Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 2

President
Roberto Rivera wasted no time following his meeting with billionaire Juan Soto.
Rivera used his cell phone to call the American Ambassador and informed him he
needed to meet. Immediately.

President
Rivera’s senior executive assistant passed along the change of plans and the
new destination to the head of Rivera’s security, and after some griping from
the head of police about unplanned schedules and complications, the massive
convoy circled around and headed for the American Embassy. Traffic snarled
around Mexico City and drivers cursed as the police cordon maneuvered the
twelve armored Humvees and twenty-four SUVs through red lights and
intersections of the downtown district. Rivera ignored the screaming sirens and
ear-shattering helicopters around him as he rehearsed what he would say to the
American Ambassador.

Inside
his own protected fortress, the Ambassador hastily cleared his schedule and
canceled several meetings. He also called Washington, D.C., and alerted the
Secretary of State about the emergency meeting.

In his
three years as Ambassador to Mexico, he had never been called to an emergency
meeting with President Rivera.

The
Secretary of State ended the call and immediately called the CIA. Most of the
internal communication inside Mexico’s government was monitored by the National
Security Agency, who sent weekly -- and at times, daily -- reports to the CIA.
The CIA compiled that info, and the head CIA man who oversaw the Mexican Bureau
confirmed to the Secretary of State that neither the NSA nor the CIA had a clue
as to what the emergency meeting was about.

The
Secretary of State ordered the man to double-check with his staff, and to find
out if there were any recent communications in the past hour. The Secretary of
State hung up the phone and sighed, a sense of fear growing. He decided he’d
better alert the Department of Defense just in case. It seemed there was a
chance a coup d'état was about to take place in Mexico. And, he decided he’d
better alert the President of the United States, as well. Or, at least the
President’s Chief of Staff.

Inside
the walled compound of the American Embassy, President Rivera’s hundred-plus
hand-picked soldiers deployed and escorted the President and his aides out into
the brutal heat that was rocking Mexico. As Juan Soto had done at his own
building earlier that day, the American Ambassador met Rivera at the door. And
as the American aides greeted their Mexican counterparts, the two walked off in
haste toward the inner sanctum.

Minutes
later, inside the Ambassador’s bug-proof room, guarded outside by two hulking
Marines, Rivera laid out the situation.

“Mr.
Ambassador, if Juan Soto sells his assets, we’re talking dozens of major
companies, thousands of employees, and miles and miles of property and real
estate that will be sold at probably half of its value under duress to cartel
leaders such as Hernan Flores. And these companies and properties will almost
certainly stop paying even half of the taxes they owe. Not to mention how
they’ll be used to hide and traffic more drugs to your country.”

Rivera
noticed a flash of panic cross the Ambassador’s face. 

“Is it
possible,” the Ambassador asked, “that Soto was exaggerating? Six months is
very little time. Would he seriously consider abandoning his empire at a loss?”

“Juan is
not bluffing,” Rivera said. “He did not even inform me of this situation. I
learned of it from rumors as his top executives began looking for buyers for
his companies and properties.”

“I
believe Mr. Soto was one of your closest supporters? A major donor and advisor.
Even a family friend.”

“He is
all of those things,” Rivera said with a sigh. “I’m assuming he did not tell me
because he feared disappointing me. Or he was ashamed.”

“Do you
think he still wants to leave?” the Ambassador asked.

“I do,”
Rivera said. “His daughter was nearly kidnapped in an attempt that killed three
of her bodyguards. And just today Juan told me a shift supervisor was killed.
And this follows his chief financial officer for all of his companies getting
killed a month ago.”

Rivera
looked away, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. He wondered what the Ambassador
thought of him in this moment. Did he see a broken man? A defeated man? A weak
man?

Rivera
sat up straighter and composed himself. He lifted his head and spoke deeper and
surer.

“Juan
Soto told me that he has lost twenty-plus employees in the past two months, but
let’s ignore the negative facts for a moment. He gave me six months and I take
him at his word. Now, what can America do to help me save this country and prevent
its collapse? I presume you really don’t want a toppled government controlled
by the Godesto Cartel just across from your border?”

The
Ambassador smiled and said, “No, I imagine that would be quite unpleasant. The
President has made it clear that he will offer whatever assistance he can in
your efforts against the Godesto.”

President
Rivera stood and stepped closer to the Ambassador, who had stood, as well. He
gripped the man’s hand as hard as he could and said, “We will need more than
words, weapons, and communication intercepts. We need your best troops here
immediately.”

