Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter
11

Nick
Woods’s contact dropped another surprise on him once he arrived at Camp
Lejeune, North Carolina.

As
promised, the CIA had driven him at breathtaking speeds behind the state-trooper
escort, who drove ahead of them with siren blaring and lights blazing. The GMC
Yukon felt like a bullet train at such high speeds -- big, bulky, and
impossible to stop -- but the ride was comfortable and Nick used his time in
the back seat to further review the files of the men he’d soon be interviewing.
His two armed goons were up front, while his contact sat next to him.

None of
them said a word.

At a
small, non-commercial airport, the Yukon pulled alongside a white corporate
jet. It had two engines on the tail and Nick guessed it would hold ten people.
He didn’t know planes, and frankly didn’t care to know more. And since he was
used to bone-jarring military flights on C-130s, the leather seats and
much-improved snack and drink selection proved a pleasant surprise. The flight
took very little time, and upon landing Nick and his goons loaded up into yet
another Yukon that sat waiting on them. (Nick figured someone in the government
must have had a good friend at GMC, since they had apparently won a hell of a
large contract with the CIA.)

A few
more suits were waiting on him by the SUV, but they said nothing and didn’t
follow when Nick and his traveling companions loaded up and roared off the
airstrip. Yet again they had a police escort, through this one was a local
sheriff’s department cruiser.

The two
vehicles raced into Jacksonville and finally made it to the front gate of Camp
Lejeune. The cruiser pulled off and headed back toward town, while the MP
checked some paperwork produced by Nick’s driver. He waved them through, and
they proceeded at a normal pace to their destination.

“Why no
rush in here?” Nick asked.

“The base
commander,” his contact said, shaking his head from side to side. “The base
commander is very uptight and has set ‘safety’ as his number one priority this
year while on base. Even the MPs struggle to get permission to speed on base,
even if they’re responding to a call. Unless it’s a Code 9, response to
violence, it’s not allowed. It’s gotten ridiculous around here.”

“Good
thing we’re not in the middle of a couple major wars,” Nick said. “Always nice
to know the general has his priorities straight.”

The
contact didn’t react to Nick’s joke and kept his gaze out the window. Trees
lined the road into the base, but Nick knew the man wasn’t just watching the
woods.

“Go ahead
and say it,” Nick said. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

“There’s
one more thing,” the contact said. Without meeting Nick’s eyes, his head still
turned away. Nick had learned the man was a nice guy and that he respected
Nick, so things had gotten complicated for him playing middle man between the
CIA and Nick.

None of
this was new to Nick. He knew it was the job of the idiots in charge to
constantly interfere, throw curve balls your way, and basically do all they
could to keep you from succeeding. Not that they meant to, it’s just how it
always goes down.

“Go ahead
and say it,” Nick said.

“The unit
is no longer going as a task force from our government,” the contact said. “The
unit is going as a private company.”

“What do
you mean? Like some kind of security corporation?”

“Yes.
Precisely.”

“Which
means we’re completely fucked if anything bad happens. Any of us taken hostage
or if say a rogue element of the Mexican Army comes after us.”

“We said
in the beginning,” the contact said with a sigh, “that the President wanted
complete plausible deniability. This will assure it.”

“This
charade wouldn’t pass the smell test of even a local cop checking into it. Just
where exactly did the ‘great’ Nick Woods get millions of dollars to form a
company and hire dozens of people for this contract?”

The
contact looked over at him and said, “You’ve been awarded a twenty million
dollar loan as part of your veteran benefits package. You presented a business
plan that we typed up for you, it’s been submitted, and I’m happy to say you
were approved today.”

“So, on
top of putting my ass on the line, I’m now twenty million dollars in debt? That
puts that annual salary of two-hundred and fifty thousand per year in
perspective, doesn’t it?”

“No,
effective today, you’ve been awarded a twenty-two million dollar contract from
the Mexican government for consulting and security services. If you want to get
technical about it, you’ve earned a two million dollar bonus over what we
promised you a few days ago.”

“And I’ll
bet the American government just approved an emergency loan to the Mexican
President?”

“Yes.
It’s a contingency, anti-drug grant signed by the President this morning.”

Nick
shook his head in disgust.

“All this
bullshit loophole crap just to keep the President’s ass out of a sling?”

“It’s an
approaching election year, Nick. And all the personnel, as well as yourself,
will receive the same salary and benefit packages as you were promised.
Basically, nothing changes.”

“Yeah,
basically nothing changes except if something bad happens, there won’t be
anyone to come and get us. The media will barely notice since they don’t give
two shits about private security companies operating in foreign countries. And
I’m suddenly an officer of a corporation and can be individually sued.”

“We’d
cover any legal fees.”

“Sure you
would, hoss. You all won’t take credit for us if we do something good or
something bad, but you’ll ante up and help us defend ourselves in court, when
the opposition would have deposition powers and would see straight through this
little charade you’re creating.”

“I’m
sorry, Nick, but this is the deal on the table.”

Nick
looked off and sighed. Then a thought crossed his mind.

“I’ve
been watching you. You haven't talked with anyone or taken any phone calls
since we left Columbia. Why are you just now telling me this?”

The man
broke off eye contact and stammered, finally saying with complete
embarrassment, “We felt if we waited to tell you this when you were just
minutes away and already on base, that you’d be more likely to still accept the
new reality.”

The Yukon
had been taking a number of turns while Nick and the contact debated and now it
had pulled up to an isolated barracks, where more than three hundred people
were milling about.

“Those
are my candidates, aren’t they?” Nick asked, completely disgusted now.

