They stole through the night; thankful for the cool air and the light drizzle damping down the usual garbage stench that made the cramped side streets of the Mexican border city so noisome. A dog howled and was silenced with a whine. A light briefly showed, then a door slammed shut. In the background could be heard the hum of faint sounds, the strained heartbeat of this broken city. Far away, the sound of a truck engine receded into the distance as it continued its long journey south. A few miles to the north lay the broad sweep of the border that led to paradise, to North America. Norte Americano. But here was no paradise. This was the United Mexican States. Most people knew it as Mexico, a country of billionaires and paupers, and of hard working ‘paisans’, farmers, cooks, cleaners, truck drivers, and autoworkers. And a country of drug shippers, dealers, growers, enforcers, and the vast infrastructure that supported the most powerful, and most feared business in the country. Some economists estimated that illicit drugs constituted more than half of Mexico’s GDP. The men who traveled through the tired streets this night were one tiny link in that industry, although Jaime Morales, a twenty-year veteran, would not see himself as a tiny link in anything. He’d entered the business at age five, when he ran ten peso bags for the older boys, avoiding the gaze of the local police. A brush with the cops meant a bribe, and that hit the profits hard. The Federales were even worse, as they’d want a regular part of the take. Young Jaime had avoided all of that; he was too young and too innocent to fall under suspicion.
He’d risen rapidly through the ranks, making his bones at the age of eleven by killing a rival supplier. Eight years later, he earned the respect and awe of his peers, killing a too-greedy cop. Jaime was tough, fearless and vastly experienced, so much so that he now owned a sizable chunk of the organization, both selling product locally and shipping it across the border. He was in process negotiating for a valuable shipment that had come up from Columbia, packed in innocent cartons of infant formula. Under his crumpled, sweat-stained shirt, he had the greenbacks tucked into a specially constructed vest, a half million dollars US. He looked at his companion, in fact his muscled bodyguard, Enrico, who had paused and was looking behind them. He looked concerned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, Jefe. I thought I heard something, maybe someone following us.”
They waited, but Morales heard nothing. He playfully punched his man on the arm.
“You’re hearing things, my friend. There’s nothing there. Let’s get going. We don’t want to be late.”
They rounded a corner and stopped. A black Hummer SUV was parked right across the road, so as to block it with its steel immensity. Eight men stood across the road in a line, dressed in a variety of civilian clothing, but alike in a single detail. They were all armed. Jaime started to move a hand toward the pistol in his belt, a Glock 17 he always carried, but stopped. Enrico was swinging his own weapon, an Ingram MAC 10 machine pistol from under his coat, but Jaime stopped him too.
“Wait, not now. There are too many of them. We’ll go back.”
They turned to go back the way they’d come, but four more men stood blocking their escape. Like the ones in front, they were all armed. They carried a variety of weapons, MAC 10s, TEC 9s, and even a futuristic Steyr semi-auto, the military model assault rifle. Jaime was already working out how to make up the loss of the cash, for this was clearly a stickup, plain and simple. He turned back to face the men stood before the Hummer. A man stood next to the heavy vehicle, hands on his hips, smiling, better dressed than the others. He didn’t have a gun in his hands. This person had other men for that purpose, why would a man in his position of power and authority soil his expensive, cream linen pants with gun oil? The elegantly dressed man was the Boss, the Jefe, and the man whose word would determine life to Jaime and Enrico. Or death.
“What do you want?” Jaime shouted at him. He realized his voice was hoarse, and he made an effort to not sound as if he was afraid. Dogs like these people could scent fear. It was part of their stock in trade. “You’ve made your point! You know dammed well you’ve got us outgunned here. Tell us what you want, and we’ll sort this out. We’re all businessmen, after all. We don’t want a war.”
“That’s very wise,” the man grinned. He wore expensive, designer sunglasses, even though it was dark. “You and your man, put down your weapons.”
“No!” Jaime shouted back. “We do that and you may as well kill us. You want a fight. You can have it! If you want to rob us, you know we can’t stop you. But we’re not putting down our guns.” He spat on the ground. “Fucking hijo de puta, you think we’re loco? Tell us what you want. We’ll finish our business, and we can all go home to our families. Get it over with.”
The man stared at him through eyes hidden by the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Then he shrugged.
“Okay, if that’s what you want.”
He nodded at the men who blocked their escape. Jaime and Enrico started to turn. They knew instantly how this would go down. They’d done it themselves plenty of times. They started to draw their weapons, simultaneously throwing themselves to one side into the dust to avoid the inevitable gunfire. But the men either side of them had seen it all before too, and they were just as savvy. While their Boss calmly looked on, they dispassionately emptied the clips of their weapons into the two men, shattering the peace of the night with explosions and flashes of gunfire.
