The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) (7 page)

The Agency used two active informants to bolster satellite surveillance. Information had been received that the captives were held in the basement. It was known that the compound had hosted many "guests" over the last few years, and none had returned, at least not in one piece and alive.

The two informants remained unaware of each other's existence. Run separately by agents from Mexico City, each agent did not know the existence of the other. The informer inside the house, a kid named Antonio, had failed to show up for his scheduled contact. The other informant owned a combination cantina/bodega often frequented by the men who worked at the Durand compound.

That second informant was named Carlos Garcia. He was considered reliable because of the amount of gambling money he owed to the Durand's security chief, Miguel Aquilino. The agency had been funneling cash to Carlos, just enough to prevent Miguel from killing him immediately but not enough to raise suspicion. Only problem was that Miguel was a sadistic bastard. It was inevitable that he'd tire of the collection game and kill Carlos and his family, as much for the sheer cruel pleasure as for the debt. Charming individual thought Daniels. Part of the deal was that Carlos would help with the operation and be extracted with his mother and sister.

For three days the team practiced on the mock up of the compound. They reviewed the plan to exhaustion. They didn't stop until they'd accounted for every contingency that could go wrong.

Of course Daniels knew it never works that way. What always gets screwed up is what you never expect. In the end you have to rely on your training, experience and the Edge. You improvise, and if you're cunning enough, mean enough and strong enough, and you don't screw up, you survive. If not, you die. It's that simple.

Chapter 8

The team entered Mexico individually with four separate identities. The passports and documentation would pass any scrutiny because they were genuine, issued by the US government.

Daniels flew the seaplane to Tampico, a harbor town at the edge of the hook formed by the Yucatan peninsula. After checking in with Mexican Customs, he rented a mooring for the floating aircraft. Daniels was beginning to really enjoy having that machine. He was supposed to be a wealthy business owner looking to take advantage of NAFTA and relocate a shoe manufacturing plant near Guadalajara. With the cheaper labor costs it made perfect sense. Matt and Rollie were the owners of a travel agency setting up helicopter and private plane tours for wealthy North Americans wanting to visit Mexico without mingling with the rabble. Kurt Rhineman was a German tourist and flew directly from Canada to Mexico City. At least that's what his German passport and visa said.

Daniels rented a Landrover in Tampico and headed for the Guadalajara sector on the National Highway. At exactly one fifteen, he stopped in the town of Leon at a rundown roadside tourist shop filled with potteries and blankets. Waves of heated air rose from the red clay and sand like shimmering ghosts. He'd arrived at siesta time and the solitary clerk, a white haired old man, snored atop a pile of Indian decorated blankets in a corner. Two men browsed on the other side of the shop behind shelves of pottery. One had a waist pouch with a red Nike logo and a Minolta camera slung around his neck by a green strap. That was the ID for the embassy contact man. The other was dressed in a white Mexican shirt with baggy tan pants and sandals. Daniels walked up to them and said the code words.

"Daniels for extraction."

"Harvey," said the man with the Minolta. "This is Mr. Carlos Garcia. He is our asset in Zacotacas."

Zacotacas was the town nearest to the Durand's compound.

Carlos nodded. The Mexican had dark eyes over a frowning forehead partially covered by long straight dark hair. A bushy mustache jumped amidst the sun-browned creases of his mouth and cheeks.

"Mr. Garcia brokers things in Zacotacas. It is known that a small North American manufacturer is coming to find a place to build facilities and relocate a shoe manufacturing business. We had the word passed down from one of our business contacts in Mexico City. You can spend the day driving through the surrounding area with Carlos and not raise suspicions."

The mission plan called for a one-day reconnaissance as the other elements assembled. The rescue would take place the following night.

Daniels left the souvenir stand ahead of the others and drove the rest of the way. Zacotacas is a little town deriving most of its income from tourists passing through to nearby Guadalajara.

Daniels parked the Landrover in front of the only hotel. The place was a two story wood building that looked more like a warehouse someone had dressed up. He paid a sleepy looking clerk for a four nights stay. The room held one sagging bed with no blankets or cover, no need for one since there was no air conditioning. A solitary coarse wood dresser and a porcelain sink with patterned brown stains completed the ensemble of this Mexican Ritz-Carlton. Daniels brought in the suitcase with the concealed equipment and stashed it under the bed. He opened the laptop and expended the special antenna providing a secured direct satellite contact through Langley. Each team member had a similar laptop. The computer linked up and the messaging panel showed on screen. Daniels typed in his code and received two messages.

BETA-001

CHARLIE-001

The team was in place and ready. Daniels sent the reply:

ALPHA-002. Stand by. Expect the GO signal in two days.

Daniels had left a message at the front desk that he was expecting a Mr. Carlos Garcia who had been hired to assist in locating the site for the shoe factory. There had been previous inquiries and messages so it was known that a North American company wanted to set up shop in Zacotacas.

