Читать книгу Exit Strategy - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

When David McCarter mentioned being able to circumvent the law in getting them into Mexico without outside assistance, he’d exaggerated some. During the flight to Yuma, Arizona, where the surviving blacksuit had retreated with the Castillo children, McCarter had Rafael Encizo and Calvin James calling in favors with their friends. In addition to the blacksuits trained by Phoenix Force, James had friends in both California and Nevada police agencies from his time as a member of San Francisco SWAT, and Encizo had similar brothers in arms in the Drug Enforcement Administration.

Deputy Marshal Domingo Perez had driven south from the safe house, moving closer to the Mexican border instead of farther away. But that was a good thing; it provided a major city and airport hub. The Yuma PD, the county sheriff’s office and local FBI and USMS were present and on alert, keeping watch over the still-free family. Yuma sat only fourteen miles and change from the Mexican border, and with the Gila River and all manner of county roads webbed across the countryside, there was plenty of above-ground activity to keep an eye on.

What McCarter sought was the underground smugglers’ routes, all the way from Andrade, California, on Interstate 8 to Douglas, Arizona, on 191. Over the years, nearly one hundred covertly built tunnels had been discovered; routes by which the cartels could get between the Sonora State in Mexico to Arizona. Heroin, cocaine, guns and money flowed freely through those tunnels, and there were likely many more that hadn’t been unearthed by American and Mexican law enforcement. Both Phoenix Force and Able Team had experience with the subterranean trespasses over several missions, and McCarter was certain of one thing: if they found one end of such a tunnel, they’d be set for supplies.

Considering the state of tunnel politics, they would be going full clandestine. Sure, each member of the Force was equipped with sanitized versions of their preferred sidearms, but having access to cartel weaponry and money would be a boost of support that McCarter could truly appreciate. After all, one way that Stony Man was able to keep its chunk of the US government’s black budget so small was thanks to rules of engagement that stated the blood money assembled by drug dealers and terrorists would be well spent turned back against them. Over the years Stony Man kept a minimal footprint despite its government sanctions, having adopted Mack Bolan’s rule of robbing the robbers.

Hitting the end of a smuggler pipeline would not be anything new for the team.

Encizo’s nodding increased in frequency, his expressions growing more excited as he spoke in rapid Spanish to the person on the other end of his call. McCarter smiled, snapping his fingers to get the attention of the others, none of which showing signs of a solid lead.

While Encizo had his cell phone to his left ear, his right hand was busy scribbling down notes. He was on to a very hot lead, which was exactly what McCarter wanted. Everything was written down in pencil, because McCarter watched the eraser bob and wag with each new bit of info.

After a seeming eternity, Encizo was finally off the phone.

“Whatcha got?”

Encizo grinned at McCarter. “Nogales, Arizona. Here’re the notes.”

McCarter took the pad, reading up and down.

In essence, the Nogales site was one that was heavily suspected, thanks to weeks of surveillance, but both Mexican and American judges were dragging their feet. It was, little doubt, due to pressure from one of many cartels. In years past, the cartels had carried out assassinations and other attempted murders on both sides of the line, irrespective of the tourist draw of the small cities and, according to the local DEA, Los Lictors had picked up the slack.

That the enforcer gang seemed to be doing a lot of cleanup of rival cartels, while drugs still flowed across the border, was a sign that Mexican federales and military were working in collusion with “the Magistrates.” In particular, the report claimed the government was helping the Caballeros de Durango Cartel to take control of the Juarez Valley area and destroy other cartels.

Joaquin and Amanda Castillo had personally interviewed dozens of officials and ordinary people for their investigation. One report quoted a former Juarez police commander who claimed the entire department was working for the Knights of Durango Cartel and helping it to fight other groups. He’d also asserted that the cartel had bribed the military. Also quoted was a Mexican reporter who’d stated hearing numerous times from the public that the military had been involved in murders.

Further evidence appeared in the US trial of an ex-Juarez police captain who admitted to working for the cartel. He asserted that the Durango Cartel influenced the Mexican government and military in order to gain control of the region. A US DEA agent in the same trial alleged that the bent cop had contacts with a Mexican military officer. The report also stated, with support from an anthropologist who studied drug trafficking, that data on the low arrest rate of Durango Cartel members was evidence of favoritism on the part of the authorities. A Mexican official denied the allegation of favoritism, and a DEA agent and a political scientist also had alternate explanations for the arrest data. Another report detailed numerous indications of cartel corruption and influence within the Mexican government.

