, but America’s president likes to use his drone missiles, and I won’t know when they’re coming.”

“Don’t worry,” Barak assured him. “When I have my merchandise from Venezuela, I’ll be on my way. Besides, you work with Hezbollah. You already have a target on your back. But America won’t strike here. They can’t even stop your violence along the border.”

El Verdugo laughed. “They are afraid the ACLU will sue them if they shoot us.” He took a bottle of tequila out of a locked cabinet and raised it in a toast. “I
salud
the ACLU, my American friends.”

Barak accepted the shot glass he was handed and raised it in a second toast to the ACLU. It was true, he thought. America was afraid to use its power. If he ran the country, every drug smuggler he caught would be executed, every person critical of the government would be in jail, and homosexuals would lose their heads on TV every day until their abomination was erased from the face of the earth. How America remained powerful for as long as it had baffled him.

When he had the device he was waiting for, he would be the one to show America that its days were numbered. One small demolition nuke the size of a small refrigerator would blow a hole in America’s confidence and cripple it forever. He would soon have this device. All he needed was a couple more days to get the nuke across the border. He also had to make sure the Mexican didn’t try to snatch it for himself.

He sipped and swallowed. “My friend, when do you expect your helicopter will return from the oil tanker?”

“It will be back before daylight. You should get some sleep.” El Verdugo put the bottle away. “We’ll sleep in the Quonset hut next door and leave in the morning. You go ahead, I’ll call the pilot and make sure everything is okay.”

Barak left, but he had no intention of sleeping. There were only six people that he knew of at the research station: the two students; El Verdugo and his bodyguard; Saleem Canaan, the Hezbollah commander and himself. When the helicopter returned, the pilot would make seven unless the pilot brought others back with him. If they wanted to take the nuke for themselves, that’s when they would have to make a move. He wasn’t worried about Saleem, as they were fighting the same war, but a nuke delivered on a silver platter to the cartel without costing them a cent was a huge temptation.

The Quonset hut, which was newer than it looked, was divided into sleeping quarters plus a large open area for the kitchen and one long, wooden table scarred with the carved initials and the cigarette burns left by past guests. A large marine propane heater was mounted to the bulkhead that separated the eating and sleeping areas on one side of a door to the rear of the hut. To the right of the door was a locked metal cabinet that he guessed served as the research station’s armory
.
A couple well-worn couches were positioned in front of the propane heater.

Barak walked through the sleeping quarters, inspecting ten small rooms, five on each side, each equipped with an army cot, a metal wardrobe locker, and a plain wooden night stand with a lamp. All of the rooms were empty. At the end of the hallway was a military-style latrine with two shower stalls, five sinks with mirrors, and two toilets. There were two windows on the rear wall on each side of the row of sinks. These windows opened outward from the bottom as far as short chains attached to them would allow.

He chose the room closest to the latrine on the right side of the hut and lay down on the cot without undressing. He kept the Beretta 92 he had carried throughout the Middle East, from the time he had first served the Brotherhood, in his right hand alongside his leg. His plan was, when the others were asleep, to slip outside through one of the windows in the latrine. For now, he wanted to appear to be tired and unconcerned for his safety. But he still made sure his gun was loaded.

It was midnight when the other men entered the Quonset hut. He heard them laughing, tequila slurring their words, and then heard doors opening and closing in the rooms down the hallway. He heard three doors close. That left two men or boys still up. They were the ones he would wait for.

16

When Major Castillo returned them to the Tijuana International Airport, Casey watched Drake thank him and Special Agent Cooper for their help. Then they headed straight for the Gulfstream. Once inside, Drake called Liz Strobel at DHS.

“We missed him, Liz. We flew in Black Hawks and killed a lot of cartel soldiers defending the villa, but Barak wasn’t there. He’d been tipped off, and I have no idea where he is now. Unless you have something, I’m heading home.”

Casey took off his vest and sat down across from Drake, who was angrier, in a cold, silent way, than he’d ever seen him.

“So where is he now?” he was asking Liz. “If your satellite tracked the helicopter to the coast, where did it go from there?” Drake stood up. He looked like he was about to hurl his cell phone at the bulkhead in front of him. “With a hundred satellites at your disposal,” he said, “you only had
one
trained on the villa? Unbelievable! I thought you agreed this guy was top priority.”

Drake walked to the rear of the plane’s cabin and back. When he sat down again, Liz’s voice was loud enough for Casey to hear.

“…
ever
talk to me that way again! I helped you every step of the way, and I don’t need your whining.
You
missed him, not me. Maybe if we had used our people, he’d be on his way to Gitmo by now.”