Neither Jaime nor Enrico even managed to fully draw their weapons. They went tumbling to the ground to lie in bloody, bullet-torn heaps. The Jefe lifted up his hand, and instantly the firing stopped. He walked forward to inspect the bodies. Enrico was dead, his face unrecognizable from the bullets that had shattered his face. By some miracle, Jaime was still alive, although only just. He stared up at the man who had ordered his death. His chest moved up and down as he tried to suck in his final few breaths. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He waited. The Jefe took off his sunglasses, and Jaime looked into a pair of ice-blue eyes. Strange, he looked Mexican, Hispanic, except for those eyes.
“I guess before you die you’d like to know who is taking over your operation,” he murmured quietly, almost reverently.
Jaime didn’t move, except his eyes, and they trembled a fraction. The man smiled.
“I decided that you and your brother Emilio were an obstacle to my business plans, so you had to go. He will be dead too, before long. I am sorry, but you will understand we could not let him live. Oh, and your families too, wives and kids. All dead. It’s bad business to leave behind someone who could take revenge. But you know that, don’t you, my friend?”
Jaime’s eyelids shivered again, his pupils were wide with agony, and the knowledge that his family was finished.
“I know, I know. It is sad when one’s family members have to be destroyed. But I’m sure you’ll understand. It’s business, nothing more, just business. Oh, yes, my name. It is Alberto Salazar. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”
The eyes moved slightly. The eyelids closed and then reopened.
“I thought so. My brother, Victor, he sends his regards and his condolences. We will take good care of your business, and it will become a useful part of our empire. You have built a strong organization, too strong. We thank you for that. But, of course, we could not ignore it. We had to take it over. This territory belongs to us.”
He nodded at the man who stood nearby; his gun pointed at Jaime’s head. Alberto Salazar stepped back quickly as the bullet took Jaime Morales between the eyes. He was careful not to splash his expensive linen pants with Morales’ blood, which was slowly soaking into the dust of the unpaved street. He looked around the street, the buildings, the vehicles, checking that everything was as it should be. A curtain moved slightly, and he smiled. These people would see nothing, not if they wanted to avoid the fate of these two men lying in the dust. Alberto Salazar looked around again. He was a careful man. The streets were clear. He nodded to the shooter, and they strode to the Hummer and climbed into the wide rear seats. Two of his men tumbled into the front. One started the engine, and the other held his gun ready in case Jaime had other men in the locality. Protecting the Jefe was a serious business. The rest boarded a pair of Chevrolet Suburbans, and the convoy drove off, leaving the bloody corpses for the local cops to dispose of when they finally decided to come out and ‘investigate’ the murder scene. They would not hurry, and the investigation would be perfunctory. The Salazar brothers paid well for the services of the Ciudad Juarez police.
* * *
David Lopez felt sick. He’d done well, very well, to infiltrate the Morales brothers’ drug empire. He’d done so well, he was a trusted business associate of Emilio Morales so that he traded for product on a regular basis. Morales shipped it over the border, or under the border, in one of his tunnels, and Lopez took delivery in some anonymous El Paso motel. It was a good arrangement, and the brothers had done well out of him. He’d done well out of them, or his organization had. Lopez was DEA, the United States Drug Enforcement Administration, and one of their more successful agents. The intelligence he’d forwarded to Washington on suppliers, shippers and dealers had made an impact on the US drug trade. Now everything was about to end, and he knew that he had only minutes left to live. He’d been meeting Emilio in the office inside their Ciudad Juarez warehouse, actually an autoparts business that fronted for their dealings. A heavy, yellow dump truck had rammed the doors, and before they recovered from the shock, armed men jumped down and covered them with automatic weapons. At first, he’d thought it was a drug bust and wasn’t unduly worried. Now he knew different. He glanced at Emilio Morales, who lay on the floor after a rifle butt had clubbed him down. A man stood over him, dressed almost like a Mariachi singer, minus the sombrero. But the clothes were only a nod towards the Mexican culture. These had clearly been hand sewn by a designer house a long way from Ciudad Juarez, black jacket and pants, with silver trims that were heavy and ornate. A heavy, pure white silk shirt, with a red silk scarf tied casually at the throat. Hand tooled leather boots and vastly expensive. The man was almost mocking his own culture, as if to say, ‘Hey, I’m a Mexican, just like you. But don’t try and copy the look, it’d take you a lifetime to pay the tailor’s bill. You’re down there, and I’m up here.’ He was a big man, well muscled, shining, coiffed hair, slicked down with expensive pomade. His strong face was hard, cruel and expressionless, and his dark eyes were almost like slits, with uncharacteristic blue eyes. Just like his brother, Alberto. He stood in a relaxed posture, as relaxed as a puma before it makes the final leap to take its prey. His voice was low and cultured.