“Yes.”

“So, if I
say ‘no’ now, I’m going to look like a bitch to every one of them? A quitter
and a drama queen.”

“You
still have both the option and right to turn this down. We’re hoping you’ll
still accept the offer. Really, not much has changed. We’ll even have an aide
do all the corporate reports, put up a small company website, and help make
this all look legit. We even have a name for it: Shield, Safeguard, and
Shelter. Or S3, for short.”

Nick
threw his door open as hard as he could and looked at his contact, whose name
he still didn’t know, and said with a scowl, “Is there any other fucking thing
you need to tell me? I’ve tolerated about as many surprises today as I plan
to.”

“There
are none,” the contact said. “I promise.”

“Yeah,
and your promises carry a lot of weight.”

Nick
grabbed his duffel bag and slammed the door shut as hard as he could. The Yukon
rocked, despite its weight and armor.

All of
the candidates were now looking at him, and conversations across the barracks
courtyard stopped. A few pointed. The vehicle, and the grand entrance, had
grabbed their attention. Probably also the fact that they had been there for
two days doing all kinds of testing while his late arrival clearly implied he
wasn’t in the same boat as them.

This man
wasn’t another candidate. He was their leader, they quickly guessed.

Nick
walked six feet away from the Yukon and stood straight, head held high, chest
pushed out, eyes measuring and challenging every one of the people in the
square.

He threw
his duffle bag to the ground looking disgusted, and then with a scoff and a
look of derision, yelled out, “Listen up, and listen good. Name’s Nick Woods.
I’m the man in charge here and some of you are going to be lucky enough to go
on a nice little hunting trip with me. Rest of you will be changing diapers and
cleaning gutters, or whatever the hell you do when you’re back home.”

Nick’s
voice echoed across the square, but many of those listening pulled in and
closed ranks to hear him better. Nick could tell he was making an impression
and embraced the moment. There was an intoxicating high that came from being in
command again. From having men watch your every move, looking for weakness. Or
inspiration. It all depended on the leader and Nick hadn’t felt this thrill for
far too long.

“Now,”
Nick continued, “I can’t say where we’re going until the final team members are
selected, and it’s obviously classified until then, but I
can
tell
you they speak Spanish, it’s to our south, and it involves drug cartels.”

Nick
paused.

“Of
course, that could be just about any country to our south.”

Several
people laughed and Nick saw one guy nudge another man with an elbow and a
smile. Nick made a note of his face and tried to memorize it.

“I’m
telling you now.” He paused for effect. “The folks we’re going to tangle with?
They’re meaner than hell. They’re poor and don’t have a lot to live for. And
they’re really well equipped. We’ll be out-numbered, we’ll be on their turf,
and they’ll know our every move -- damn near every person down there will be
sharing our location and activity to the cartel. Some out of fear. Some for
money.”

Nick
paused to stare down a few of the people around him, then continued, “I’m here
to tell you. There are going to be a bunch of us who don’t come home, so leave
now if you have much to live for. Me? I don’t have a damn thing to live for, so
I’ll be leading from the front. You can bet your ass on that.

“But I
ain't got time for babysitting, and if I catch anyone in the corner crying and
feeling sorry for themselves in the middle of a nasty firefight, I’ll shoot you
myself. I’m not kidding on that point, and I’m not kidding about how dangerous
it’s going to be.

“My
number one priority will be accomplishing this mission. I will achieve this or
I’ll die trying. My number two priority is bringing home as many men as
possible, so if you’re hunkered down in the middle of a firefight, then you’re
not helping us achieve either priority number one or priority number two. And
for that, they used to shoot men. Call it cowardice. Dereliction of duty.
Whatever. Doesn’t matter. You hunker down like a coward while we’re in the
middle of the shit, I will shoot your ass.

“We’ve gotten
soft the past hundred years or so, but I’m old school, and it’s pulled me out
of some places I wasn’t supposed to make it out of. And where we’re going,
there won’t be any outside observers. I’ll write up that your ass died from
enemy fire and no one will ever know the difference.”

Nick
looked the crowd over with the icy eyes of a man who’d killed dozens of men.
The men he saw were a bunch of hard-asses. He could tell. And yet still many of
them broke away from his gaze. Nick knew he was tougher than
rawhide leather
and he didn’t intend to back
down from a single man in the square, and he for damn sure didn’t intend to
have to use rank to keep the men in line.

Having
made his point with his steely, cold look, he finished by booming, “When I walk
away from here in a few seconds, if you’re having any second thoughts, just
head on home. Nobody will hold it against you. Hell, it’s the smart move.
There’s going to be a lot of us die, and you guys have been around long enough
to know that there isn’t hardly anyone in America who’s going to give a shit
when we do. Whoever decides to stay, I’ll be interviewing some of you in a
bit.”

Nick took
a look at the men who had pushed furthest forward.

“Who’s in
charge here?” he asked.

No one
said anything.

“I said,”
Nick continued, raising his voice louder, “who’s in charge here?”

Some of
those crowded about looked down, while five or six looked toward a big, black
man standing near Nick. Nick, who stood a very lean 5’11,” guessed this man to
be 6’2.” And besides the height, he carried loads of thick muscle. A definite
body builder, but not the biggest man in the plaza, Nick had already seen.

“Are you
Marcus?” Nick asked.

“Yes,
sir,” the man said.

It hadn’t
been that hard to guess Marcus correctly. The man named Marcus had stood out in
Nick’s mind as he reviewed the leadership files. None of his files had the
actual names of the operators -- just their nicknames.