PRECIPICE (12 page)

“The objective, obviously, is to take him out,” Sutherland went on. “We’re hoping that removing the head of the snake, so to speak, will lead to confusion and also interrupt the flow of drugs from the Columbians who he works with. Although there will certainly be an internal power struggle once he’s removed, we estimate that the impact on shipments of drugs into the U.S. will be considerable. More importantly, we hope that it will cause a significant decrease in the rampant killings along the border as the other cartels—whose methods are somewhat less violent—move in and take over the business. With any luck, this could mean the end of the reign of one of the more violent cartels and a significant stabilization of the border region.”

Sutherland slid his glasses back on and squinted at his laptop as he scrolled the screen to display an area about ten kilometers upriver of Cardenas’ compound. He looked up at the large TV and pointed a thin finger at a dirt track that was visible along the edge of a huge sugar cane field. A ridge of jungle separated the opposite side of the field from the river.

“The insertion will be from this road, through the cane field. We’ll have your driver drop you there just before dawn. You’ll have the entire day to make it to the river and move ten kilometers downstream.” He scrolled the view to show a short distance upstream of the compound, just below the smaller falls that Chip had pointed out in their last meeting. “You will wait here concealed behind the bend in the canyon wall until about one hour before dawn the following day. Then you’ll pass through the final rapids and stop just before the large falls.”

That explained why Chip had never seriously considered this river before. There was no road access, and a hike through the cane field and over that jungle covered ridge carrying his kayak could prove to be the hardest part of the mission. In his research, he’d discounted most rivers that didn’t have a road leading to them.

Sutherland scrolled again then zoomed in on the falls and the four thatched roofs on the canyon rim. Chip used the gap in the talk to lean forward and snag another glazed donut from the box, then cracked open the energy drink. The time zone change in combination with their early start definitely had him suffering.

“Once there, you will lower your boats to the bottom of the falls and tie them off. You will then make your way to the compound by climbing up this weakness in the canyon wall.”

Chip had no intention of lowering his boat down that falls, but he figured this wasn’t the time or place to bring that up.

Sutherland pointed to a notch in the wall just above the lip of the falls and then used the trackpad to rotate the imagery to a lower angle view that showed a series of wide cracks in the rock face that could be used for purchase. The cracks ended on the top of the cliff near a point of rock that rose above the compound. Chip had spent plenty of days rock climbing on the amazing sandstone cliffs near the rivers where he worked in West Virginia. Although the climbing in the picture looked challenging, he didn’t think it would be a problem for athletes like these.

“Once you reach the top, one team will provide cover from this outcropping while another secures ropes to the supports of this building just downriver along the canyon rim,” he pointed out the round roof, “which will allow for exit by rappelling down to the boats at the base of the falls.”

“After the ropes are secured, both teams will move in and take out Cardenas in this building, which is his residence.” Sutherland pointed to the square roof on the canyon rim this time.

“We estimate a security force of roughly four to six men at this location, mostly stationed on the side of the compound toward the road and away from the river.” He indicated the square thatched roof that was farthest from the canyon. “With any luck, Cardenas can be eliminated with suppressed weapons without alerting any of these men. Once back in the boats, you’ll make your way downstream another fourteen kilometers to a point where a dirt jeep track ends near the river. Your driver will pick you up there. The river has much less gradient below the falls, but there will still be rapids.”

The men were all nodding. What would have seemed like an impossible mission before their recent training seemed like a solid plan now. They all liked the idea of avoiding resistance as much as possible since their team was so small. However, it was also patently obvious that the plan relied on surprise and silence. They would have to be very careful.

“What’s our cover?” asked the burly Roberts.

“You’ll be travelers on vacation, although we’re still working out the details of how we’ll conceal the equipment—especially the kayak.”

“Why conceal it?” Chip asked. “Tons of gringos go down there to kayak this time of year. We should carry one kayak for each of us, and we won’t be suspicious at all.”

“That’s a fine idea, Mr. Wilson, and it brings us to our next question: When should you go in order to have the optimal conditions for navigating the river?”

As was his habit, Chip had been using his smartphone to regularly check the water levels in rivers across North and South America throughout his recent travels. He knew the score from river friends he kept in touch with who were planning trips to that area this very winter.

“They’ve had a wet rainy season down there, but most of the tropical storms missed them. Judging from the size of that stream, I’d say it will most likely be good in mid-to-late November this year. How old are these pictures?”

“They were taken on Wednesday.”

“Yeah, it needs to come down a little bit more, but not too much. Do you know what the weather’s doing down there right now?”

“We know it was clear on Wednesday when the images were taken. It was wet leading up to that, but our best forecasts indicate that they’ll be getting sun for the next week at least.”

Chip thought for a minute before responding. This reliance on his judgment for planning was a little more than he had bargained for today. It wasn’t something he was unaccustomed to, though—he just hoped that the others would understand that this was not a precise science.

“The problem is that there are virtually no river gauges available online for that area. I’ll start hearing about the water levels from friends who are heading down there in two or three weeks, but we might want to be there by then. I suggest we head down in two weeks and check the conditions. We might have to wait a week or two for the level to drop in, but at least we won’t miss it.” Plus, adding a couple weeks of paddling in Mexico onto this fall season of paid kayaking wouldn’t bother Chip a bit. This was getting better and better. He wondered if he’d get five hundred bucks a day for it. He might not have to work at all next year!

“So we’ll plan to deploy on the eleventh,” Sutherland stated with his mind made up. There would be details to work out, but that date would leave plenty of time. “Any more questions?”

As the date was set, the reality of what Chip had signed up for began to sink in. His mind drifted back to the covert entry and the large force of armed men.

“Yeah,” Chip said, “I’ve got a question. Are you gonna give me a gun?”

