God's Lions - House of Acerbi (46 page)

“Sounds like an untrained rabble to me,” Ben said.

“Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth,” Lev said. “We’re facing a gang of hundreds of Mexican Ex-Special Forces soldiers that were trained in the United States.”

Colonel Wilson stood when he saw some of his pilots shifting uneasily on the concrete floor. “I’m afraid he’s right. I’ve heard stories about these guys. Some of our politicians still think it’s a good idea for our army to teach classified warfare tactics to people of questionable character from unstable countries. These people were originally hired by the drug cartels to protect their drug trade, but once they figured out they were the ones with the power, they killed their bosses and took over.”

“I see you’ve done your homework on these guys, Colonel,” Lev continued. “However these people are not our main threat. They may be trained, but they’re undisciplined and a lot of them are on drugs.”

“Then what’s the main threat?” Alon asked from the front row.

“Our main problem is going to be the real soldiers inside this ring of thugs. The man we’re going after has an elite team of mercenaries recruited from armies all over the world surrounding him. We need experienced soldiers to punch through that inner ring of protection.”

Ben looked at his American counterpart. “Then why are we here? The whole American army is right across the border, and they have more resources.”

Lev stood next to Colonel Wilson. “Two words, Ben ... operational security. The man we’re after sits at the head of an organization that has infiltrated police, military, and intelligence agencies all over the world. This mission is off the books, because if this guy catches even a hint that we’re coming after him, he could potentially release his virus all over the world. We need to hit him hard and fast. All information about our mission will be on a need to know basis only, even within our own small group. Our target is approximately 300 miles southeast of here, which means the closest American city is El Paso, Texas. There are literally thousands of soldiers there at Fort Bliss who could conceivably come to our aid if asked, but for now even their base commander is in the dark about what we’re up to. There will be a lot of activity here over the next couple of days, because we have less than forty-eight hours to mount a successful attack. We’ve chosen the best of the best for this job, but this is not a time for egos. We all have to work together, because the lives of millions of people are at stake, so let’s keep our eye on the ball and do what we’re asked to do.”

A proud-looking American pilot raised his hand to speak. “Why can’t we wear our flag on our uniforms?”

“Although the answer to that question might appear obvious, it actually brings up some good points. We need to cover our joint involvement for several reasons. If the details of this operation were ever to be made public after the fact, it would raise a red flag to those Muslim countries who believe the U.S. and Israel are one and the same. At the same time, it would also send the right-wing conspiracy theorists into overdrive ... you know, the whole
foreign troops on American soil
and
Zionist Occupation Government
scenario.”

“They might have a valid point,” Diaz said.

Nervous laughter again spread through the hangar on both sides.

Lev re-lit his cigar as he tried to keep from smiling. “Another reason for not announcing who we really are with flags and unit insignias is our cover story. These people like to emulate the jihadists in the Middle East by decapitating their prisoners, so pray you’re never captured. However, if you are, we want you to confess everything.”

The young soldiers traded puzzled looks.

“You will of course lie and tell them you are mercenaries ... paid members of a rival American paramilitary criminal gang that has been sent to capture the drug trade across the border. This story will throw them off and may buy you some time, because they will want to draw out details of a potential new threat to them. In fact, they may even try to recruit you. We will supply you with some false operational details so that all of you will be able to tell the same story. But know this ... if you are captured we will come for you, even if it looks like a suicide mission. All for one and one for all ... that is the motto of this mission.”

The soldiers gazed up at Lev with a newfound sense of respect. The old soldier turned professor really did talk like one of them. He walked the walk and talked the talk, and he obviously hadn’t lost the fire for battle.

“Your commanders and I need to go over some more details tonight. Hopefully, we’ll have some satellite photos of the target for the morning briefing. All I can say with certainty for the moment is that this will be a helicopter assault. Unfortunately, we’ll have to leave our armored ground vehicles behind.”

“No armored vehicles?” Ben asked.