Nothing in the plan required any forward information or action in Mexico. The team carried all they needed and the informants were unaware of what went on. Carlos would be the first outsider to learn the details since he was a participant. From the time they would meet at the hotel, early the next morning, Carlos would stay with Daniels. At this point Daniels trusted no one outside of the team members. He wasn't very concerned about the missing informant, Antonio. The only thing he could have known was that US agents were asking questions. Not exactly ground breaking information for the Durands.

They were on schedule to go in thirty-six hours.

Chapter 9

Carlos, Mexico,

Town of Zacotacas,

Guadalajara Sector.

The one thing Carlos Garcia wanted above all was to avoid the Durand brothers. As the millennium came around, the influence of the Durands grew like a monstrous octopus. The tentacles spread far and wide as the head rooted deeper into Zacotacas and the surrounding countryside. Each year, the composition of the patrons at Carlos' Cantina changed a little more. From the
Campesinos
and locals employed by the factories in Guadalajara, their hands and weary faces ground by the hard labor, to a different kind of men.

Those men had more
Pesos
and spent them freely as if money was easy to get in Mexico. They would come dressed in finer clothes then could be found in Zacotacas. They were also more demanding and harsh. Carlos could feel their cruel edge like a vicious undercurrent. Although they generally behaved themselves, an aura of violence hovered around them like a dark mantle, restrained but ready to burst out.

As he drove the old Ford pickup toward Daniels' hotel, Carlos thought that avoiding the Durands and their crew was like getting thrown into a small tank with a large octopus. You couldn't avoid the tentacles there was nowhere to go without being involved.

Carlos felt something reassuring about Daniels. The man seemed to have an undercurrent of strength like a jungle animal. The North American was the only way out for him, Mama and Rosa. Especially Rosa. Carlos thought he would die happily if he could be sure his little sister Rosa would be all right. He worried about them all the time.

Carlos parked the truck behind the hotel in a cloud of blue oily smoke. He slammed the sagging door shut. Flecks of rust fell from the fender as he turned and walked through the rear door. Richard Daniels watched him come in from his place at the rough wood table in the kitchen.

Daniels' face broke into a grin. He was finishing a mug of black Mexican coffee and a day old tortilla. It was six AM and he had roused a sleepy kitchen helper with a five dollar US bill.

"Breakfast of champions," said Daniels waving his mug.

"
Madre De Dios
, whoever said
Gringos
have good taste. That's pig swill, we will have lunch at the Cantina. I will make sure you have decent food."

They drove in Daniels' Landrover, following the narrow potholed road to the
Nacionale Numero 3
, a somewhat better, two-lane road. A few miles further they turned into a dusty one-lane road that wasn't much more than a trail. They continued as the road wound its way up a long, low incline that peaked on a wide boulder strewn plateau. From this point the Durand's compound was visible, sprawled in the rocky valley below.

Daniels spent over two hours studying the compound and surrounding areas. The satellite surveillance photos may have been accurate, but Daniels had to see for himself, had to get the feel of it.

They shared a quart bottle of water from the ice filled cooler.

"You seen enough,
Pandejo
, you know what you gonna do?"

"Maybe," Daniels said as he threw the empty bottle in the back of the Landrover.

Not a word more, thought Carlos, he won't let me in on it until the last minute. Maybe that's good he thought—cautious is better.

They rode back to town, the windows open and the dusty hot air blowing through the Landrover. Daniels never used the air conditioning, didn't like the sluggishness that assailed him when exiting from the refrigerated interior to the outside furnace blast of Mexico.

"Listen
Compadre
," said Carlos on the way back, "you know what the deal is right? You know my price? I gotta have, like, some kind of insurance before this goes down, you know?"

Daniels turned and looked at Carlos for a long moment before answering.

"Yeah, I know," said Daniels. "We bring you, your mother and sister to the US."

"Like I said, what insurance do I have? If you pull this off and I get left behind, we're dead."

"I know your history
Amigo
," replied Daniels. "You got no choice. The Durand brothers own your ass. There's no way you can pay back what you owe them. But there's one thing I don't understand. Why did you get into those card games with Aquilino and Hector Durand? Couldn't you figure out what was going to happen? Playing with them is like getting into a pissing contest with a skunk. There's no way you can win."

Carlos slammed his hand on the steel dash of the Landrover.

"
Hijo De Puta
," he shouted, "you think I don't know that? You think I have, like a choice? Let me tell you a little story
Compadre
. There was a man named Raff who was the shoemaker in Zacotacas. He was a good man, minded his business, never bothered anybody. All he wanted was to fix shoes and make enough to feed and take care of his wife and kids, a good man. Then one day, this, this...
Maricone
," Carlos spat the word, his mouth contorted, the mustache dancing on his lip. Daniels watched the emotions transforming Carlos' face as he relived the story.