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Josh wanted to kiss Lilly right then and there and haul her beautiful ass off to his room to follow through with his promise. He would exhaust her physically, mentally, and emotionally so she would sleep for twelve hours.
But he couldn’t. Ed was waiting for him, and he had a task force briefing in Cancun in ninety minutes.
Loud enough for the others to hear, he said, “Thanks, Lilly. I’d appreciate it if you’d bring it by my room later tonight.”
Her stunned expression was priceless as her eyes darted to the table and back to him. “What am I bringing?” she whispered.
He couldn’t help but tease her. Stepping closer to her, he whispered back, “Condoms. Extra large, please.” When her eyes got huge, he chuckled softly. “Got that covered, tiger Lilly. I was a SEAL for twenty years. We’re always prepared.”
He started to reach for her, then quickly stepped back. “You are the only thing I want tonight.”
“But what am I supposed to pick up for you?” The bewildered look on her face was cute.
“Whatever you want.” His mind raced through a long list of what he’d like to lick off her body. Champagne. Whipped cream. Ice cream. He wasn’t a fan of chocolate but knew most women were. He wouldn’t mind Lilly licking the sweet sauce off anything on his body she wanted. He could almost feel the way her soft hair would tickle his hips as she went down on him, her hot tongue licking up his shaft then across the swollen head.
Fuck. He was hard. And her family was waiting for him to turn around. Forcing his mind in a different direction, he needed to answer her question. Did he need something at the store? He catalogued the contents of his suitcase, in case he really did need something. He’d learned years ago, if he didn’t have it, he could do without it. If he truly needed it, he’d simply go buy it, no matter what it was.
No, he had everything.
Except a gift for Jack and Jillian. He’d planned on giving them his standard wedding gift because it was always the right color, usually the right size, something they could use and never got returned...a check. But after spending time with the couple, he wanted to give them something more personal as well.
“Pick out a wedding gift for me, would you please?” At her astonishment, he lied, “I guess I left it on my dresser at home.”
She seemed to accept that excuse. “I’ll look, but no guarantees.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” Josh checked his watch again then removed his suit jacket. “I need to go. See you tonight.”
“Maybe.” Lilly’s single word actually gave him hope as he strode across the quad, folding the dark jacket neatly over his arm and holding it in front of his erection.
Ten minutes later, in an armored SUV headed toward Cancun, Ed spoke in only slightly accented English. “So, you’re staying in the Girard compound?”
Josh explained about the sewer line break in his hotel. “Do you have any indication that was more than a misfortunate accident and coincidence that I was staying at that specific hotel?”
“That place was built cheap years ago.” Ed ran his large hand through thick brown hair that was a little long by military standards but shorter than most people wore. “We’ve noticed a lot of chatter lately but nothing with your name. There’s something big happening soon. Can’t seem to get any details though.”
Josh grunted in acknowledgement.
Ed gave him a hard glance. “We were hoping that was why you were here and called for this meeting.”
“We’ll cover my purpose for being in Mexico in the meeting, but I know several of your ops lately haven’t been as big as expected.” Josh was asking several questions in that statement. He waited for the federal agent’s response. Anybody could be a mole.
He glanced Josh’s way then back to the road. “You were Jack’s commanding officer?”
“Yes.” He kept his answer short. If the man wanted to know something he could ask the right questions.
“You were a Navy SEAL like Jack?” Interesting question, but Josh understood why. Not all commanders had in-theater experience. Josh had years of covert ops, in jungles, deserts, mountains, highly-populated cities and bum-fuck nowhere.
“I started with a squad of eight men and retired after commanding over a thousand of the best trained warriors on this planet.” That information about Josh Madden was available to the public. “Anything beyond that is probably classified.”
Ed gave his answer a hard nod. “We have a leak somewhere in our organization that is reporting to the Los Zetas cartel. Probably more than one. What do you know about organized crime in Mexico?”