“With all the narco traffic in the area, we’d be spotted as soon as we crossed the border. Surprise is everything. I realize this doesn’t give us much time for making practice runs before we go in tomorrow night, but if everything goes according to plan we should be in and out of there before they have a chance to mount any kind of organized resistance. Every man here was chosen for their ability to think on their feet. American and Israeli Special Forces Teams both have proud histories. The recent raid on Bin Laden’s compound by Seal Team 6 comes to mind, as does the IDF raid on Entebbe in Uganda back in the ‘70’s. Both of those missions will live on in military history as a testament to what can be achieved when we put our minds to it. Just remember, regardless of your religious beliefs or what country you come from, the world is counting on us to do our job tomorrow night.”

A young pilot raised his hand. “Excuse me, sir, but I have to ask. Why don’t we just take this guy out with an F-15 strike? We can promise you there’ll be nothing left of him but a smoking hole in the ground.”

Lev smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you fighter jocks busy. However, we need boots on the ground to make sure we’ve taken out the target, so this will be primarily a helicopter insertion followed by a ground assault. We also need to find out if they have stockpiles of the pathogen at this location.”

Lev paused to let his words sink in. A crowded room can be a very quiet place when those present are lost in silent thoughts concerning the viability of their future.

“Then why not nuke him?” a young soldier asked. “A nuke would kill any pathogen.”

“Like I said before, this needs to be a surgical strike. Nukes are out. We need proof we’ve taken this guy out.”

Lev continued puffing on his cigar as he looked out at all the young faces staring back at him. From their expressions, he could tell that the enormity of the task ahead was beginning to strike home.

“OK, my young warriors ... get some rest. I have a feeling we won’t be getting much sleep in the next forty-eight hours. We’ll meet back here at five AM.”

Mexico

Rene Acerbi had settled into his new digs with a sense of relief. He had chosen wisely for the next stage of his plan. Situated in the middle of a 14,000 acre ranch just south of the border city of Juarez, Mexico, he was surrounded by some of the most ruthless killers the world had seen in recent history.

Five hundred heavily armed men ringed his property. It would take an army to get to him, but Rene had covered his tracks well. No foreign country on earth would dare send troops into Mexico on an unproven accusation that Rene Acerbi, one of the world’s most respectable citizens, was the man behind the plague. And if by chance some ambitious do-gooder senator or congressman decided to push for an investigation into his activities, there were other senators and congressmen who would make sure that those making the preposterous accusations against him would be censured for even suggesting that a man of Rene Acerbi’s stature was not what he appeared to be—an honest businessman involved in the manufacture of life-saving medicine used to heal the sick—a man who donated untold millions to charitable causes around the world.

A thin smile spread across his lips when he thought of how quickly he had turned the tables on those who had sought to expose him. For years, the Acerbis and those who worked with them had spent over a billion dollars to embed their own people in key positions inside every law enforcement agency in the world. Their efforts had been worth twice what they had paid, because now, thanks to their influence, those who were hunting Acerbi were now the hunted.

Given the nature of the Mexican government’s losing battle against the drug cartels, heavily guarded compounds had become a common sight in a country that had become, for all practical purposes, a series of fiefdoms ruled by feudal-like drug lords. Stories of their atrocities were endless. The cartels had been known to commit unimaginable acts of horror, and people along the Mexican border were becoming immune to the daily sight of bodies lying in the streets after the innocent and not so innocent were caught in the crossfire between warring gangs. With no fear of reprisal, these bloodthirsty killers were free to roam the countryside, killing at will, and they didn’t care about the bad publicity. Instead, they welcomed it, because it made them seem even more fearsome. Their tendrils ran to every corner of the country, and due to the corrupt nature of the society they existed within, there were no good guys for the people to run to. An entire culture was being erased, and unless the people of Mexico decided to rise up en masse against the gangs, they would remain trapped in a society ruled by fear.