“You must accept your fate, Emilio. Arguing with me is a waste of time. You’re going to die, and so is every one of your family and associates. Accept it, and die well, like a man.” He gave an icy chuckle, almost like water tumbling down a drain. “Although I guess I don’t really care how you die. Dead is dead, eh, Emilio?”
Morales lifted his head. “Victor, my family, you do not need to kill them. Let them go.”
Victor Salazar smiled with amusement. “Let them go? Are you serious?”
He looked at the others who stood in a group, along with David Lopez, two women, the wives of Emilio and Jaime Morales, and five children.
“I am sorry, real sorry. But I cannot let any of you live. That would be bad business, plain loco. If you want to say a prayer before you die, go ahead, but make it quick.”
“You fucking piece of filth,” one of the women shouted, and she ran towards Salazar, her fingers hooked ready to claw his face. One of his men raised his pistol. There was a flash and a loud explosion, and she fell dead at his feet. He shrugged.
“Stupid to show yourself up in front of your kids,” he nodded to his men. “Kill them, all of them.”
They raised their weapons, and David Lopez made one, last desperate effort to head off the inevitable.
“Stop, don’t do this. I’m an agent of the DEA! They’ll come after you with everything they’ve got if you kill me.”
Salazar looked bored. “DEA, I eat the fucking DEA for breakfast.” He looked at the man nearest to Lopez. “You can kill Mr. DEA agent first.”
“No…..”
The last sounds Lopez heard were the reports of the three bullets that slammed into his body. He felt a terrible pain, then numbness. There was a roaring in his ears, and his vision began to go fuzzy and fade. Then everything went black.
* * *
Chief Petty Officer Kyle Nolan waited while the physician checked through pages of printouts and graphs. A Navy Seal feared very little; their training kept them at the very peak of physical fitness. As for military skills, the Seals had few peers in the world. They had enemies, plenty of enemies, enemies they’d gone up against and decisively beaten. Enemies who’d learned to fear them. But there were others too, ones you couldn’t see and couldn’t fight, like the enemy within. That was a different matter. How could you fight something you couldn’t take down with a burst of gunfire? Cancers, tumors, leukemia, they couldn’t be fought using the Seals’ fearsome array of martial skills. Instead, it was necessary to rely on people like this short, bespectacled, plump doctor, a man with his own special range of skills, and who was taking his time to give a final verdict. Finally, he looked up at the man in front of him. He saw a tall man, six-one, according to his chart. He was lean, with the kind of features some people called chiseled. The doctor guessed most women would find him handsome, and he felt a twinge of envy. His face was average, yet there was something about him. Something that was anything but average. Maybe it was the strong, determined chin and calm, clear eyes that seemed to focus in the distance, yet remained aware of what lay immediately in front of them. They were the color of a clear blue sky. It was hard to pin it down, but a stranger meeting this man would know that he was anything but normal. His thick, dark brown hair was cut short at the front, so there was no danger of it falling over his eyes while he was shooting, although he had no way of knowing why his patient adopted such an unusual style.
“Mr. Nolan, how long is it since you last experienced one of these blackouts?”
They’d started after his wife was killed, and more than once had struck him down during a mission. As a result, he’d paid to consult this civilian doctor. If there were a chance of something that could affect his military career, he’d deal with it himself. That was his way. Besides, it was no business for a Navy physician, who could bench him. Or even put him on the beach, permanently. Service docs were good, but everything they wrote down would stay in his service jacket forever. He’d keep it private for as long as possible.
“About four months, Doc.”
The doc nodded, hummed and muttered. “Four months, yes, I see. Well, this chart doesn’t look too bad.”
“So am I in the clear?”
The doc looked into space, thinking to himself. Then he looked at Nolan who was watching the medic’s small, careful eyes hidden behind thick lenses, waiting for the verdict. He blinked and instinctively looked away. “What kind of work do you do, Mr. Nolan?”
“I’m a businessman, Doc. I travel around, sorting out my company’s problems, that sort of thing.”
“Hmm, I have to say for a businessman, you have astonishingly good health. In fact, you’re probably the fittest patient I’ve ever had in this office. Do you work out?”
“Oh, yeah, all the time.”
“That explains it, I guess.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Yes, I’d say you’re in the clear. There’s nothing showing on the printouts, so I’d guess your problems were due to a recent emotional trauma. Did anything happen?”
“My wife, she…” He had to work hard to get the words out. “She was killed.”
