Shadow of Death (20 page)

CHAPTER 54

Who Do You Trust?

The team and the Mexican Marines had made a secure perimeter and sat waiting for helicopters and further instructions. It was an area of dry, tall grass, and the sun was out, making for a pretty day after a brief massacre.

Apo called Dex on the sat-phone. “Initial contact with Salazar went well. Awaiting air transport to Arista, but we’ll have to be dropped far enough away to get in unnoticed by his people. Any progress on relations between the boss and General Ortega?”

Dex was in his office, having just changed one white shirt for a fresh one. His secretary had reminded him earlier that he was getting ripe after not being home in forty-eight hours. He had stopped tying his necktie when the sat-phone had rang, and the half-tied neckwear hung ridiculously around his neck at the moment.

“Hard to assess the relations at the moment. Their president wants a formal apology to General Ortega and Mexico for what they’re calling a ‘friendly fire incident,’ even though he believes that Colonel Rafael Lozano may be dirty after all. They’ve been doing some investigating into Lozano’s banking, with the help of our NSA, and it seems the man is worth a hell of a lot more money than a colonel’s salary would allow. Hard pill for the general to swallow, but I think he swallowed it—bitter or not. The other deaths during the firefight at the house seem to be as much of an issue as the colonel’s.

“In the meantime, we’re watching six Black Hawks on satellite monitors heading straight for you. Nice, single-file line of US-made birds sold to our southern neighbors. I’m
really
hoping they don’t use them to kill you.”

“Gee, thanks, boss. That gives me such confidence. So potentially six squads of Mexicans dropping on our position. Sixty-six troops can fit in six birds and you’re telling me you still don’t know if they’re coming to help us or arrest us?”

“That would be affirmative. It’s either SERE or UBER.”

That took Apo a second to comprehend. SERE was the US Navy’s survival, evasion, resistance, and escape training school. But UBER was an acronym he didn’t get at first—then he realized Dex meant the nation’s newest private taxi service. “You’re really hilarious today, boss, thanks. If these guys come in hot, what’s our ROE?”

The rules of engagement would be an interesting decision made at the White House. An elite team of American special operators had already killed a Mexican colonel and several of his troops, as well as wounded several others. To engage the Mexicans now in open conflict would be an act of war against an ally and neighbor. This was not business as usual.

“Apo, this is Darren.” Chief Davis had walked into the office and was listening in on the call without Apo knowing, not that it would have made a difference. Apo spoke to every level of command pretty much the same way—with total cavalier confidence. “Special Activities Division Director Norman met with the president twenty minutes ago. Your ROE is to stand down. That’s a direct order from SAD, which came from the CIC. The president has been on face-to-face via live feed with the Mexican president for over an hour. We believe the NSA came up with enough solid evidence to convince General Ortega that Colonel Lozano was dirty. We’re anticipating their cooperation and a ferry ride towards Arista. If, however, it doesn’t go down that way, you’re to surrender. The White House will have you back home quickly and quietly if things go south, but you are
not
to engage the Mexicans, understood?”

Well
that
sucked. SAD ran SOG, and the Special Operations Group was technically in charge of the team, even though the team didn’t appear on any SOG roster because it was so secret even most of the CIA didn’t know it existed. If SAD met with the president and the president said surrender to an opposing force, then that’s what you did. The only problem with that was the men in this little team hadn’t ever done that in their history, and having them swallow down
that
bile might be insurmountable.

“Understood. Will advise when the birds arrive. Unless they just strafe the area and massacre all of us. Thanks for watching my six. Out.”

Apo turned off the sat-phone and looked at Moose, who saw Apo’s expression and knew something was wrong.

“News?” asked Moose.

“This comes from the top. ROE is to surrender if the Mexicans come in hot. Nonnegotiable. POTUS promises to have us back home after a brief stay in some shithole Mexican prison where you will be treated to the finest water and tamales. No shit. We’re not to fire a round. They come in and demand our surrender, and we hand over all weapons. Everyone needs to understand that.”