It was into this milieu of chaos that Acerbi had chosen to build a temporary base of operations. No Europol, no FBI, no CIA. Even if they knew where he was, it mattered little to him.

“Let them come,” he told his men. “We’ll be waiting.”

The temporary move to Mexico had been part of his grand plan all along. Here, in the twenty-first century, he would be free to put his ultimate plan into effect from a part of the world that seemed closer to the Dark Ages, and Rene Acerbi reveled in it. It almost saddened him to think that he would have to leave this place in a few short days, but his time had come. Soon he would be free to be who he was really meant to be. The whole world would soon know his name, and they would come to fear him, for they would be powerless against him.

It had been two years since Acerbi first came to Mexico bearing gifts. He had been wise enough to realize that, by setting up a foreign operation in a country virtually free from the rule of law, he would be forced to deal with new kinds of threats, ones that were potentially even more formidable than those he faced back in the civilized world.

Instead of dealing with a civilized system of law enforcement that actually had the power to enforce the laws, he would now have to deal with psychotic, drug-fueled murderers who had no discipline and prayed only to the gods of money and power—which made them harder to control. However, in a move worthy of a master tactician, Acerbi had taken all of this into account when he first began planning the next phase of his operation.

By providing the most powerful drug lord in Mexico with some inside information on international law enforcement’s efforts to curtail the drug trade, Acerbi had quickly become the cartel’s new best friend. Over time, Rene had proven himself to be valuable in other areas as well, and keeping him safe had become their top priority, at least for as long as he remained valuable. But Acerbi was no fool. The unpredictable nature of the beast he was dealing with involved traits that were all too familiar to him, so he had taken the extra precaution of layering his security into rings of protection.

The inner ring had been hand-picked by Acerbi’s most trusted security specialists. At the center of this circle, a team of intelligence analysts worked twenty-four-hours a day acquiring information on everything and everyone Acerbi considered to be a threat. Most of the members of this inner circle were professional mercenaries recruited from Special Forces teams the world over. These men were charged primarily with Acerbi’s personal protection and the operation of the high-tech defense systems he had installed around the ranch.

The outer defense ring was mostly for show. These were the decoys. This was where Acerbi placed the undisciplined hired guns furnished by the cartel. This fearsome looking bunch of bloodthirsty killers not only provided the first ring of security, but kept rival drug gangs away by creating the illusion that Acerbi’s ranch was owned by just another drug lord in hiding.

The job of controlling these men fell to a team of elite mercenaries who served as Acerbi’s clandestine enforcers. With the knowledge that a war between rival drug factions in the area could disrupt their boss’s plans and bring unwanted attention to his presence, Acerbi’s mercenaries had given the Mexicans on the perimeter strict instructions to avoid any confrontations with other drug gangs in the area. The penalty for breaking this rule was death that usually came silently without warning in the middle of the night.

The centerpiece of Rene’s new kingdom was the rambling hacienda that had just been constructed on the top of a hill overlooking the desert. With a design dating back to the turn of the last century, it was a beautiful piece of traditional Mexican architecture. The one-story, white-stucco structure had a red-tiled roof and was completely encircled by a wide porch supported by heavy dark beams over a floor of Saltillo tile that also covered the large interior courtyard.

Having a central courtyard has always been an important element in Mexican architecture, even in the cities. The idea of an inner courtyard was nothing new. In fact, the design harkened back to biblical times. From the homes of Babylon to the medieval castles that stretched across Europe, all the way up to modern-day structures like the Pentagon in Washington D.C., the fortress mentality that had spanned the age of man had appeared in homes throughout the civilized world for thousands of years. It seemed that the need for a protective enclosure had been built into our collective architectural DNA.

The most famous inner courtyards were those found in ancient Rome. The inner courtyard of a typical Roman villa provided a private outdoor oasis free from the suffering gaze of those who lived beyond its walls. The design was perfect for a man like Rene Acerbi, and the analogy to a Roman villa was a good one for a man who believed he was destined to become the new Caesar.