“Ah!” His expression brightened. “In that case, I’d say it was definitely temporary, a stress reaction. But if you feel it coming on again, you’ll need to come back, and we’ll look into it further. In the meantime, here’re some pills for you to take, just a mild sedative to calm things down in your life. Try and stay away from anything too physical or challenging.”
“Okay, Doc. Thanks.”
He took the small, brown bottle of pills and left the office. Outside, he found a rusting dumpster overflowing with garbage, and pushed the little bottle well down inside. There was only one solution he’d ever found to most of life’s problems, and it wasn’t to be found in any bottle. It was to be found in one place. Action.
He checked his military wristwatch and hurried to his red Camaro; he was running late. He’d promised to pick the kids up from school. His in-laws, Grace’s parents, John and Violet Robson, looked after his two children when he was away, but when he had any time, he spent every possible minute of it with them. It would take them more than a few months to get over the loss of their mother, and as good as John and Violet were, they needed their father. He hit the gas pedal hard and weaved his way through the bustling San Diego traffic, enjoying the adrenaline rush of threading the big, powerful car through the dawdling traffic. Horns spat out their protest, and fists waved at someone who would dare to upset the normal, stately but chaotic procession of rush hour traffic, but he ignored them all. On this afternoon, he felt good to be alive.
He screeched to a halt with a stink that was a mix of tarmac and hot rubber, parking his Camaro outside the school. He was surprised when the Principal, Madeleine Packer, came out of the main door and waved for him to go inside the school. He opened the car door, climbed out and walked inside to find her office.
Oh, shit, what’ve the kids done now? Had one of them been involved in a fight? Or was their work falling behind, God only knows they had enough on their young plates.
He knocked and went in, feeling more like a truant schoolboy than a US Navy Chief Petty Officer and member of one of the world’s elite military units.
“How can I help you, Ma’am?” he asked the stern looking woman, after she’d indicated a chair, and he’d sat down.
Did anyone ever refuse the order of a school principal?
He looked around at the office; the usual mix of bookshelves packed with an eclectic range of books, box files bulging with documents, photographs and certificates on the walls, and heavy dark wooden furniture placed on a slightly worn carpet.
Persian probably. I’ve seen similar rugs in that country. At least this one isn’t stained with the blood of an enemy.
“It’s more how I can help you,” she replied, peering at him over the rims of her half-moon spectacles. She had a thin face, dark brown hair and eyes, and a trim, disciplined body clad in a smart business suit, over which she’d draped a string of heavy pearls. Her hair was presented like the rest of her, neat and trim. She was a picture of efficiency and no-nonsense authority, and he surprised himself by admitting that she awed and unnerved him. He laughed inside at his own hangover from his schooldays.
“Do your children, Daniel and Mary, have any relations who are of Mediterranean descent, possibly Hispanic, maybe even Arab?”
He was puzzled by the question, but instantly on alert.
What the hell is this? Racial profiling?
“No, nothing, my own ancestry is Irish, going back several generations, and their mother was Caucasian American, as far back as anyone can remember. What’s this all about? Have the kids been saying something they shouldn’t?”
“No, they haven’t. It’s nothing like that. But we were concerned that someone of that ethnicity seemed to be watching them earlier. I guess we’re all much more careful about the security of our schools these days, and we look out for anything strange or out of place. These people, it was two men, have been seen outside the school on a few occasions just lately. At first, we didn’t know who or what they were interested in, but when we saw them looking especially at Daniel and Mary, I thought I’d best ask you about any relatives that may be looking out for them. Or anything else, any reason they might be watching.”
“You did the right thing. You know what I do for a living?”
“You’re in the Navy, Mr. Nolan?”
“That’s right, Ma’am, a special part of the Navy, the Seals. Our work tends to be very sensitive. Sometimes we deal with matters of National Security.”
“I see. You think this may be connected with your employment?”
“I can’t see how it couldn’t be, but it’s possible. It could be that they’re planning some kind of an operation. Possibly revenge for something I’ve been involved with in the past. Yeah, it could be they’re planning a kidnap, or maybe even worse.”
There was only one crime worse than kidnap. Murder. Their eyes met. He gave her a challenging stare.
“Does that worry you, Ma’am?”
She stared right back at him. “Of course it worries me, Mr. Nolan. I run a school, and I have the safety of my children to consider. But I’m also an American, and if these people are enemies of America, we need to deal with them, not run from them. One thing I can promise you, I personally will not run scared from anyone, terrorist or otherwise. Tell me what can I do?”
He smiled his thanks. Plenty of principals would have politely asked him to take Daniel and Mary out of school until the threat was over.
