The Covert Element (3 page)

 "Red Fox. All clear. Out."

Alpha Team remained vigilant as it watched Red Fox and Blue
Hawk dashing low along the front of the villa and past the dead
guard. It only took twenty seconds to place the charges . . . but for
this entire time, Bravo Team was completely vulnerable.

Fuentes used a black sleeve to wipe perspiration from his brow.

Even after Bravo Team had rounded the corner of the villa on
its way back into the brush and out of sight, Fuentes remained
mindful that the hostiles in either building could yet discover the
dead guard, forcing him to detonate the C4 before Bravo Team had
retreated to a safe distance.

Long minutes passed. Finally, Bravo Team called in.

"Mongoose, this Red Fox. We’re ready. Over."

"Stand by, Red Fox. Out."

Everyone had heard Red Fox say Bravo Team was ready to
demolish the villa. Hearing no objections, Fuentes gave the okay.

"Execute. Execute. Execute."

No sooner had he given the order than a young woman in a
white dress came running out the front door of the villa. She
stooped to check on the fallen guard.

A split-second later, the villa imploded . . . the adobe walls
melting backwards and sliding off the mountain to the northeast.
Bravo Team’s work had been a success.

When the dust settled, Fuentes could see the woman’s rubble-covered white dress lying draped over the guard, motionless.
Damn.
He hated killing women.
But this was a cartel woman. Was
she fair game?

It didn’t take long for the hostiles to react. Almost immediately,
two armed men ran out the barracks door in the direction of the
demolished villa. Fuentes picked off the first with his sniper rifle.
Mud Slinger got the second with a short burst from the SAW.

More cartel soldiers stormed through the barracks doorway,
scattering around the courtyard. Mud Slinger sent those who had
emerged running for cover. The lights that had been illuminated
inside the barracks blinked out. Automatic weapon fire sprayed
from inside the barracks’ windows up the mountain and into the
trees. They were aiming too low to endanger Alpha Team.

By this time, Trophy Wife was back with his team.

"Jeep’s on the way," he said.

After about twenty seconds of sustained, but poorly directed,
fire from the barracks, all fell quiet. Gradually, a few men appeared
around the sides of the barrack building.

"Extraction ready, Trophy Wife?" Fuentes said.

"On the way."

Trophy Wife had already radioed the team’s extraction element
to mobilize. Fuentes’ team would depart this mountain via the three
"Little Bird" helicopters that had been idling in the desert five klicks
west of the DZ. They would already be en route to the extraction
point.

"Little Bird" was the nickname for the AH-6 small chopper and
its troop-carrying variant, the MH-6. Developed specifically for
troop insertions and extractions, Little Bird had proved its worth to
the military many times over since its initial deployment in the
1960s.

Two of the three Little Birds on their way to the DZ – now the
LZ (landing zone) – were MH-6s that had been outfitted to carry
troops and cargo. The third, an AH-6 attack version of the Little
Bird, would provide cover fire if needed. With its 7.62 mm machine
gun and dual 2.75 inch rocket pods, if necessary, the Little Bird
attack chopper could deliver a punch much greater than its name
implied.

"Time to head out," Fuentes said. "But we will leave them a
present, yes?"

On Fuentes’ signal, Trophy Wife fired a grenade into the center
of the compound. Then all three members of Alpha Team opened
up, blanketing the kill zone with mostly random fire. Their goal was
not so much to kill as many men as possible, as it was to deter
zealous pursuit. It didn’t take long for all of the hostiles to either fall
where they stood, or retreat to the cover of the barracks.

Alpha Team ceased its fire and set off at best pace retracing its
route up and around the mountain.

Although Alpha Team had a head start on the cartel soldiers, it
didn’t take long before bullets were zipping through the brush
around them. Further deterrence was necessary.

As the others continued to the extraction site, Trophy Wife
stopped to fire more grenades in the path of the cartel fighters.
After he had done so and caught up to his comrades, Mud Slinger
took a turn, firing his SAW to saturate the enemy’s estimated
position with machine gun fire. Following this leap and bound
retreat procedure, Alpha Team was finally nearing the LZ.

Fifty meters from the mesa, they all stopped a final time.
Trophy Wife launched two more grenades and Mud Slinger emptied
his SAW to slow the enemy’s advance.

By the time they came charging through the scrub pines on the
south side of the mesa, they were relieved to see that Little Bird One
had already departed with the kit bags and Little Bird Two was
ready to take the soldiers onboard.

"Hot on our tails," Fuentes said into his radio. "Let’s get out of
here."

As the Rangers jumped aboard Little Bird Two, a white light
flashed on the mountainside in the direction from which Alpha
Team had come. It was followed by a puff of dust and smoke. The
chopper engines drowned out any other sound.

"Guess they found one of our trip wires," Mud Slinger said into
his radio, as he strapped himself onto the bench. "That should slow
‘em up."

In less than ten seconds all five squad members had found
places on the seating boards on either side of the chopper. Little
Bird Two didn’t wait for everyone to get strapped in before it lifted
off, sliding sideways to the mountain’s edge, then following Little
Bird One downward into the canyon. The Rangers held onto their
harnesses until the G-forces abated and they could buckle them
properly.