Drake shook his head at the phone. “Fine,” he said. “Go find someone to drop everything and chase Barak like I did. By the time you guys got your act together, he could be on the moon!” He slammed the phone shut.

Casey waited for him to calm down. Finally, Drake took a deep breath and turned.

“DHS used a satellite to monitor the villa all right,” he told Casey, “but when the helicopter left and flew west, it reached the coast and then went out of range. They don’t have a clue where he is now.”

“You really want to go home?” Casey asked. “We’re closer than we were three days ago, you know. Maybe we’ll catch another break while he’s still around here somewhere.”

Drake shook his head. “No, I don’t want to go home. But I don’t want to waste your time down here, either. I know you want to get back to Megan and the kids and get your guys back on the job.”

“Another day won’t hurt,” Casey said. “Why don’t we find a place in San Diego, give Liz a day, and if nothing turns up, then head home. Megan will understand.” He paused. “Besides, you owe me that dinner I didn’t get to finish in Cancun.”

Drake had to laugh. “All right, one more day. And we’ll find someplace with an all-you-can-eat buffet so you won’t go hungry.”

Not that Mike Casey had ever really gone hungry. He’d grown up on a ranch in Montana and had always been able to eat steak and potatoes or anything else he wanted without gaining weight. When he ran track at the University of Montana, the training table also ensured that he was well nourished. The only times he could recall being somewhat hungry were on missions in Afghanistan with Drake that involved weeks of following a target, days spent in a hideout waiting for a shot with his 50 caliber Barrett rifle, and then carefully exfiltrating with nothing to eat except what he’d carried in weeks before.

As for his business, Casey knew it was in good hands and could run without him for another few days. He had enlisted in the army after his father’s death and wound up fighting beside Drake to save the world. When he’d returned home and met and married Megan, they had moved to Seattle, where he’d found a job with Puget Sound Security. After five years doing threat assessments, risk analysis, and personnel protection for high tech firms he’d bought the small company when its founder retired. Now PSS, Inc. was a smooth running company. He had surrounded himself with the best talent available and was comfortable letting them do their jobs.

He hadn’t been completely honest with Drake, though, when he said he only missed chasing bad guys some of the time. Although his work provided some of the old excitement, it wasn’t the same. The danger was still there some of the time, sure, but he wasn’t at the front line anymore. He was stuck in an office, meeting and greeting clients and running the business. The money was fantastic, and he’d been blessed far beyond any dream he’d had growing up in Montana, but he knew he belonged back in the fight. If DHS came through and picked up the tab for their little outsourced adventure, that just made it all the better.

“Drake,” he said, breaking out of his reverie, “I was just thinking…if you don’t have a place in mind, there’s a little inn north of the San Diego airport I stayed at once for a conference. You might like it. I can call them and see if there’s room for us.”

Drake was still staring out the jet’s small window. “Sure,” he replied. “Give them a call. And tell Steve to get us out of here. I’m beginning to hate this place.”

Wait until you see where I’m taking us, partner, because if it doesn’t cheer you up, you can’t be cheered up
, Casey thought, as he rapped on the cockpit door to get his pilot started on the short junket across the border. Then he pulled out his iPhone to search for the Rancho Bernardo Inn, one of the coolest places he had ever stayed. A great golf course, world-class dining, and two beautiful pools, one adult only, Drake was going to love it.

17

When the snoring in the three occupied rooms down the hallway was steady for an hour, Barak made his way to the latrine and used the stiletto switchblade in his pocket to unscrew the base plates of the chains on one of the windows. Then he slipped outside. It was dark along the rear of the hut, but light from the windows of the office and lab next door allowed him to make his way across an open area behind the buildings to a grove of junipers at the base of a small ridge that circled the cove. The wind was steady from the north and whispered through the needles of the junipers. Even though there were lights still on in the lab, he couldn’t tell if there was anyone in there. But he knew only three men had entered their rooms in the Quonset hut to sleep.

It was almost four o’clock in the morning. He expected the helicopter to return from the oil tanker within the next hour. Apart from the waves pounding the hard gray sand of the beach, nothing moved and the research station remained quiet.

Most people believe the best time to attack another person is just before dawn, when they are sleeping most soundly. That is why Barak wanted to be out of the Quonset hut, just in case they chose that time to come for him. He knew, however, the common belief is wrong, that the deepest sleep occurs in the first two non-REM cycles and diminishes as the night wears on. If he had been sleeping, their chances would have been better earlier in the night.

Now he waited patiently behind one of the junipers, and when the sky to the east started to lighten, he heard the first faint sound of an approaching helicopter. At the same time, he saw light from the front door of the office building splash the ground as two figures darted toward the Quonset hut.