Josh had been briefed by the CIA and ATF for two days last week. “The Los Zetas cover the largest territory from Belize to half of the Southern Texas boarder all along the Gulf of Mexico. They are expected to reassert their dominance now that El Chapo escaped from your maximum-security prison. On the western side of your county, Cartel Pacifico Sur and Sinaloa Federation run the area from Central America to San Diego. The mountainous region is constantly disputed but key to moving product the shorter distance into the U.S.A.”
“Arrests of kingpins like Joaquín Guzmán Loera, known to the world as El Chapo, make splashy headlines and buy us favors from the States,” Ed admitted, “but new cartels pop up replacing the old ones, each more violent that the last. It’s the poor farmers and those just trying to put food on their tables who pay the real price.”
Josh found it interesting that his driver didn’t comment further on the famous criminal’s escape.
Ed sighed. “My country has gone through a lot lately and we are trying like hell to clean it up. President Enrique Peña Nieto recently proposed centralizing control of the local police. They are so easily bought off since they aren’t paid shit. Not that we’re paid well, either, but most of the men in my district have been affected in one way or another by the atrocities of the cartels. Taking them down is personal. You can’t buy that kind of commitment.”
Josh wondered what had happened to make Ed decide on a career with the national police force.
After a long quiet pause, Ed answered Josh's unasked question. “There is nothing I hate more than a bully, and that’s all cartels are at their core. They are driven by power and money and don’t care who they hurt in the process. I can’t stand to the side and watch innocent families torn apart. Last week one of the new wanna-be-contender gangs posted a video on the fucking Internet as a warning to others who may want to take over their newly-gained territory. They had four women in a field, stripped naked to the waist, and asked them who their families supported. When they said the previous cartel, the fuckers slit their throats and lopped off their heads with machetes. These were wives and mothers they murdered.” The hatred that filled Ed’s voice was a living, breathing entity in the cab of the SUV.
Josh understood all too well. He felt the same way about Middle Eastern terrorists. Especially the splinter cell in Libya who had killed his brother.
“Are they trying to mimic ISIS?” Josh asked.
Ed chuckled. “Not hardly, my friend. The Mayans beheaded their enemies for centuries before Mohamed walked the earth. Maybe they took a lesson from us on in how to instill fear and control the masses.”
Ed veered left, away from the Hotel Zone, toward the central part of Cancun, the area where over a million people lived an urban life with all the problems of any major city in the world. The area closest to tourists was filled with spas and night clubs that were disgustingly dirty by the light of day, a far cry from the upscale Mayan Nites in the heart of the Hotel Zone. Several young boys and girls slouched against the block buildings, smoking. At first glance, Josh thought they were underdressed teenagers puffing away but realization hit him. They were prostitutes.
Although the profession was legal in Mexico, these kids looked like they should have been in junior high school rather than selling their bodies on the streets. Ed must have noticed. “That’s a growing problem, sex tourism, especially pedophilia.”
Josh’s head whipped to the other man. “Is pedophilia legal here?” He was appalled. The pit of his stomach flipped, churning what had been a great breakfast.
“No, but that doesn’t stop it.” Ed’s lips tightened. “The cartels have always been into human trafficking. It’s just as easy to smuggle people into the States as it is drugs. Same routes, same low life contacts, and they usually get some sex for their troubles.”
Josh wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. Human trafficking was a different division. He chased terrorists.
Ed continued, “We’ve found that most women consider rape the cost of passage. If a coyote takes a real interest in a young woman, he’ll keep her safe, or so she thinks. All too often he’s training her so he can get a higher price for her on the other end. A few years ago, though, the cartels discovered just how much money men will pay for children, and I’m talking both boys and girls. Some want to buy the kids, other just want to rent them for a few hours. There’s some sick motherfuckers out there.”
Josh had to remind himself that he wasn’t there to stop the constant flow of human beings into the U.S.A. That task belonged to a different division. His job was to find the coyotes moving five terrorists and prevent their entry into the United States, although they might be one and the same.
Ed pulled into a paved parking lot next to a new glass building.
“Our tax dollars hard at work.” Ed sneered. “We barely have the budget for bullets and somebody in Mexico City decided a show of presence would help fight off the cartels. Fucking politicians.”
Josh’s sentiments exactly, but for different reasons.
