Target Deck - 02 (49 page)

“I know,” the revolutionary said. “Democracy does not just happen, people have to be ready for it. We will have competition from the criminals as well. Not just other cartels but from the biggest crooks of all, the politicians in Mexico City.”

Deckard slid off the truck down to the ground and shook the rebel's hand.

“Together we bled for nothing other than a narrow one in a million shot at giving these people something worth living for.”

“That's something,” Zero replied. “Something more than they had yesterday. Now it is time for the Zapatista movement to become something else, more than an armed rebel group or political movement.”

“Good luck. You've only got one policewoman but it is a start.”

“Thank you for what you've done here. I never thought that our arrangement would actually work, but to tell you the truth our backs were against the wall. We had ceased to be a relevant opposition force since the military came down on us years ago.”

“Now is the time to take that one in a million shot.”

“We will,” he laughed. “Now get your imperialist gringo ass the hell off our land!”

“I will, believe me. The military has a convoy that is just a few hours out by now.”

“We have a plan, we are going to go underground and let them think it is business as usual. With the war going on up north they will be recalled in a week or two. Then we hold elections while they are distracted.”

Commadante Zero waved goodbye as he slipped inside the pickup truck and drove off.

Switching up the order of movement, one of the deuce and half transport trucks was the first to roll onto the back of the logistics aircraft, followed by an assault truck. The vehicles were literally swallowed one by one. Each would have to be secured to hard points on the metal floor with ratchet straps to keep the vehicles from rolling around during flight.

Over the whine of the Antonov's jet engines, Deckard didn't hear the helicopter until it was right on top of them. The CIA helicopter set down behind the row of Samruk vehicles, the pilot keeping the rotors going and ready to take off at a moment's notice.

Deckard hurried over to Frank who was safeguarding the source, his wife, and child. It was a golden helicopter flight that would eventually take him to the United States, a house, a job, and more importantly a new name and the safety that came along with it.

The source looked at Deckard with sad eyes and shook his hand.

“Thank you for looking after us,” he said, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Get your family the hell out of here,” Deckard yelled over the rotor blast. “This is your freedom bird.”

The same tattooed military contractor that they had seen during the previous prisoner drop off got out of the helicopter and held the door open with his other hand resting on the pistol grip of his HK 416.

“I saw some of your men working on a van,” the source told him. “I thought you were leaving the country?”

“Of course we are.”

“Well, just in case,” the Mexican dug into his wallet. “Take this decal and stick it in the window. This is what we used to have on our trucks when we transported drugs up north.”

Deckard looked at the decal, a yellow Ferrari sports car logo.

“It's a recognition signal between members of the Zeta cartel and their allies. It lets allies pass through the drug corridors without getting shot to pieces. You might still get stopped at some Zeta check points and have to pay a bribe, but at least they won't execute you.”

“Thanks,” Deckard said, putting the decal in his pocket. “I'll hold on to this, just in case.”

The source nodded and turned to his family, ushering them towards the helicopter. His wife helped their son through the door before they climbed on board. The military contractor got in last, closing the door behind them just as the pilot pulled up on the collective and got them airborne. In seconds the helicopter had disappeared from view.

Deckard turned to see the last deuce and a half roll up the ramp and into the airplane. The assault trucks were now fully loaded. Frank limped up to him, having left his crutches behind.

“I can't believe you are sending me back to Astana while you guys go on some kind of suicide mission.”

“I'll make sure you are on the next one once you've healed up.”

“How about once you've healed up? You look like hammered shit!”

“I'm the leader, I just sit back and stick colored pins on maps and walk around with a clipboard so who cares?”

“Fuck you, dude. We'll talk back in Kazakhstan.”

Frank limped his way to the aircraft. He was pissed about getting left out just as any of his men would be if they knew what he was planning.

“There is one more item of business to attend to before wrapping this up,” a woman's voice said from behind him.

Turning, Samantha walked right up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Pulling Deckard down to her she kissed him deeply.

“Give me a call the next time you decide to shoot in and out of Mexico.”

“Even if it is two in the morning?”

“Especially if it is two in the morning,” she said. “Especially if you are already five tequila shots deep in the night.”

“I will.”

Sighing, she released Deckard.

“I have to go now and act as a liaison with the Mexican military as they arrive in a couple hours. I also have to act as if I have no idea what the fuck has been going on in my city for the last week.”

“I guess it is a good thing you don't know anything about what has been happening here the last week.”

“You know it,” she said smiling.