“Nothing at the moment, but I’ll talk to our people, and see what measures they can take to look into this and counter any problems, if there are any. There could be an innocent explanation, although I doubt it. In the meantime, let me know if you see these people hanging around again. I’d like to have a word with them. A photograph would be useful, if you ever saw them and had the chance to take a snapshot without endangering anyone.”
She smiled. “I’ll do my best. But I suspect you’d want to do more than have a word with them. I seem to recall that the Navy Seals are not known for polite conversation with their enemies.”
“That’s right, Ma’am, we’re not. I’ll take the kids home now, and let you know later what our people decide to do to about this problem. Can I call you at home?”
“Sure.” She gave him a card with her cellphone number on it. “Call me anytime. And if there’s anything we can do, we’ll be glad to help.”
He thanked her and went outside in time to catch his kids who’d just emerged into the schoolyard. Mary ran into his arms and gave him a huge hug. Daniel stood politely to one side, too much of a man to demean himself with such sloppy behavior. Nolan drove them home in the Camaro, looking around carefully as they went into his Craftsman house, the home he’d shared with Grace. It still made him think of her. Every time he set foot inside it, he thought of her. There were no strangers lurking, no obvious watchers. Their kid’s gray haired grandparents, John and Violet Robson, were waiting at the door to greet them. Despite their obvious age, they were both fit and active, if a little podgy. He grinned at the thought; they were entitled to relax at their age. He nodded a greeting, went in and allowed Daniel and Mary to finish telling him in stark detail about the highlights of their day. Then he sent them to do their homework on the laptop computers in their bedrooms. He smiled ruefully as they made their feelings plain.
“But, Dad, we never do our homework straight after school. Mom always used to let us play for a time.”
“I know that, Daniel.” The mention of Grace stabbed him like a knife, but he went on. “It’s just for now, kids, only the once. I need to talk to your grandparents for a short time. I’ll call you both back down when we’re done.”
After they’d left, John and Violet Robson waited for an explanation.
“What’s wrong, Kyle? What’s happened? Are you ill?”
He shook his head.
Thankfully, that shouldn’t be a problem, not now.
He explained about the people who they thought had been watching the kids at the school. John Robson shook his head in disbelief.
“Are you sure about that? I haven’t seen anyone suspicious, and I’ve taken and picked up the kids from school a number of times.”
“I think I saw something!” They looked at Violet. “It was only yesterday when I collected them after school. I noticed two men in a gray Toyota Compact. I hadn’t seen them before. I wondered who they were at the time, as they seemed so out of place. You know, with all of this worry over pedophiles and so on. They were Middle Eastern too. At least I thought they were. It seemed strange at the time. I hadn’t seen any Arab kids in the school. But then I thought they might be maintenance men, and I didn’t think about it again until just now.”
“They weren’t Hispanic?”
“I don’t think so, no. There was something about them, but no, they were definitely Arabs. But I didn’t realize they were watching Daniel and Mary.” She looked fearful. “I guess I wasn’t looking for it.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“I’m going talk to our people about it,” Nolan said. “They can check it all out for us. It may be something, and it may be nothing.”
After another silence, John Robson put his hand on Nolan’s arm. “Kyle, we should take them away for a short time. It may not be safe here, you know that.”
“Christ, John, they’re all I’ve got,” he replied angrily. “After Grace was killed, I, well, you know.” He was quiet for a few moments, but his mind was working furiously.
Why am I thinking of myself? It’s the kids’ welfare at stake here, not mine.
He nodded. “You’re right. Daniel and Mary need to be somewhere safe while we track down these people and deal with them. Can you take them somewhere safe?”
John nodded. “We have our vacation place up near Santa Barbara. We can take a break for a few days, a couple of weeks, or however long it takes. We’re retired, so it doesn’t matter much to us either way. But the kids will miss you a lot. Why don’t you come up with us?”
Nolan was tempted, very tempted. They were all he had left, except for the Seals, his other family. And he could extend his leave. They’d understand.
“No, I have to stay and take care of this problem. I can’t let these people drive my family away from their home, without find a way to put a stop to them.”
“Will the Navy help you out?”
“Sure, of course they will. And I’ll talk to that detective in the San Diego PD, Carol Summers. She’ll look into it.”
They both looked up sharply when he mentioned her name.
“What?”
“She seems very nice,” Violet murmured. Her face was expressionless.
“Yeah, sure, she is, but I don’t have time for that sort of thing,” he replied. “Grace was my life. I can’t just forget her. She was very nice too,” he added drily.
“Of course, but don’t you leave it too long,” Violet continued. “Grace was our daughter, but there are the children she left behind for us all to consider. They could do with someone, you know. It’s not disloyal to Grace to think along those lines.”