“Mr.
President,” the Ambassador said, “I will see if I can get some support for you
in a week or so.”

“Not good
enough,” Rivera said. “Not even close to being good enough. We need either your
Special Forces or Navy SEALs here within the next few days. Period.
Non-negotiable.”

The
Ambassador laughed.

“Come
now, Mr. President. That’s nearly impossible. We have our active units all over
the world, and the ones that aren’t active are on leave or in training.”

President
Rivera stepped closer and the Ambassador shifted uncomfortably.

“Soon.
Here within a few days or my family and I will be on a plane with Juan Soto and
we will be seeking asylum either in your country or the UK.”

The
Ambassador looked floored, and Rivera continued.

“I am not
bluffing. We have six months and we need a team down here operating in just a
few days if we’re going to start making a dent in Flores’s operations. If you
think you have problems now, wait until our government collapses and Flores
puts in one of his puppets as President. Now, call your Secretary of State and
President immediately and tell them to get some of your finest men down here. I
don’t care if you have to redeploy them from elsewhere, and I don’t want to
hear any excuses on this one. They’re here in the next few days or we’re
packing up and I’ll hand you the keys to the place before we leave.”

The
Ambassador had collected himself by now and said with stunned, but practiced,
formality, “Mr. President, I will relay your words to my government and we will
move as quickly as we can.”

“Within
just a few days,” Rivera said. “And I can see myself out.”

And with
that, Rivera walked out of the room and toward his convoy waiting in the walled
Embassy compound.

Chapter 3

The
United States deployed one of its elite counter-terror teams from SEAL Team Six
to Mexico, and they arrived prior to President Rivera’s deadline. The SEAL Team
and its support staff quickly set up on a military compound in Mexico City and
prepared for operations.

Hernan
Flores and the Godesto Cartel learned of the SEAL Team deployment before the
troops even loaded planes in the United States. His millions in payouts to
officials throughout both governments proved their worth. And while it was
surprising at how fast he learned it, both Mexico and the United States knew he
would learn of it quickly.

You
didn’t run the most powerful drug cartel in North America without having an
intelligence network good enough to make the CIA blush.

In this
case, a Mexican Army Major called in to the Godesto Cartel that his base had
been instructed to prepare a barracks for an American commando team. Similarly,
a Mexican Air Force officer reported that space around an airfield had been
cleared with enough room for a half-dozen helicopters. And several government
contacts in President Rivera’s administration stated that a troop coordination
was in the works between the two governments.

Hernan
Flores laughed at President Rivera.

Flores
had learned the full situation by this point -- both the threat by Juan Soto to
sell his companies and leave the country, and Rivera’s desperate pleas for help
from America.

He
laughed harder at the thought that Rivera had threatened to seek asylum. That
fool thinks he can flee and spare his family, Flores thought.

Flores
spewed out half-chewed Funyuns, nearly choking with laughter. He leaned back
further at his desk, and his chair groaned beneath his weight. His feet lay
propped across the top of his twenty-thousand-dollar mahogany desk, and he held
in his lap a big bag of Funyuns chips.

After
wolfing down three more Funyuns, Flores flicked the spewed crumbs from his
sprawling stomach. Since he no longer wore suits, he didn’t worry about getting
grease on his clothes. He looked down at the front of his button-down,
short-sleeve shirt and saw the dark shirt showed no greasy stains.

He shook
his head in wonder that he used to wear suits -- even three-piece suits
complete with vests at one time. He used to dress to impress, with confining
custom-fitted suits. Now, he preferred the comfort of a Hawaiian shirt.
Untucked, of course.

Short-sleeve
shirts were all he ever wore these days -- he liked not having to tuck the
shirts in -- and the short sleeves helped keep him from sweating too badly.
That was one of the downsides to being big, or really big, if he were honest:
You sweat like a whore working overtime, and you smelled like one, too.

Hernan
Flores wiped his hairy forearm across his sweaty forehead and grabbed some more
chips. Christ, he was hot, and he had his office thermostat set to sixty-six
degrees. I’ve got to start exercising at some point, he thought.

He was a
big man and he knew these chips wouldn’t help the cause, but he dug deep in the
bag and grabbed two more. After all, he was celebrating. Juan Soto was on the
verge of leaving. President Roberto Rivera had messed his drawers and called in
actual combat troops from the Americans, not just advisers.