Covered by the sounds of the helicopter and ocean waves, Barak ran to the far side of the Quonset hut and looked around the front door, which was now partly open. Inside, he saw the two students from the lab standing in front of the door to the sleeping area, apparently building up courage to move in for the kill. He waited until they had opened the door, then moved in behind them, as they tried to silently cover the distance to his room.

Before the second student got halfway down the hallway, Barak moved like a jungle cat, grabbing him from behind and covering his mouth with one hand as he drew his stiletto and cut the boy’s throat. A small gurgling sound was all the noise the boy made. Lowering him to the floor, Barak took three quick steps and caught up with the other student, who was standing with one ear pressed against his door. He was holding a large revolver. Barak silently cut his throat and dropped him to the floor, then backed down the hallway until he was through the door to the sleeping area.

In the stillness of the predawn, Barak sat on top of the old dining table with his Beretta drawn and waited for the sleeping men to get up. Before anyone came into the dining area, however, the helicopter pilot rushed in, leaving the helicopter idling outside. As soon as he was aware of the gun pointed at his head, he froze, then raised both hands above his shoulders.

“Go to the door,” Barak told him. “Tell the others to slide their weapons out and walk out slowly. Or they will not leave here alive.”

The pilot did as he was told. Then he addressed the leader. “Señor Verdugo, he says to slide your weapons out on the floor and walk out slowly or—”

“I heard him,” Verdugo said. “Señor Barak, why did you kill my researchers? They were just coming to tell you the helicopter was coming.”

“For the same reason I want to kill you,” Barak said, not moving from the table. “Betrayal is an unpardonable sin. Someone had to die for that sin, especially the ones you sent to kill me. Atonement for that betrayal is another matter.”

A shot rang out and a body fell behind the door.

“Would my dead bodyguard atone for the sin?” Verdugo asked. “I believe he was responsible for your betrayal.”

Barak despised the cowardice of a man so willing to kill his own devoted servant to save his life.

“It will for now,” he growled. “Know that if you ever betray me again, in any way, at any time, I will personally chop your children into little pieces and feed them to dogs. I will hang every member of your family before your eyes and then make you beg before I cut off your head. That is the way we guarantee loyalty where I come from. Now, before I change my mind, walk out here and get on the helicopter.”

Two revolvers and an Uzi slid into the dining area, and a smiling Verdugo and a solemn Saleem, the Hezbollah commander, stepped out. Without a word, they followed the pilot to the helicopter. Barak walked behind them with the Uzi and his pistol aimed at their backs.

The pilot took his seat and checked his instruments. He looked only straight ahead.

“Verdugo,” Barak gestured with the Uzi, “you sit beside the pilot. Saleem, take the seat behind Verdugo. I’ll sit in the back next to my merchandise where I can see all of you.”

His merchandise, as they had been calling it, was strapped to the floor of the helicopter where a passenger seat had been removed. It was contained in a wooden shipping crate, thirty-six inches high and thirty inches wide, with yellow and black warning symbols for dangerous chemicals stamped on all four sides. The nuclear device was itself housed in a canvas transport container that weighed one hundred and fifty pounds. It had been originally configured to allow troops to carry it as they parachuted behind enemy lines to destroy power plants, bridges, and dams. The demolition nuke that he had purchased from Ryan and the Alliance was a Russian weapon that had been in Iran, then Venezuela, before being sold to the highest bidder. The only requirement beyond the steep purchase price had been a promise that it would be used against the West.

With help from his Hezbollah friends, the next phase of his plan would begin as soon as they landed. This phase would include a short trip in one of the smugglers’ tunnels under the border, a careful drive north to his target, and then a few days to train the four men Saleem had selected to plant the nuke. The most difficult part of the trip, he knew, would be the hundred yards or so under the U.S. border.

Not that the tunnel itself would be a problem. His friends had perfected their tunneling skills long ago as they had engineered massive tunnels into Israel, tunnels from Gaza that were large enough for trucks to pass through.

The problem was avoiding detection by the WMD border sensors. Although the tunnel the Alliance had sponsored was supposed to be fifteen feet below the surface and deep enough to prevent detection, Barak knew that America was always creating new technologies he and his friends hadn’t heard about. Even with lead shielding, his people couldn’t guarantee that the nuke wouldn’t raise an alarm. For that reason, the railroad tracks in the tunnel had been built to accommodate a mine locomotive towing a convey rail car that had been purchased in China. With a speed of thirty kilometers an hour, the nuke would be across the border before the border guards could respond to any alarm.

As the cartel’s helicopter approached the Mexican coastline, Barak used his cell phone to alert his men to be prepared for the cartel to make another attempt to steal his nuke. All the careful planning in the world couldn’t prevent human error or greed from screwing things up.