Deckard couldn't help but stare at her ass as she walked back to the parking lot.

43

Deckard, Pat, Kurt, Aghassi, and Nikita looked out the windshield as the convoy of Mexican military vehicles passed on the opposite lane of traffic down federal highway 135. There were approximately one hundred vehicles in the fighting column including
HMMWV
s, tracked infantry fighting vehicles, Silverado pickup trucks, and cargo trucks transporting several hundred Mexican Infantry soldiers.

With Aghassi behind the wheel, Deckard was grateful that Samruk International was in the air and already somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, heading back to Astana, the capital of Kazakhstan. Once there, Frank and Korgan would make sure each man was paid from the bundles of cash they had confiscated from Ortega as well as what was found hidden away by Jimenez. They would have their work cut out for them attending to burials, hospital visitations, and making sure that life insurance payments were made in a timely manner to the families.

Meanwhile, the stay-behind element drove their van north while the military headed south, into their previous Area of Operations. They were just a few hours too late. Samantha would have her work cut out as well, playing dumb and doing damage control until the military withdrew from the area.

Thirty minutes later, the van pulled through a checkpoint manned by civilians with AK-47 rifles and bandannas covering their faces. In the night, they had not seen the checkpoint until they were right on top of it. The guards saw the Ferrari logo stuck in the upper left hand portion of the windshield and waved them through. The Zeta secret handshake.

The Zeta cartel was now the largest and most powerful drug cartel in Mexico. They controlled most of the northern portion of the country but were in competition with the Sinaloa cartel, the oldest cartel in Mexico. The Zetas had been elite Mexican airborne soldiers who defected to the cartels and eventually splintered off to form their own faction, bringing military training and experience with them. Efficient and ruthless, they came to dominate the drug trade and were soon moving into other lucrative ventures such as vehicle thefts, human trafficking, extortion rackets, real estate, and more.

With American monetary and intelligence assistance, the Mexican military had been engaged in combating the Zetas for years but had only recently pushed towards an endgame as their operations came to mimic American Counter-Terrorism tactics developed during the War on Terror in Afghanistan, Iraq, and beyond. Now the military and the Zetas were engaged in a full blown war for survival.

The five Samruk mercenaries had absolutely no interest in fighting it out with the Zetas. That was way over their head and best left to the military. Their goal was simple, identify where the large volumes of US military weapons were originating from and shut it off at the source. Anything they could dig up on The Arab would be an added bonus.

Nikita was fast asleep in the passenger seat. Aghassi was nodding in and out while driving. Kurt and Pat were both passed out on the floor of the van amid the tactical gear and weapons they were hauling. Deckard felt like he'd been hit by a train and was about to go down at any moment.

“Aghassi, pull over in this parking lot on the right,” Deckard said.

Pulling into the lot Deckard nudged the other mercenaries to wake them up.

“We're halfway to Puebla, we can take six hours but might not be able to once everything starts moving again. Keep one guard up front at a time, everyone else needs to hit the rack.”

“Sounds good,” Aghassi yawned.

“Nikita, you've been racked out for a while now. You take first watch.”

Deckard unbuttoned his shirt and balled it up to use as a pillow. Later, he wouldn't even remember laying down.

His sleep was deep and dreamless.

Aghassi drove through the outskirts of Puebla, making a lazy circle around the AMIZ compound as not to arouse suspicion. Located at the edge of the city, the compound was off site from the main AMIZ headquarters. The facility was surrounded by twenty five foot reinforced concrete walls with guard towers spaced at even intervals. It looked like many of the Forward Operating Bases that US forces operated out of in the Middle East.

Deckard knew that this was no accident. Mexico had been more violent and even bloodier than Iraq and Afghanistan for a number of years. These days the only other splatter fest that could compete with Mexico was Syria. The FOB had been built with American money and assistance so it was no wonder that it looked like a stronghold to wage a counter-insurgency from.

The area reconnaissance made clear to the mercenaries that the direct approach was out of the question. Going over the walls would be difficult and they would almost certainly he sprayed with machine gun fire. Nikita could easily take out a few guards in the towers with his suppressed sniper rifle but at this point they were not sure who was involved with the weapons trafficking and who wasn't. Who was corrupt and who was just a soldier serving their country was one of the questions they would attempt to answer.

“Check this out,” Aghassi said, pointing towards a Mexican police convoy on the street up ahead. A half dozen pickup trucks were loaded with Federal Police carrying rifles and wearing assault vests packed with spare magazines. The convoy was heading towards the AMIZ compound.