Overwatch: A Thriller Read online

  Six black Chevy Suburbans were parked inside the hangar. Logan noticed the expertly crafted upgraded armor modifications.

  They’d probably stop an RPG. Hope I don’t have to find out.

  Hector guided them to a computer where—in addition to the operator who moved a wireless mouse over a grainy image—an older man in fatigues stood waiting for them.

  “Commander Vargas, the Americans are here,” Hector stated. “The FBI team just touched down outside, but please allow me to introduce Special Agent Mike Benson, and Señors Logan West and John Quick. Special Agent Benson, as you know, will be leading the operation.”

  There was silence as the FES commander’s calculating gaze scrutinized each of them, finally coming to rest on Logan, who stood before him. The commander’s short hair was mostly gray and shaved into a meticulous flattop. His hard eyes were a dark brown, and a scar ran all the way down his left cheek to his neck.

  He’s sizing us up. Must be a machismo thing, Logan thought. I can relate.

  The man’s expression was fixed in a seemingly perpetual scowl, but then the commander surprised him and smiled broadly, sticking out his hand toward Logan. He spoke crisp English, with only a faint trace of a Mexican accent.

  “Señor West, it looks like we could be twins,” Commander Vargas said, pointing to Logan’s left cheek. “Although I have to say, I think I’m the better-looking one.”

  Logan laughed, his skepticism defused by the man’s sense of humor.

  “In all sincerity, it’s an honor. It sounds like you’ve been an exceptionally busy man the last few days. We were all briefed on the recent events, and from one warrior to another, I respect what you’ve done. We’re also aware of your time in the famed Force Reconnaissance, and it will be our pleasure to assist you in any way we can.”

  Logan noted the sincerity in the man’s voice and chided himself for judging too quickly.

  “As you are surely aware, our country has been at war with the cartels for almost two years now. These aren’t gangsters or criminals with some code of honor; they’re murderous, evil men who should be wiped off Mexican soil for bringing such dishonor and disgrace to our country.”

  I like this guy already, Logan thought.

  “Commander Vargas, I appreciate it, and more importantly, I completely understand it. You know what they say, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ ”

  Commander Vargas smiled. “Ah, a student as well. Edmund Burke. I’m quite familiar with his words, and they’re absolutely true. Now that I believe we see eye to eye, let me bring all of you up to speed,” he said and turned back to the computer monitor.

  He looked back at Logan one more time, smiling as he did so. “And please”—he paused—“call me Cris, short for Crisanto.”

  Logan nodded his head. “In that case, please call me Logan.”

  He turned to the monitor, realized what he was watching, and looked back at Commander Vargas. “You’ve got a UAV up. Excellent. At what elevation is it flying?”

  He watched as the image slowly circled a large two-story villa built at the base of a rugged range of foothills. In addition to the gigantic U-shaped house, there was a building connected to it and a large structure that resembled a garage across the driveway. As the camera swung around, he saw a stable with a barn and a riding area. The entire compound formed an upside-down L, with the entrance at the southern tip of the long end and the buildings contained in the area at the top that jutted out to the east. Logan figured the compound occupied at least forty acres, all of it surrounded by a wall.

  How high is the wall? he wondered. Because of the angle, Logan couldn’t tell, but he was certain it was definitely taller than a man.

  “It’s an Israeli Orbiter we purchased earlier this year. It’s at twenty thousand feet. We’ve had it on station for two hours, but it can last six more,” Commander Vargas said.

  Logan looked up in surprise. “A total of eight hours? I thought the Orbiter could only loiter for three to four.”

  “We had a very talented aircraft maintenance technician modify it to both increase the flight time and muffle the sound.”

  “Very nice,” Logan said, appreciating the craftsmanship. “So what have you seen so far?”

  “Between satellite imagery, our Orbiter, and rather forceful interrogations of several midlevel Los Toros members we captured, we believe this compound is actually the home of Ricardo ‘El Fuego’ Ortega,” Commander Vargas said. “He got his name from his predilection for setting his victims on fire—alive. He’s a regional commander and controls everything in and out of Nuevo Laredo. We’ve been hunting him for quite a while, but due to a number of resource issues, we had no idea where he was.”

  John was the first to respond. “Wonderful. I love a man with flair—no pun intended. What do we know about his security?”

  “Well, Señor Quick, I can tell you one thing. This isn’t going to be easy. He has a private security force that lives on the grounds. I’d estimate twenty to thirty men, if not more. I’m sure he also has high-tech detection and surveillance equipment, probably motion-sensor cameras and microphones.” Commander Vargas wore a serious expression as he added, “El Fuego is extremely dangerous. He’s been at the top of our list for two years now, and he knows it. Like I said, it’s not going to be easy.”

  No one spoke. The clatter of typing and the running generator were the only sounds hanging in the air. Finally, Logan stated the obvious. “This isn’t an infiltration. This is going to be an all-out assault. Once we’re inside, it’s going to turn into a shootout. I just hope we can take Juan Black alive, or else we’re screwed.”