Moose blinked a few times. “So if we’d gotten that news an hour ago, we’d have surrendered to
those
eight elite warriors with the 1980s equipment and have been wasted by the Zetas. You
shittin’
me? We surrender?”

“That is a direct order from the president of the United States of America.”

Even under the remnants of face paint, Moose’s face changed color. “So they land and say ‘surrender’ and we hand over our weapons and go visit a Mexican prison?”

Apo shrugged. “We don’t have to like it, but sometimes even I have to follow orders.”

Eric, ever the eagle eye, called out to Moose. “Birds coming in at three o’clock. Looks like a few of ‘em.”

Moose stood and walked to the center of his team. He took a deep breath and then used his larger-than-life command voice. “Listen up! If the incoming birds ain’t friendly, we have direct orders to surrender to the Mexican authorities. There will be no fight. Weapons on safe and nonthreatening postures. We’ll be standing with our new friends, so I’m not guessing they’re gonna come in and hose us all. But if they step out with weapons up, you raise your hands nice and high and await instructions. Do I make myself clear?”

There was stunned silence.

“
Team!
Weapons on safe. If threatened, you will surrender. Did I fucking stutter the first time?”

There were a few lackluster aye, ayes.

The SEALs and lone Marine secured their weapons and stood at ease with the Mexican Marines, watching the line of Black Hawks get closer. The field was flat and wide open—a fallow farm field—and the large birds began landing one at a time, making the tall grass ripple like waves in the sea.

When the birds were all on the ground, the rotors slowed and stopped, which was a bit surprising. It meant the incoming taxi service planned on being there for a while. Squad after squad of Mexican commandos began jumping from the helicopters and fanning out. They weren’t aiming their weapons at the team, but they were certainly geared up for business, and had much better equipment than the Marines currently with the team.

One of the last men to jump out wore a shiny dress helmet with four stars across the top. His uniform was crisp and covered with ribbons, with bloused uniform pants tucked into highly polished black jump boots. General Hernando Ortega himself. He was a tall man, and his face looked hard. He didn’t walk toward the Americans, he
marched
, with six men on each side holding their assault rifles across their chests at a ready but nonthreatening position.

The Mexican Marines with the Americans snapped to attention and held salutes as the general approached. He snapped a quick salute in return and the Marines lowered theirs but remained at attention.

“Which one of you is in charge?” he said in English. His accent indicated an educated man.

Moose stepped forward and snapped a salute. “Senior Chief Petty Officer Alfonzo Carlogio, United States Navy.”

The other men’s faces showed their surprise. For as long as they’d known Moose, not one of them knew his full first name was really Alfonzo. Moose was occasionally Al, or maybe even Alfred. But Alfonzo? This was big news.

“And which one of you shot and killed Colonel Lozano?” he asked curtly.

Moose answered immediately before anyone else could reply. “I’m the commanding officer of this team and all responsibility is on me.”

The general sized up Moose, who was a bit shorter, but a body and half wider. “I understand your position, and admire your professionalism and loyalty to your men. Still, I want to know who killed Colonel Lozano.”

“No one answer that,” snapped Moose. Another Mexican standoff.

“You misunderstand me, I believe,” said the general in a softer voice. “Certain information has been brought to the surface. Rafael Lozano was my son-in-law. He was the husband of my only daughter and the father of my grandchildren. And he has disgraced my family. I simply want to know how he died.”

Moose held up a hand for silence before Eric could open his mouth. “Your son-in-law, the colonel, compromised our mission to capture El Gato because he was taking money from him. When the colonel attempted to kill El Gato to prevent him from implicating the colonel, one of my team members shot him once, in the head. I personally shot and killed the lieutenant, and for that, I am truly sorry. If I hadn’t, he would have killed me. It’s that simple. There was a brief firefight and additional casualties. We attempted to stabilize your wounded before escaping with El Gato before his Las Zetas soldiers returned, as well as your Marines. It was a very unfortunate situation, General Ortega, but not one that we wanted or started. I have been instructed by my commander in chief to surrender to you and your men if that is your order. I’d much prefer to continue our mission and find a potential weapon of mass destruction before it leaves Mexico and strikes the United States.”