The ties between Los Lictors and the Knights of Durango Cartel were strong and apparent, but the Castillos, in uncovering those ties to the Mexican federales and the armed forces, had drawn down enormous heat. Their evidence threatened a lot of powerful people south of the border.

That the tunnel was owned by the Knights of Durango was icing on Phoenix Force’s cake.

“That’s a lot of good intel,” Hawkins said. “Damned shame that Mexican judges and American Feds are afraid to take the dive into shutting down such a sewer.”

“No shame at all, brother T.J.” James spoke up. “With this pipeline still open, it gives us a walk through an unlocked back door.”

McCarter nodded. “Hey, up front, can you drop us off at Nogales?” he asked their pilots.

“Not a problem” came the response. Jack Grimaldi and Charlie Mott served as the flight crew of the Stony Man Gulfstream jet. Outfitted with top-of-the-line avionics, storage facilities that could hide an armory, and double the normal range of a standard private jet, the aircraft would have little problem stopping at one airport or another. With Grimaldi and Mott at the controls, the plane could be set down on the shortest of municipal runways if necessary. Stealth electronics would also help it land inside an enemy nation without notice if need be.

Carl Lyons agreed with the air crew’s assessment. “Currently, Deputy Perez and the kids are surrounded by a ring of armed lawmen.”

“A bigger one than the last protection team, at least,” Schwarz amended.

“As brazen as the assault on the Arizona safe house, it still was less blatant than an incident at a federal building in Yuma,” Blancanales added. “We can spare a half hour to drop you off.”

“Thanks,” McCarter returned. “It’ll save us the stress of driving and prepping for an assault across country.”

“You’re not the only one planning in the cabin, David,” Lyons said.

McCarter smirked. “How’s your work going?” he asked Schwarz.

“Well, since we have the enemy wanting to come to us, we’ll just figure out the best place to draw them in. Lines of fire, dirty tricks to even the odds, all manner of shenanigans,” Schwarz added. “Like at Gary’s place. Remember when the Russians took a run at you in Montana?”

Manning’s lips curled into a slight smile. When elements of the Russian espionage machine had grown tired of Phoenix Force’s interference in their operations, they’d launched an all-out effort to exterminate the group. Two hundred men, from the Spetsnaz and various wet-works agencies, were thrown at Phoenix. The first few skirmishes were not much, but Manning and the others had let the Russians know where to find them in the remote cabin in the Rockies.

There, Phoenix Force had sniper rifles, booby traps and explosive mines set up to turn the assault force into carrion for scavengers. The team survived, and those who’d believed in the old Soviet corruption ways had been taught a very expensive lesson.

“Knowing what battlefield you’ll be facing your enemy on goes a long way toward evening the odds,” Manning observed.

“Evening the odds?” Blancanales asked. “We want every unfair advantage in the book.”

“Truth spoken,” McCarter agreed. “Whoever said cheaters never win hasn’t studied his military history.”

“Any particular gear you bringing on this mission?” Lyons asked.

“I’m missing my old MAC-10, and Rafe loves his Heckler & Kochs, so we decided to split the difference and pack the MP-7. We’ve got suppressors and proper ammo for quiet hits as well as loud,” McCarter explained.

“Yeah, got to love the old tried-and-true T-grip style,” Schwarz added.

Lyons wrinkled his nose. “I’m barely comfortable with the .22s that come out of an M16. But 4.6 mm? That’s only .18 caliber.”

“Well, that’s the thing, Carl. Rafe and I actually know how to shoot,” McCarter answered with a wink. “Plus, everyone we’ve hit with those little .18-caliber bullets has been suitably impressed and hasn’t complained.”

Lyons chuckled.

“Since Cal and I are AR guys, we’re rolling out with these stubbies based on the DPMS PDWs,” T. J. Hawkins added. “Seven-inch heavy barrel AR-15s and a nice little name.”

James smirked. “Technically, it’s not called the Kitty Kat anymore in that configuration.”

“If our founder could have his Big Thunder, then I’m entitled to my Kitty,” Hawkins returned.

Blancanales nodded toward Manning and the weapon he was checking in its case. “Chopped-down Fabrique Nationale FAL?”

“No,” Manning answered. “I’d love to have my favorite battle rifle, but the Mexican army still issues the G-3 in 7.62 mm NATO. Kissinger made a version for me with a thirteen-inch barrel and collapsing buttstock I can fit it into a tennis racket case, yet still have 500 yards of reach for precision shooting. Cowboy made this up from a ‘clean’ Heckler & Koch, like he did with the sanitized Kitty ARs that Cal and T.J. are rocking. No chances of jamming with any of these guns.”