The proud
Mexican people would be outraged at Rivera’s decision to bring in American
troops. Flores laughed as he stuffed more Funyuns down and imagined his plan
coming to completion. Now, he just hoped the SEAL Team took the bait.

Chapter 4

The Navy
SEAL Team struck its first blow against the Godesto Cartel at 3 a.m.

Four
helicopters tore across the city toward an old, decrepit warehouse. Two guards
-- caught by surprise on the roof -- scrambled for cover and brought their
AK-74s to bear toward the helicopters.

Two
shots, unheard over the roar of the helicopters, dropped both guards. Two SEAL
Sniper teams already on station reported the confirmed hits to their commander.
They had moved into their positions a full day prior to the mission.

The
helicopters flared above the warehouse, dropping their speed from sixty to zero
almost instantly. Crew chiefs kicked out lines and SEALs fast-roped onto the
roof.

They
assembled quickly and sprinted to a steel door, where they stacked, blew it,
and rushed down the stairwell into a dark warehouse.

Outside
the building, a convoy of Mexican Special Forces troops raced toward the target
in Humvees. They encircled the target and covered both the warehouse and the
routes leading up to it.

Inside,
the SEALs cleared the warehouse and easily killed seven barely trained men, who
attempted to stop them with light weapons ranging from AKs to pistols.

Mexican
Police soon arrived and the forces collected and tallied the loot.

“A good
first operation,” the SEAL Team Leader said.

“Yes,”
the Mexican military officer said. Acting as the SEAL Team’s liaison, he was
impressed with how the SEALs had somehow gathered such great intel. Before him
lay crates of assault rifles and sea bags crammed full of heroin.

They
wouldn’t know the full tally for hours, but he figured the total seizure would
top several million dollars.

“Your men
moved quickly,” he said to the SEAL Team Leader.

Tapping
his boot against the prone body beside him, the Mexican military officer replied,
“They never stood a chance.”

The SEAL
Team Leader smiled and said, “That’s how we like it.”

Moments
after getting briefed on the operation the next morning, President Roberto
Rivera called Juan Soto.

“It has
begun,” Rivera said with satisfaction.

“It began
many years ago,” Juan said, “when you were elected with lofty promises.”

Rivera
ignored the snide remark and quickly briefed Juan on the dead guards and seized
weapons and heroin.

“Not bad,
but that’s barely a dent in Hernan Flores’s empire,” Juan said.

“You
promised to be optimistic until the six months ended.”

“No, I
promised to be publicly optimistic. That does not mean I’m buying into this
plan of yours. I’m sorry, Roberto.”

“You
didn’t see the Navy SEALs in action. I watched them on a drone video. They’re
really something else.”

Juan
sighed.

“No,
what’s something is Hernan Flores and the Godesto. They have an army of
thousands. Foot soldiers, informers, corrupt police officers. Do not think your
sales spiel from a single night’s operation will change my mind.”

Rivera
kept his spirits up. “You’ll see, my friend. Tonight was just the beginning.”

It was a
full day and a half later before the raid info came back to the Godesto Cartel.

Hernan
Flores was doing one of the things he did best: entertaining others. He stood
among several distinguished guests at a fundraiser gala, laughing and smiling.
One of his best skills was his ability to charm anyone, whether it’s the man
picking up the garbage or an Ivy League-educated candidate running for
governor.

Hernan
Flores lacked the education and college degree, but he made up for it with his
salesman-like skills and his street-hardened cunning. And he was generous to a
fault, donating to various causes with mind-boggling ferocity. Some thought him
a saint. Those who didn’t still happily accepted his checks.

Flores
excused himself from the crowd when one of his bodyguards stepped forward and
reached out his phone.

“Boss, we
got problems,” the caller said.

“I’ll be
right there,” Flores said. And with that, he bade farewell to his guests and
exited the event. He wondered which site the SEALs had raided -- he had left
intel on various locations to several government informers, and, of course, not
warned any of his men or moved any of his goods.

To have
moved any guns or drugs would have caused suspicion among his ranks, and might
have tipped off the authorities that he had baited them. Flores hated to lose
the men and the resources, but he knew there was a long-term benefit to that,
as well.

The men
would take their training more seriously and stay more alert in the future. And
if they didn’t, then he would replace them with men who would. A new stage in
this war against Rivera had arrived, and Flores would do whatever was necessary
to win it.