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, embarrassed and angry. It was his life, and the kids’, not theirs.
“I’ll make a call and ask Carol to look into this business. Then I’m going to the base, and I’ll talk to the guys about it. But first off, I’ll go up and say goodnight to the kids and tell them about their unexpected vacation.”
Kids always seemed to know more than you thought they did. He’d found that out very quickly. It was called ‘being a father’.
“A vacation! Is that because of those camel jockeys hanging around the school? Are you going to kill them, Dad?”
He kept down a smile. “You mean Arabs. No, Daniel, they may be just innocent people going about their business, but I need to check them out. Your grandparents will take you first thing in the morning, and I’ll be up to Santa Barbara to see you when I can get away.”
“You kick their asses, Dad,” Mary exclaimed. “Give ‘em hell. Nuke ‘em!”
He nodded at her, unsurprised by her choice of words. Kids nowadays learned their language and culture from computers and the Internet.
“Believe me, Mary, if their asses need kicking, I’ll do it.”
When he climbed into his Camaro, he didn’t drive away immediately. He used his cell to call Detective Carol Summers of the San Diego PD. He’d spent all his spare time lately with the kids. And despite their previous close friendship, he’d had little time for her recently, so she was understandably a mite cool.
“I’m busy right now, Kyle. What was it you wanted?”
“How’d you know I wanted something?”
“Because it’s the only time you ever call me, lately.”
He winced. That was a blow below the belt, but he knew he deserved it.
“I’ve been busy, with work and the kids. You know how it is.”
How could I sound so lame? She’s a great girl, and she deserves better.
“Yeah, I know how it is. I rate a poor third,” she responded bitterly.
“Dammit, that’s not fair, Carol. It’s been pretty hectic just lately, what with work and the family,” he snapped. More sharply than he’d intended.
Christ, I’ve had enough problems on my plate.
“Whatever.” Now she sounded pissed. “Tell me what you want.”
He rapidly gave her the lowdown on the mysterious middle-easterners who’d been maintaining some kind of surveillance on the kids. Her attitude changed instantly.
“That sounds like it could be a serious problem. I’ll check it out myself. What about NCIS, have you talked to them?”
“I’m on my way into the base now, but I’m not hopeful. They weren’t any use when Grace was killed.”
“It’s not easy for them, Kyle. They have their own jurisdictions and rules, just like we do in the SDPD.”
“That won’t help my kids.”
“No, of course not. I’ll do what I can. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what I’ve come up with. I really am on a case now. It’s a murder, very nasty I’m afraid, and it can’t wait.”
“Yeah, I get it, jurisdictions and rules. I’ll call you tomorrow, so long.”
He hung up, angry with both her and himself.
Dammit! She was investigating a murder. He should have cut her more slack.
He didn’t bother with NCIS, not yet. His first stop was to find his buddies, his platoon, Bravo Platoon. A few of them would be in Popeye’s, the local bar frequented by Frogs and Squids, Seals and Navy guys.
He took out his anger with himself on the car, stamping down on the gas pedal and cutting a across a passing cab threading its way through the traffic. The driver hooted angrily, leaned out, glared, and gave him the finger. He let it go and went straight to the waterfront, to Popeye’s. At least some things never changed; Art in his usual place behind the bar, the stink of stale beer, and trophy mementos tacked to the wall. Lieutenant Talley was there, the platoon leader. As ever, when he was off duty, he wore tinted aviator glasses and a lightweight, beige Italian-cut suit. He rarely smiled. He was a serious man, who took the job of getting his men into and out of their missions with minimal casualties. He was tall, narrow, and long-limbed, with curling, dark brown hair over a long, pale face. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully. Talley was always meticulous, always made sure he said what he meant, and his men understood he meant what he said. His record was second to none within the Seal platoons, and he was a popular choice for the most difficult missions. He was with Vince Merano, Kyle Nolan’s opposite number. He was of Italian extraction, short, dark, and built like a wrestler. Vince was the second unit sniper and worked in parallel with Nolan. Will Bryce, the big, tough, black PO2 sat nearby with Carl Winters, the ace demolition man who just lived for blowing things up. Carl was a lean, hard, tough fighter, and a veritable wizard with explosives. He often claimed with a grin that blowing things up was his sole passion.
“Hi, Chief,” Talley greeted Nolan. “Come and join us for a beer.”
“Yeah, I will, but I need to have a word with you guys.”
Art Winkelmann, the retired Navy Master Chief who ran the bar, poured him a beer, and the Seals moved to a quiet corner table. Nolan explained their suspicions about the characters the kids’ school.