Ten minutes later, a rich, aromatic cup of coffee in hand, Josh sat at the head of a polished mahogany conference table, his laptop open and connected to a projector. Ed sat to his left and acted as interpreter, the Cancun division captain, Jorge Guzman, sat to Josh’s right. Members of Ed’s elite cartel and gang task force filled the lower end of the table.
Just as Josh stood to begin, the door opened and in strode a middle-aged man who wore power the way he did his custom-made suit. He was followed by two armed bruisers who took up positions on either side of the shut door. Everyone stood, the younger men at the far end snapped to attention.
With a politician’s smile and casual wave, the gentleman said in Spanish, “Seats, men. I’m here for the briefing, same as you.” He strode up to Josh, hand extended. In passable English, he greeted, “Arturo Mendoza, National Security Commissioner. It is a pleasure to have such a distinguished guest. How can we help the American government?”
Josh pasted on the smile he reserved for the rare Congressional visitor and with a firm grip, shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Might as well throw in that dash of respect. “I was about to begin.”
The right side of the table shifted to accommodate the powerful newcomer as Guzman relinquished his spot to his boss’s boss’s boss. The captain appeared slightly nervous but settled into his new chair.
Josh slipped into command briefing mode. “As far as anyone in Cancun knows, I’m here to attend the wedding of a former employee.”
“Jack Girard,” Mendoza interrupted. “A former U.S. Navy SEAL. What is his role in your operation and are his boat captains–more SEALs–also involved?”
Josh hid his initial shock that Jack and crew were obviously more than a blip on the Policía Federal Ministerial radar. “They are not involved in any way except for providing me a legitimate reason for being here.” It was mostly true, although he’d never blow Jeff “Rock Star” Lennon’s cover.
He continued as though he’d never been interrupted, clicking through various pictures of a Middle Eastern man in everything from a thawb and keffiyeh, the traditional white robes and head cloth, to a smartly-cut business suit and hand-made Italian loafers. “We have reliable intelligence that Islamic State mid-level leader Abdul-Quddus Mifsud and four other men are expected to cross into the United States through Cancun within the next week. They left their South American training camp four days ago posing as guards for a cocaine shipment. We’re not sure if it’s a regular delivery or payment for their passage into the U.S.A. Once here in Cancun, they are expected to contact the human trafficking side of the Los Zetas. Exactly how they will enter the States is still a mystery but we believe it will be via cruise ships.”
“Are you sure it’s Los Zetas?” one of the task force members asked from the other end of the table. “They have been supplementing their drug trade with human trafficking for years, but transporting terrorists is a new twist.”
“No, we’re not sure who their contacts are in Mexico,” Josh admitted. “But since Los Zetas have their fingers into all criminal pockets in this area, our educated guess was that cartel.”
“Cruise ships?” Captain Guzman asked as though Josh was insane.
“Yes, cruise ships.” Josh had the same reaction when the idea was brought to him by one of his best agents. “Every day several cruise ships—which most fly under Middle Eastern flags—dock in Mexico and release thousands of tourists. The hundreds of support staff are from seventy different countries around the world. We believe, but haven’t yet proven, that people are being smuggled aboard here in Mexico and simply walk off the docks onto U.S. soil where they meet the next link in their underground railroad.”
Another task force agent asked, “So you believe these terrorists are being hidden in this area...until their ship comes in?” A smile cracked his sun-darkened face and reached eyes that had seen too much in his young life. His wise crack brought chuckles from the men who were obviously a close team.
Ed spoke up, “While we have a growing population of Muslims here in Quintana Roo, somewhere around two hundred of them, what we do have are a lot of sympathizers who hate the United States.” With a smile, he added, “Seems your war on drugs is putting a hurt in their lucrative business. Los Zetas seems logical since they are the only ones large enough to have the right international contacts. What do you know about this man?” He nodded toward the large screen behind Josh.
“Not enough, to be honest with you.” Josh grimaced. “We’re not sure if Abdul-Quddus Mifsud is even his real name or if he gave it to himself. It’s a bit coincidental if his father actually named him Servant of the Most Holy. What we do know is that he’s extremely high in the ISIS command structure, known for getting the job done, and is supposed to coordinate a multi-city attack crippling the United States.”