  The thought of failing to discover who the puppet master was behind this nightmare sent shivers up Logan’s spine.

  “Well, then, gentlemen, I suggest we get to it and figure out how we’re going to do it. There are a lot of people who will never even know who we are or what we’re doing, and they’re all depending on us to succeed,” Mike said. He didn’t need to mention the loss of life that would likely result if they failed. They all knew the stakes.

  As if on cue, the doors of the hangar slid open, and the thirteen men of the FBI’s HRT Red Team walked in. All activity immediately ceased as each FES member looked at the new additions.

  Mike spotted the man in front of the group, a fortyish African American in khaki cargo pants and a white polo. He wore a goatee and was in superb shape, his forearms rippling as he carried his bags.

  Mike broke into a smile and said, “I thought I ordered the best, and all I get is you.”

  Without even breaking stride, the head of the Red Team said, “Fuck you, Mike. I thought you ordered a pizza.” As if it’d been rehearsed, one of the other team members stepped forward holding a large, flat square box. “Did someone say extra jalapeños?”

  Commander Vargas looked at Logan, obviously confused by the inside joke. John just shook his head and said, “I don’t get it either.” Commander Vargas only raised his eyebrows more, and both Mike and the head of the team said, “Fuck you too!” in unison. John let out a short laugh.

  Logan smiled at the quick response and said to Commander Vargas, “You know how it is, Cris. We’re almost as lethal with our sarcasm as we are with our weapons. It’s the same in the Marine Corps.”

  “Now that, Señor West, I do understand.”

  As the men gathered around Mike, he said, “Okay, then. Now that everyone’s here, allow me to introduce Special Agent Lance Foster, commander of the FBI’s HRT Red Team, which specializes in counterterrorism operations and in extremis hostage rescue. Since we’re burning daylight, and like I said before I was rudely interrupted,” he stared straight at Special Agent Foster, “let’s get to it.”

  CHAPTER 36

  QUETZALTCOATL INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  31 OCTOBER 2008

  1400 LOCAL HOURS

  The plan was simple, but Logan knew its simplicity belied its danger and difficulty. Operation
s planned under such circumstances were usually risky, and there was always a surprise or two—rarely good ones. Fallujah flashed through his mind as the planning unfolded.

  The isolation of the compound ensured that any vehicles that approached it would be detected. The UAV had spotted El Fuego’s lookouts along the roads for several miles in all directions. That left only one option.

  The plan called for an air insertion several miles away via helicopters, followed by an all-night movement to the objective. The assault would commence at morning nautical twilight—which was 0545 local time—when the sun would still be six to twelve degrees below the horizon. There’d be enough light for the trained operators, and the faint outline of objects would be visible.

  Both Logan and Commander Vargas had recommended a morning assault. The security force going off duty would be tired from the previous night’s watch, and the day shift would hopefully still be groggy as they prepared for their day of monotonous work.

  Logan knew how mind-numbing hours of security duty could be. The Marine Corps tormented its young warriors with various watches of one kind or another. Logan hoped to catch them at shift change to maximize the confusion and chaos.

  Fortunately, Commander Vargas’s men specialized in night operations, especially in rugged terrain. The drug war had forced the FES to adapt to its enemy, shifting from maritime operations—although they were just as lethal in the water—to assault operations in urban and mountain terrain, the latter of which happened to be plentiful in both central and coastal Mexico.

  The command center would remain at the airport hangar, with Mike in contact with the White House Situation Room during the entire operation. The communications equipment already set up by the FES was encrypted and would provide secure lines of communication.

  Additionally, one of the FES operators would fly the Orbiter from his ground station inside the hangar, and the live feed would provide Mike with real-time intelligence he could pass to both Logan and Commander Vargas.

  Logan, Mike, and Commander Vargas stood at a whiteboard easel with a gigantic satellite image taped to the top half and a map of the compound area on the bottom half. Both Logan and Vargas were conducting the final briefing to two teams—named Alpha and Bravo for simplicity—both including Red Team members and FES special operators.

  Alpha Team was commanded by Special Agent Foster; Bravo Team, Commander Vargas’s second in command, Lieutenant Commander Miguel Concepción. Logan and Commander Vargas would accompany Alpha Team and provide tactical guidance as needed. Both teams had one priority: capture Juan Black alive, at all costs. Everything else was secondary.

  The toughest part of the plan had been identifying a landing zone for the heliborne assault force. Both Logan and Commander Vargas had agreed upon a clearing seven thousand meters to the east of the compound with no visible road access for miles, at least according to recent imagery. It was surrounded by trees and would provide cover for the two Eurocopter EC-725 Caracal special operations helicopters—call signs Specter 1 and Specter 2—outfitted with sound-dampening technology that muffled both rotors. The helicopters would insert both teams and remain on standby to provide support until the assault was over, at which point they’d fly to the compound to retrieve the teams and the target.

  In addition to transporting the assault force, the helos were equipped with two 7.62mm FN MAG machine guns mounted in the forward port and starboard windows, two 68mm side-mounted rocket launchers with nineteen rockets each, and one 20mm pod-mounted GIAT cannon with 180 rounds. If the assault force faced serious resistance, the Caracals could be on station within minutes to provide direct air support.