As Little Bird Two headed away from the LZ, Fuentes saw that
Little Bird Three, the attack chopper, had remained behind . . .
apparently with good reason. While their own helicopter had been
diving down the mountain toward the desert valley below, the AH-6
had climbed to a position above the LZ. Its guns were strafing the
mountainside. Before he lost sight of the AH-6, he saw the trail of a
rocket being launched from its pod. Until the other Little Birds were
safely away, the AH-6 would hold its position . . . or die trying.

* * *

Ten minutes and several klicks away from the former villa,
Little Bird Three caught up to its companions. The pilot gave the
Rangers riding the buckboard outside Little Bird Two a thumbs up
as he moved to lead the small air squadron. Fuentes saw the bullet
holes in the cockpit bubble as the attack bird passed by.

At first, he was thankful for the brave pilots of the Little Birds
and the expert extraction they had coordinated. Then, just as relief
was nearly upon him, Fuentes began to feel it again. A churning in
his gut. He tried to suppress what he knew was coming.

Growing slowly at first, but building as the minutes passed, it
was like a bilious monster rising up in his throat. The same beast
he’d fought more and more often lately. Then it was upon him. The
unbridled urge to lash out . . . to slaughter . . . to annihilate. He felt
the perspiration on his forehead, but knew it would disappear as
quickly as it had come in the turbulence of the chopper ride. This
wasn’t the place or the time to lose control.

Leaning back against the chopper’s metal frame, he clenched
his teeth and steadied his hands on the seat-board. Was it the cartel
connection that had triggered this visceral response?
Killing those
bastards should make it better, not worse.

Maybe he’d been doing this soldier thing too long. Maybe it
had been his team’s close call just now. Whatever the cause of his
rage, he’d deal with it in his own way. In his own time. Just as he’d
always done. Right now, he just needed to breathe.

He inhaled deeply, releasing the air through his mouth.

Too damn close! To what? To death? To losing control? Just
too damn close!

Fuentes took one more deep breath. Then, forcing his face into
a smile, he turned to the EOD seated beside him. He needed to yell
to be heard over the rushing wind.

"Got a spare cig, Red?"

Red Fox smiled.

CHAPTER TWO

Present day near Red Wing, Minnesota.

The meth cooking operation Deputies found smoldering early
this morning in rural Ottawa County was anything but typical for
southeastern Minnesota.

For one thing, even in its charred state, it was clear that this
was a large-scale production facility for our area. Based on the
stainless steel and ceramic containers that had survived the fire, the
experts from the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension
(BCA) estimated that a set-up like this one could produce several
pounds of pure methamphetamine crystals per day. Previous meth
busts in the Red Wing area had yielded only home-cooking
operations where maybe half-a-dozen druggies would collaborate to
buy the ingredients, and then they’d combine their stuff to yield less
than an ounce per batch – mainly for personal use.

Another anomaly was the fact that the meth cookers, at least
those I could see clearly from my location on the periphery of the
crime scene, appeared to be of Hispanic descent. Based on my
experience abroad, and the facial structures of the men on the
premises, I guessed the suspected drug cookers to be Mexicans or
Mexican-Americans. Finding twenty or more Mexicans all in one
place in Ottawa County was unusual in and of itself – let alone the
drug connection.

The other really strange thing about the bust at this meth lab
was that, although there were cops everywhere, it was clear who
had been making the drugs, and the perpetrators were still on site,
no one had been arrested. There was a good reason for this. And
that was the fourth peculiarity.

Every single person the sheriff’s deputies had found on the
premises was dead. Executed. Shot in the forehead at close range.

While you let that picture settle a bit, I suppose I should tell
you who you’re listening to. The name’s James Becker, attorney-at-law. Just about everyone who knows me calls me "Beck." I’m an ex-
"military intelligence operative," now retired to my home town of
Red Wing, along with my wife, Beth, a CIA code-cracker.

I know that’s not much for you to go on. But you can trust me.
I’m really a decent guy. I even help out local law enforcement when
they get involved in puzzling cases – such as today’s
drug/murder/arson investigation.

"Beck, thanks for coming out here so fast!" The muted voice
belonged to Ottawa County Chief Deputy Sheriff, Doug Gunderson,
aka "Gunner." He had seen me and had walked over to where I was
standing, just outside the yellow "crime scene" tape.

"No problem, Gunner. I can see why you called."

Gunner leaned toward me so we could speak confidentially.

"Now that you’re here, whatta ya make of this mess?"

I gave the grounds a quick once over, just so Gunner knew I
was giving serious consideration to his query.

"Looks like there was a fire or something," I said, gazing out
over ground zero.

Gunner looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "Okay. I get it."

Gunner was pretty quick on the uptake. He knew if I was going
to be in on this investigation, I wanted all the way in.

The Chief Deputy is one of only a few people in Ottawa County
who know anything about my rather special government
background and related skills. I had never planned to let him in on
my secrets, especially because if word got to the wrong people, my
entire family would be in mortal danger. But I had known Gunner
since we were both kids. He had pinned me down one night and
demanded to know where I had
really
been for twenty years of my
life.