The general stared at Moose for a moment and then quietly said, “Walk with me, Alfonzo. Please.”

The general began walked, not marching, away from the group, with Moose following. They walked twenty yards or so, where they stood in complete privacy. The general reached into his chest pocket and withdrew a cigarillo. He offered one to Moose.

“Thanks, no. One of life’s bad habits I missed.”

The general lit it with a large silver Zippo and returned the lighter to his pocket. He puffed the thin cigar and tried to find the right words.

“I love my daughter and my grandchildren more than my own life. You have children?”

“No, sir. Lousy job for relationships at my grade.”

“Very true. Real soldiers are never home.” He puffed more blue smoke. “I loved Rafael because he was a good father. An excellent provider. I think I allowed the love of my family to make me blind. I should have known something was wrong. He lived a little too well for a colonel. It wasn’t my place to interfere with how he spent his money, but I always worried he was spending every penny he was making. But it was always on his children. I let that get in the way.”

“I think I understand,” said Moose quietly.

“I love my country, Senior Chief. I would die for Mexico. And before I was a general with a desk, I carried a gun in the hot sun, just like you. A few of us want our country back, but it’s very, very difficult. The budget for the Mexican military is about twelve billion dollars a year. A little less than your six hundred billion a year, no? The problem is, the cartels are making maybe twenty billion a year. Their armies are legitimate fighting forces, with no rules of engagement. No rules of
humanity
! They massacre entire villages. They wipe out whole police departments. Everyone is terrified. Mexico is close to becoming a failed state, Senior Chief. There are so few of us left who are willing to risk it all for our country’s future. And it’s hard to blame the local police for looking the other way. They have no tools against these cartels, and can’t trust anyone they work with. My own son-in-law! Do you know what that will do to the country’s morale if that becomes public?”

Moose’s light bulb went off. The general wanted the embarrassment kept quiet.

As if the general read his mind, he blurted out, “It’s not about the shame for my family! That would be terrible enough, but no—I could deal with that. It’s the fact that if the highest-ranking officer in the land’s own son-in-law can’t be trusted, then what chance do we have? What chance?
Ever?
The people of my country are terrified. They need hope. They need someone to fight for them. They deserve justice, and safety, and rule of law. And so, I now ask you . . .”

Moose raised a hand. “General Ortega, I believe you to be an honorable man. This conversation, between a general and an enlisted man, doesn’t happen but maybe once every hundred years. My team and I were never here. Your son-in-law was killed in the line of duty while taking down El Gato and Las Zetas. No one ever has to know anything else. Let him be a hero to your people. It doesn’t matter to us. But we
do
need your help, General. The ISIS terrorists have most likely planned a major attack against the US. We need to get to the Sinaloas and find Joaquin Salazar and whatever is in that package from Syria. You have air mobile and what looks to be well-trained men with you. We can do this together, sir.”

The general extended his hand to Moose. “Senior Chief, I appreciate your understanding of the situation, both personally and professionally. You shall have whatever you need.”

The two of them returned to where the others waited, hunkered down in the tall grass. Moose barked out to his men. “On me!”

The team gathered around the general and their skipper and listened to his briefing. “The general has been kind enough to offer us air and reinforcements. Apo, put together a plan and we’ll discuss how this is going to work. You have thirty minutes to eat, shit, and gear up; then we’re heading south to find that package and kick some more ass. Hooyah?”

There was a speedy “Hooyah!” and the team began taking apart combat packs to find MREs, which would be given to McCoy, their amateur chef, to turn into something edible. Once they settled into their routines, Apo got back on the sat-phone to Langley for a sit-rep.

The guys on the team began throwing their MRE packets at McCoy, who made his usual announcement about “Meals Rejected by Ethiopians.” He and Jon Cohen were ripping open MRE packets and combining them into something almost edible to feed the team while they had thirty minutes to kill. Eat when you can, sleep when you can—the life of a warrior.