“If these guys are targeting our families, Seals or Navy families, it could be the start of a new terrorist attack. On the other hand, it may be a revenge hit against me personally, for something in the past. Either way it needs to be dealt with, and fast. I told Detective Carol Summers, and she’ll be taking a look into it. But I figure it may need more than that, something more direct, and I’m not talking NCIS. Those guys were no help before.”
“So the kids will be away on vacation until this is resolved, until it blows over?” Talley asked, his face grave with concern.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Good. Listen, Chief, whatever needs to be done, we’ll get it done, you know that. But we’re due to ship out in a couple of days, so right now, it will have to be handed over to NCIS. I’ll talk to ‘em myself, and make sure they do a job of it this time.” He looked at the others, who were staring at him in surprise.
“Where’re we going?” asked Will Bryce. “This is news to us.”
Talley looked around the bar, but there was no one within earshot.
“You’ll know soon enough, so I guess there’s no reason in keeping it secret. A senior jarhead, Major General Allan Hicks, USMC, his nephew was murdered down in Ciudad Juarez. There’s a new gang in town, Colombians, the Salazar family. They’re trying to take over the opposition. And that means killing them off.”
The men grimaced at the name of the infamous murder capital of Mexico. Ciudad Juarez.
“That shithole,” Carl murmured.
“Yeah, tell me about it. The poor guy was undercover with DEA. He got caught up in the crossfire between rival drug gangs, and they executed him.”
“And the good General wants revenge,” Bryce nodded.
Talley shrugged. “I believe the brass would call it justice, but yeah, something like that. I think they’ve got a point. If these criminal gangs think they can go around bumping off US government officials, well, we need to disabuse them of that notion. But that’s not my decision. We go where they say, do or die.”
“Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die,” Will Bryce intoned.
A line from Tennyson’s poem about the ill-fated Charge of the Light Brigade, Talley grinned.
“Yeah, well, I expect we’ll do better than those poor bastard cavalry. We leave in forty-eight hours, and the mission is to find these people, these Salazar brothers who’re responsible for killing this General’s kid. They want ‘em out of business, permanently.”
“So it’s another kill mission?” Kyle asked quietly.
Talley nodded. “It’s vital that we entirely destroy their infrastructure, and that means their equipment, transport and personnel. Everything and everyone that’s connected to their operation is toast. We go in, hit them hard, and get out.”
“Ciudad Juarez is a major battleground,” Nolan pointed out. “The drug gangs have whole armies of soldiers, and they’re well armed and equipped.” He looked thoughtful. “We’ll need to keep the mission objective real tight, get in hard, and get out fast. A protracted battle would hurt us badly.”
They all nodded as Talley continued. “I agree, and that’s exactly what I told the brass. They’re giving us plenty of support. The General made it clear. He wants their people taken down, so anything we want; it’s ours. But this operation in Ciudad Juarez will hit only a small part of the wider drug empire. It’ll hit the tip of the iceberg. If this one goes well, and the brass decides on follow-up operations, it’s something we’ll likely be involved in later.”
“ What about the Mexican government, do they know we’re going in?” Nolan asked.
Talley shook his head. “Not this time. If we tell anyone over there what we’re planning, especially the local cops or Federales, we may as well tell the Salazar brothers direct. No, this one is under the radar.”
Nolan was thankful his kids would be away while he was working. There were dangers across the border and possible dangers here in California. He wondered who the hell was targeting his family. During his long service, he’d taken out a number of America’s enemies, so it could be any of them. Terrorists, drug dealers, or even a pedophile gang, although the latter would fall inside the province of the San Diego PD. And that meant Carol Summers. So if it were pedophiles, he’d have to rely on her people. He shuddered. It would be better for those particular undesirables if he never got his hands on them. He looked up as he realized the men were talking quietly about the coming mission.
“We’ll be taking the new guy, Roscoe Bremmer. It’ll be his first live mission with the Seals, so keep an eye on him,” Talley was saying.
“Are you sure he’s ready?” Will asked him. “The kid’s got a lot to learn. I’m not totally convinced.”
Like Will Bryce, Roscoe Bremmer was black. But unlike Bryce, he was from wealthy middle-class parents; his father was a successful dentist. And also unlike Bryce, he had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, which he used to constantly needle and irritate those around him. Talley knew exactly what Will meant.
“Let’s give him a break, I think he’s ready.”
The Lieutenant looked at Nolan, who shrugged. “It’s your call, Boss.”
“But you’re not comfortable with taking him along?”
“I didn’t say that, no. He’s been well trained, and he has to start somewhere. I guess he’ll learn.” He looked at Bryce. “Will, you need to cut him some slack.”