Sutherland looked at Harris, who met his gaze and slowly nodded.

“Yeah,” answered Harris, turning to Chip. “We can’t expect you to go into an area that hot unarmed. We’ll train you up over the next couple of weeks with the understanding that it’s for self-defense only. You will wait at the river and rappel directly from the lip of the waterfall to the bottom with the boats. We’ll join you there when it’s done.”

Duval lightly kicked Chip’s foot under the table to get his attention and gave him a wink and pantomimed shooting a pistol with one hand. Duval was the wild man of the crew, and he and Chip had developed a friendship of banter and outrageous antics over the last few weeks. Duval was the most like a river guide of the bunch, which often set Chip at ease around the more rigid military guys.

Sutherland looked at Harris, “I think a weekend off is in order for all of you to catch up on family time. After that you’ll go to The Woods?”

“Sure. We’ll meet there on Monday morning. I’ll make sure Chip has directions.”

Sutherland took control again, “I’ll take a minute here to remind you once more, gentlemen, that you are completely on your own on this one. Due to the situation with this taking place in a friendly neighboring country, there will be no backup of any kind on this operation. There is no air support and no extraction team other than your driver, Mr. Morales, who is very reliable. You are in no way affiliated with or working for the United States government, and they have no knowledge of your existence and will deny it completely if questioned. Your paychecks come from Export Logistics, LLC, which will pay you as consultants. Which brings us to the next order of business.”

Chip’s head was spinning. He had assumed this was some sort of CIA deal due to the presence of former SEALs and the seemingly endless bankroll. The idea that this mission was being planned by some other organization without the government’s knowledge gave him a moment’s pause. He had that sinking feeling that he sometimes got before putting on a river—a feeling that usually ended with an epic misadventure that included loss of boats and/or gear, miles of hiking, and unplanned nights shivering in the wilderness. He had been around long enough to know better than to commit to something like that. As with hidden rivers, however, the mystery of it all drew him in like a tractor-beam. There was no way he could say no.

“This is the first mission for Export Logistics,” Sutherland was still droning in his deadpan voice, “so you’re probably wondering about the financial particulars. We’re on a tight budget, but I think you’ll find it better than military pay. It’s fifty thousand for each of you on this one. Of course, all expenses will be covered. We hope to have you home by the beginning of December, but plan to be away from Monday until then.”

This seemed to elicit a positive response from the other men. If they weren’t going to be fighting for an accepted national ideology, at least the pay would be good. They all knew this was their only window of opportunity to stay in the game. Plus, stopping the drug cartels was a worthy cause by any moral measure.

Although the rest of the men took it in stride, the amount of pay stunned Chip completely.
Fifty grand
?? That was enough to keep him kayaking comfortably for years to come. This expedition was a dream come true…if he survived it. Who cared who he would be working for? This job could set him free for the foreseeable future.

The men all began to stand and head for the door. Sutherland turned to Duval, the only single member of the crew other than Chip. “Can you give Chip a ride back to his car in West Virginia?”

Duval gave chip a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Sure, I’ll drive the river hippy back home.”

Chip made his way to the door in stunned silence. He had no idea how it had happened, but he was about to become some kind of secret agent kayaking commando. Then he turned his mind back to things he could control.

*

Moore sat in his oversized office chair and savored his first sip of bourbon for the afternoon. It was a well-earned bit of relaxation after a difficult week of politics. The good news was that the first step was complete—the international trucking bill had passed through his committee. He had no regrets about it. With all of the ridiculous pork that rolled through congress, crossing party lines to support something as low profile as a trucking bill could hardly be seen as a great sin—and many of his peers had been bought off by worse interests than trucking companies. It would, however, be seen as a mortal sin by his party-mates. Many had already voiced displeasure with his support of it. Who cared? It would be his final
fuck you
to a life he was tired of living, something he should have done a long time ago. His work today would net him two million bucks, and another three would follow when the bill passed. It was enough to secure his future, and it wasn’t like his Senate income would stop completely when he left office. If his wife missed the prestige of being married to a senator, she would certainly enjoy the extra money. It might be enough to keep her around, and it might not. Moore was past the point of caring.

He glanced fondly over to the hunting pictures on the wall in the corner. She could keep the ridiculous house in DC, and he would split time between his place in Alabama and hunting trips to Alaska. He didn’t imagine she would follow him away from this city anyhow, and he hoped that he would never have to come back. Such was life. He took another sip of Basil Hayden’s and glanced at the clock. It was 4:30, and still no call from Sam. It worried him a little, but she had missed their calls before. One thing was certain: there would be no shortage of fall formal dresses for his little girl after today.

The door burst open and Ortiz barreled in. He bee-lined for the bar and poured himself a vodka, then raised it for a toast that left Moore’s glass empty.

“We did it, boss!” he exclaimed. “All you have to do now is vote for it in the Senate, and you’re a wealthy man.” He didn’t mention that he would be a million dollars richer himself—two million, if you counted what he planned to divert without Moore’s or Cardenas’ knowledge.

“When are you gonna let ‘em know?” Moore asked, anxious to get on with it.

“I’ll call my cousin when I leave here,” Ortiz answered. “The money will be wired to an offshore account by the end of the day.”

Moore sighed and sank lower in his chair, so his chief-of-staff hopped up and refilled the senator’s glass from the bottle on the credenza. Ortiz was sick of kissing this man’s ass, but it was almost over. Who knew what would come next with two million dollars in his account, and with the political connections he had made. The sky was the limit.

There were a few awkward moments while they sipped their drinks with nothing much left to say. Moore was impatient for confirmation of the money and disturbed that his daughter hadn’t called. Finally, Ortiz swallowed the last of his vodka and headed for the door.

“I’ll call you after I talk to them,” he said before he let himself out.