“Nor with the M203 compact he made for my Kitty,” James said. He affected a sneer. “Say hello to my little kitty!”

Encizo rolled his eyes. “And here I thought that world was mine.”

“What happens when you run out of ammo for David and Rafe’s BB guns?” Lyons asked.

McCarter smirked. “The Caballeros Cartel actually has been working with MP-7s or, rather, Brazilian-built copies, complete with ammunition designed for it. And since the ammo and guns are built to spec on cartel money...”

“You can scrounge reloads from the drug runners’ own security forces,” Lyons surmised.

“Bingo,” McCarter said. “That, along with the M16s and G-3s, which already use the ammo for the rest of our teams’ guns.”

“Shrewd,” Blancanales noted.

“We’ve showed you our toys for this trip. What about you?” McCarter asked.

“Well, you know Carl’s feelings on the 5.56 mm NATO that the rest of us haven’t had a problem with,” Schwarz said. “We’re not going to be trying to bust into any smuggling tunnels, or penetrating into a prison, so we can operate with our rifles having longer barrels.”

“Also, a stubby 7-incher isn’t going to put out much murder at five hundred yards like a proper rifle barrel would,” Blancanales said.

“We’re rolling with .300 Blackout rounds in our M16s. We’d have gone with .458 SOCOM, but then we’d be limited to only nine rounds in a magazine,” Lyons added. “And we also want some reach with our rifles.”

“Ever since you had that custom AK made for you on that Lebanon mission, you’ve been wanting an AK-caliber M16 for yourself,” Blancanales pointed out. “And the Blackout was designed to provide that kind of horsepower per bullet, while still being usable in an accurate rifle.”

Lyons nodded in agreement. “Going for punch and lots of punches for everyone sent at us.”

He opened his case. “And my particular Blackout has a box-fed shotgun attachment. Because sometimes you just need the kind of attitude only provided by a 12-gauge load of buckshot or slugs.”

“Doesn’t the M26 just make it too heavy?” Gary Manning asked.

Lyons laughed.

“Sorry... I forgot who I was talking with,” Manning returned. “The second strongest of the Stony Men.”

“Second, eh?” Lyons challenged.

Manning winked, knowing any rivalry or competition between members was in good fun.

“I see you’re jumping on my bandwagon, too, with the revolver,” Lyons noted, catching sight of the handle of Manning’s big Python Plus handgun.

“This hog leg?” the Canadian asked. “I’ve had an 8-shot .357 Magnum for a long time. The trouble is Cowboy can’t seem to hold on to any of his Colt Anaconda frames and clean cylinders long enough to sanitize one for my fieldwork.”

“Glad you finally have one for yourself,” Lyons said with a laugh. “Sorry for hogging them all.”

“You have two with you, right now?” Manning asked.

Lyons nodded. He pulled them both out; one from a shoulder holster, one from behind his hip. One was a big matte-stainless machine with a four-inch under-lugged barrel. The other was a stubbier snub-nosed revolver cast in a dark Parkerized finish. Both had fat cylinders, each holding eight rounds of .357 Magnums, one to be hidden more completely than the other. Though they had the polish and action similar to Lyons’s old .357 Magnum Colt Python, they were converted .44 Magnum Anacondas, cylinders altered to hold an extra two rounds in the larger design. Kissinger and Lyons dubbed it the “Python Plus.”

Manning’s, on the other hand, was a long, sleek, camouflage-gray revolver with a six-inch barrel and weights. It looked as if, somewhere in its family tree, an ancestor’d had relations with a Desert Eagle, with flat, high-tech angles and facets along the barrel’s length.

“Nice coloring on yours,” Lyons said, admiring the big gun. Naturally, the Canadian woodsman would have preferred a hunting-size revolver. All the horsepower of a Magnum bullet meant nothing if you couldn’t hit with it. “I usually don’t have problem with my four-inch revolvers, but, man, the only sucker who could miss with this puppy is the one with the bread to afford it.”

Manning chuckled. “I also like a little bit of reach with my weapons. You’re good out to a hundred, a hundred and fifty yards with yours. This, I’ve hit steel ram targets at three hundred yards.”