  The terrain between the insertion point and the compound was open ground with sparse vegetation. Fortunately, the forecast called for cloud cover throughout the night and would hide their movements from the untrained observer.

  From the insertion point, the assault force would travel together until they reached a predesignated area two kilometers from the compound, where the trees grew thick and provided more cover near the base of the foothills. At that point, Alpha Team would break off and move to the north, its destination the northeast corner of the compound. Bravo Team would move to the southwest corner, where the two parts of the upside-down L intersected, directly behind the garage. Both teams would remain concealed one hundred meters from the compound wall until 0545, when the assault would commence.

  Alpha Team would scale the compound wall—an imagery analyst assessed the wall to be between ten and thirteen feet tall—and proceed to the villa. The assumption was that the target, Juan Black, who’d been code-named PANCHO, would likely be on the top floor in a guest bedroom. Once inside the villa, Logan would assume point since he was the only team member who’d actually spoken to the target.

  Bravo Team’s objective was to secure the garage and proceed across the gravel driveway to secure the building connected to the villa. Bravo Team would also secure the perimeter of the villa itself to ensure the target didn’t escape while Alpha Team was inside searching for the target. As an expert in explosives, John Quick would provide demolitions support to Bravo Team.

  “Gentlemen, I cannot express to you the gravity of this situation,” Mike said. “We have been a step behind these people since this started. Operation PANCHO may be our last chance to prevent this event—likely an attack—that will allegedly plunge the US into another global conflict at the cost of thousands more lives.”

  Mike paused as the gravity of his words sank in. Stern expressions looked back at him. The time for jokes had passed, and the focus was completely on the mission.

  “Unfortunately, what that means is that we have to somehow take the target alive, but since we have no idea what this asshole looks like, Alpha Team, once you get inside the villa, deadly force is not authorized unless you are absolutely certain the man in your sights is not the target. You must shoot to wound, no matter what the consequences.”

  No one reacted to the order, which had already been discussed by Logan, Special Agent Foster, and Commander Vargas. Each of the team members knew the potential implications of the order—injury or worse to a team member—but each of these men was prepared to take the risks. Logan knew they understood the stakes of the game they were playing. It was a deadly winner-take-all scenario. The score was ultimately tallied in lives lost or saved.

  “Once we have the target secured, Specter One will land near the barn inside the riding area and wait for both teams at the extraction point. Specter Two will provide air support in the event that any hostiles are still alive and try to interfere. Alpha Team and the target will leave the compound first on Specter One, and then Specter Two will land and retrieve Bravo Team as Specter One provides air support.”

  Mike saw several nods of approval.

  “At that point, two things will happen. First, Mr. Ortega here will call the SEDENA to notify his government’s defense department of the cartel compound’s location and order a battalion of Mexican army special forces and Mexican law enforcement to secure it. Second, both birds will return here to base, where Commander Vargas will immediately begin the interrogation of the target.”

  Several of the men smiled at that comment, although Commander Vargas displayed no emotion. Discussions between Mike, Hector Ortega, and Commander Vargas about what to do with the target had brought a potential problem to the forefront.

  Even though both presidents had authorized enhanced interrogation techniques, there was still no guarantee PANCHO would break. Several of the methods the CIA employed often took days to work—sleep deprivation, temperature manipulation, disorientation—but they needed answers now. They’d agreed upon a simple solution.

  Commander Vargas would conduct the interrogation. Hector Ortega had made a phone call, and the Mexican president had authorized the FES commander to use “whatever means he feels are necessary.”

  Mike looked at both Logan and Commander Vargas and scanned the faces of the men in front of him. This is one seriously s
cary bunch. The Los Toros cartel has no idea what the hell’s about to hit them.

  Mike spoke. “Gentlemen, the sun sets at eighteen zero two hours, and you are wheels up at nineteen hundred. Before you make your final preparations, are there any questions?”

  No one answered. Each man knew his responsibilities during the mission.

  “Very well. Then I’ll finish with this: both of our presidents have ordered this operation. My president has asked me to express his gratitude for what your country is doing for us today. He knows the risks involved, and he wanted me to thank you personally beforehand. As he put it”—Mike looked down at a piece of paper he’d written on—“ ‘The public may never know what you do tonight, but I will always know, and I will never forget it. These men you pursue tonight personify evil in our world today. Happy hunting, and God bless each of you.’ ”

  Mike looked up and saw a collection of faces set in determination and reflection. The president’s words had the desired effect of providing an additional level of genuine motivation for their efforts.

  Damn. Our commander in chief may not be the best communicator, but he does know how to make his point honestly and sincerely.

  Even his critics acknowledged that he was a man of conviction. The men in this hangar recognized that fact and appreciated it.

  “Okay then, gentlemen. In that case, let’s get this show on the road—or should I say, in the air?” Mike added with a smile.

  CHAPTER 37

  1 NOVEMBER 2008