“That now makes perfect sense.” Mendoza’s gaze stopped at every face around the table, assessing each man, before he stared at Josh as if some answer was written in his eyes. The politician blinked. “Nationally, we have noticed a major buildup along the northern borders of everything from people to drugs. Your Border Patrol hasn’t changed its policy or methods, so we couldn’t figure out why they are waiting to cross.”
The head of national security scanned the room once again. “It is now my belief that while your country is in crisis, the trucks will roll like an army invasion across every checkpoint. Your streets will be flooded with drugs as transportation comes to a standstill. Hiding new people will be so much easier in the chaos that will follow another attack on your country, especially if it’s larger than 9/11.” He glanced away and sighed. Visually sweeping the room filled with hardened soldiers sworn to protect their country, he admitted, “But such an event could crush Mexico.”
Josh’s brows drew together. “How so?”
“Tourism was a twelve-billion dollar industry last year, the fourth largest influx of international money into our nation,” Mendoza explained. “Seven million people would instantly be without jobs.”
Jack’s boat business. It would be demolished. And then Josh remembered the unguarded conversation the Girard family had at breakfast yesterday. Their fledgling cruise line would sink before the first ship departed Miami.
Josh had never thought about the grassroots effect of a national disaster before that very minute. On 9/11, he’d stood encased in emotional steel in the confined command center aboard a ship in the Mediterranean Sea. He’d been worried more about the five small teams of SEALs he had deployed in bad guy countries than what had happened half a world away in New York City and Washington, D.C.
Unceasing talk aboard the aircraft carrier in the days that followed had been about the military response to the terrorists’ actions rather than its effect on a nation that hadn’t been attacked in centuries. Senior officers speculated their best position to guarantee the next promotion while everyone aboard took turns and called home to assure themselves their families were safe.
As a recently promoted Lieutenant, Josh had been tapped to take over command of SEAL Team Four, a promotion that had been delayed for two months afterwards as he floated in the Med awaiting official orders. In a December Change of Command ceremony, he had become responsible for over one-hundred men who put their lives on the line at the direction of those so far up his chain of command he didn’t even know their names. Or care. He had been in his element.
War seemed inevitable. Secretly, Josh had been excited about the idea. All through his childhood, as he’d moved from one Navy base to another, suppers had been filled with battle stories recounted from his father, uncles, and grandfather. Tactics had been unconsciously taught until he’d followed generations of Madden men into the U.S. Naval Academy where he’d taken classes in the technicalities of war. He’d craved the adrenaline rush of bullets flying, shit getting blown up, lives depending on his actions. He’d trained for war all his life.
That’s why he’d chosen to join the SEALs. They were out there doing something to make a better world. During the first six years of his career, the rest of the Navy practiced and trained for a war that most civilians didn’t believe would ever come. The military had been lulled by peace after Vietnam, interrupted by a few skirmishes, most often in the Middle East. The brass had bold confidence that no one would ever dare attack the continental United States.
On 9/11, that changed.
But not everything. It had been late in the afternoon of September thirteenth by the time Josh had reached his father in the Florida retirement community. The recently retired vice admiral had watched the twin towers collapse on TV, a thousand miles from danger. He’d gotten up the next morning and played golf with his buddies in their regular Wednesday league as though nothing had happened. Everywhere other than New York City and Washington, D.C., the world moved on relatively unaffected. Commercial airplanes had been grounded and thousands were inconvenienced, but the majority of working men and women arrived ready to do their jobs all across the United States. The world moved on without a hitch on September twelfth and every day since.
Mendoza’s words brought Josh out of his thoughts. “The ripple effect of another terrorist attack on the United States would be disastrous to Mexico.” Heads bobbed in agreement.
The scope of what Abdul-Quddus Mifsud could do hit Josh on a very personal level. It wouldn’t be two major cities attacked by some unknown terrorist action. No. Several sources had reported that the Islamic State planned to attack several, yes several, cities simultaneously, crippling the entire U.S.A....and the world.
Josh had to stop this man from entering the United States.
Now.