“Okay...that’s impressive,” Lyons admitted. He didn’t have to try out the trigger pull on the big .357. It was hand built by John “Cowboy” Kissinger, Stony Man’s armorer, an artist of steel and springs. His personal revolvers were slick and smooth, parts gliding across each other as if ice skating. They were also coated and treated against even the harshest of elements, further protecting their inner workings from hitches and imperfections that would ruin accuracy or speed of shooting.

“Just be careful out there,” Lyons said, trading Manning’s hog leg back for his pair.

The brawny Canadian nodded in return. “Careful? Or just do it as we’ve always done it? Because, pardon my linguistic torture, careful don’t do the job.”

“Yeah,” Schwarz admitted, interjecting. “We tend to err on the side of wild-ass hijinks. But this time, we’ve got the Farm under attack from an outside source. One we just can’t shoot up.”

“Well, we could, but then we’d be on the run for blowing a renegade congressman in two,” Hawkins added.

“It worked for Mack,” James offered. “On the run...convicted of a crime—they pretty much pulled—they operate in the Los Angeles underworld. If you have a prob—”

“Please. We got enough of that when the movie remake came out,” Blancanales groaned. Even so, he got a smile out of James.

“I’m not going to lie and say we don’t each have our own exit strategies.” McCarter spoke somberly. “But right now the only way out we need to concentrate on is getting Amanda Castillo back together with her children.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve never let a kid down,” Schwarz said. “And you five are pretty damn good yourselves. You’ll free her.”

“First things first,” Encizo added. “We bust down the doors of a Caballeros Cartel smuggling tunnel and get into Mexico the hard way.”

“Always with the negative vibes, Rafe,” Blancanales quipped. “To us, it’d be the fun way.”

“We’d also like to not level half of Nogales, Arizona, though,” Encizo countered.

“Don’t worry about that,” McCarter calmly assured. “We’ve got Gary. Even if we go with a nuclear option, he’ll make sure no bystanders are hurt.”

“Just Los Lictors and the Caballeros de Durango,” Manning added with emphasis.

“And in this case, since I’m better with Mexican-dialect Spanish, I’ll take the lead,” Hawkins, the Texan, said. He continued in the language he indicated, “Or don’t you think I’ll be convincing?”

“You know, Gadgets, I think we’ve been coveting the wrong member of Phoenix for Carl’s replacement on Able,” Blancanales joked.

Schwarz grinned. “We’d be golden even with a member of the Lollipop Guild if we wanted.”

Lyons scratched his head with his middle finger, extended as a beacon to his two wisecracking buddies.

“If any cartel is going to have a light, Caucasian-looking gent, no matter how well tanned, it’ll be the Durango mob,” Encizo admitted. “Especially with their ties to Accion Obrar.”

“Those bastards smell awful familiar,” Lyons said. “Like our old sparring partners. Remember Miguel Unomundo?”

“The Fascist International had a minor resurgence a while back. Remember the Ankylosaur robots?” Hawkins asked.

“Ankylosaur combat drones,” Manning corrected.

“Something tells me that with the involvement with Stewart Crowmass, the Fascist International has a brand-new title.”

“The Arrangement,” McCarter concluded.

Lyons nodded. “We thought that taking him down during the Japanese whaling crisis would have ended all of his problems, but that shrewd bastard already had a set of fail-safes in place. It’s why Hal’s got his neck on the line back in Wonderland and we’re busy pretending to be target practice for paramilitary cartel enforcers.”

“Are you certain it was merely Crowmass?” Manning inquired. “He was not alone in all of this. According to Carmen, he had allies in Central and South America and the Middle East.”

“Do you have any specific names?” Blancanales asked.

Manning quickly wrote down several notes on a page, tore it out and handed it over. “If, while you’re playing the Judas Goat, you happen to run across someone in Texas or California, you might want to bring the trouble to their very own front door.”

Blancanales looked over the sheet, face torn between a frown of concern and a mirthless grin of malice. “Him? You sure?”

“It’s only rumors at this point,” Manning stated.

Lyons took a peek at Manning’s notes and sighed. “Even when he shot a lawyer in the face, he was still a goddamn hero. No wonder this wasn’t a part of the official briefing.”

“Hal and the Sensitive Operations Group are on thin ice as it is. Going after this guy, with his hooks in the US government and overseas, it’d take a hell of a lot of brass,” Manning stated.

Lyons ejected a shell from his rifle’s under-barrel shotgun. It gleamed from base of round to the tip. “Brass? I’ve never been accused of being short of that.”

Grim silence enveloped the cabin as the two teams returned their gear to their cases.

Nothing less than full-on warfare was going to occupy their thoughts for the next several days.