“If you say so,” Will mumbled. “I guess he’d go screaming to the ACLU if we didn’t take him along.”
“Okay, that’s settled,” said Talley, quickly ending the discussion. “Chief, I’ll talk to the NCIS guys in the morning. We’ll get them looking into this business with your kids. I think that takes care of everything. We’ll have a detailed briefing in the morning. I suggest we don’t waste any more of our drinking time.”
Nolan was thoughtful as he drove home afterwards. He hated being separated from the kids when their security was threatened. But he had a job to do. He resolved to talk to Carol again in the morning. But in the event, he didn’t have to wait quite so long. In the early hours, he was awoken from a restless sleep by the ring of his cell.
“Yeah, who is it?”
“Kyle, it’s Carol. I’ve been looking at this business of these characters hanging around the school.”
He looked at the clock on his bedside; the expensive alarm clock that Grace had bought him when he joined the Seals because it was so reliable. It had a small motif on the front, a smiling dolphin. It was an insider joke. He noted her voice sounded weary.
“Christ, Carol, it’s three thirty. Are you still at work?”
“Yeah, that murder case took some time to sort out, but we’ve got the guy safely locked away now. I pulled everything we’ve got on reports of middle-east type strangers in the area. Traffic stops and violations, petty crime, that sort of stuff, anything that links to an Arab name or ethnicity. The thing is, one of our officers did stop a Toyota compact night before last, a Corolla. He took details of the driver and passenger, and he called them in. They were fake.”
“Did he arrest them?”
“He tried, but they waved a gun in his face and drove off. This officer said they were possibly Afghans, but he couldn’t be sure. We had another report they looked like South Americans, Colombians. We’re looking for them now, and there’s an APB out, but so far no luck.”
So they could have been anyone, Afghans or Colombians, or maybe someone else entirely.
The only thing he was sure of was that it was revenge for some mission he’d carried out. He’d done a good few operations in Afghanistan and South America, including Colombia, so there were more than a few people with reason to be pissed. He heard Carol’s voice as she continued.
“I will keep working on it, Kyle. Are you planning on calling round my place?”
“I can’t.” He told her about shipping out and felt a wave of disappointment down the phone line. “Can I take a rain check?”
“Okay.” Her voice was cool, expressionless. “I’ll send you a text if I get anywhere with it. What about the kids?”
“Their grandparents are taking them on vacation, Santa Barbara.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. It’s a good distance from San Diego. Listen, Kyle, if I do find out anything more, how do you want to play it? I mean do you want me to tip you the wink first, or get my people onto it straight away? I know it’s sensitive, with you being a Navy Seal.”
Christ, they’re trying to harm my kids! I want to kill them!
“I’ll handle it, Carol, don’t worry. When I find these characters, they go down, and personally, I don’t give a shit about jurisdiction. I won’t need warrants, lawyers or any of that crap. There’s nothing in my life more important than the kids, nothing. Not even the Seals. Nothing.”
There was a silence on the line, and he realized he’d been less than generous to her.
Why didn’t I include her? After all, she means a lot to me. I’ve lost too many people who were close to me. Maybe that’s it. I can’t lose any more.
Even so he should have reassured her, but it was too late, he’d dropped the ball.
“Yeah, right, I’ll keep in touch, Kyle.” Her voice had cooled even more, if that was possible. “Good luck on your mission, wherever it is.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
When he hung up the phone, he had a lot to think about. How could he return any warmth and affection, godammit! He’d told her it was too soon, on more than one occasion. He’d lost so much! And now there was a threat to his kids he had to take care of! They weren’t just his son and daughter; they were the only real link back to his wife Grace, their mother who’d been killed in a drive-by shooting during a drug war. When he looked at them, he saw Grace. He knew that for her memory, even if for no other reason, he’d do anything to keep them safe.
And my career in the Seals; am I being selfish? Should I be thinking of giving up to spend more time with Daniel and Mary?
No, he didn’t even need to think about that. The Navy Seals existed to keep Americans safe from outside threats, all Americans, so his work directly contributed towards Daniel and Mary’s safety. If it came to it, he would resign from the service, but he knew he could do more for them by staying in. Without access to the immense resources of the Seals, his family could be rendered almost defenseless against these anonymous threats. And that was all that mattered to him, Daniel and Mary. All that was left of Grace, all he had to come home to. He’d give his life for them if necessary. Yet Kyle Nolan was no fool. He understood that while he was on the Ciudad Juarez mission, the people who’d been watching the kids may have something planned, something he would be unable to stop if he was a long way away. He mentally shrugged. He’d do everything in his power to prevent it happening, whatever it was. And they were up in Santa Barbara, well away from any threat. He couldn’t do any more.