Redemption (17 page)

When they’d calmed down, they gathered their packs and heaved them over their shoulders.

“You know, Gonzo, I have to tell you... I really like your hairs,” he said, referencing the brush cut on his head.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s like you have just put a roadkill on your head!”

They had to drop their packs again as they collapsed to the floor and couldn’t get up.

“Stop! Stop! You’re going to make me die, you little shit!” Gonzo laughed, panting on the ground, holding his stomach.

CHAPTER 19

After resting up, they all agreed it was time for a bit of fun. Taz’s team rounded up a few other teams and decided to throw a party. Several freshly-hunted wild boars were roasting on spits, throwing tantalizing aromas into the air. Camaraderie reigned. The drinks flowed freely and they dug into their
al fresco
feast. As night fell, the party was in full swing. Some soldiers carried tables outside to play poker, while others chatted around a huge bonfire. Namara introduced himself to soldiers he hadn’t met in all this time. They traded jokes and anecdotes from the field. Namara thought he’d never laughed so hard in his life. Several were happily and amicably drunk. Twinkie had somehow ended up in only his boxers and combat boots, carrying a boom box on his shoulder and singing along to an old country song. He ran every which way through the camp, drawing laughs from everyone he passed. Danny listened to Guerra at his side who was mirthfully telling an anecdote about another soldier.

Suddenly, Namara lost all interest in the story. He raised his eyes to the sky that gleamed thousands of stars. He thought he’d never seen such a beautiful sky in his life. Then, he cast a glance around the fire at the laughing, drinking, and talking soldiers. He saw them as the only family he’d ever had and that this was real life. He was happy. He was proud to be there and held onto the image like he would that of a shooting star – it wouldn’t last forever, and he knew it. He didn’t try to catch the star, only to observe and love it. He was distracted from his reflections by Twinkie who’d taken up his course, this time in a huge sombrero. Namara cried out in delighted surprise. Twinkie stumbled about for a bit before tripping all over himself. They laughed as they saw him go down. He picked himself up, collected his radio and sombrero, and trotted off in good spirits.

*     *     *

Bogotá, Colombia, June 10, 2008.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Taz, signalling the beginning of the operation.

The team advanced in Indian file toward the manor. They were dressed in black, masked and hooded. It was night, and the sky disguised them neatly. They carried no packs because the nature of their mission was fast. Armed with their black MP5 submachines, equipped with silencers, they arrived in front of the grounds wall about three and a half metres high that surrounded the manor of Manuel Balboccia, an infamous cartel chief. Taz and his men had orders to execute Balboccia and his men who lived in this suburban mansion. Balboccia was the man behind a series of aggressions towards American businessmen. He had tried to kidnap them for the ransom, as well as to convince the government to cease their antidrug efforts. Several assassinations of police, military personnel and politicians had taken place over the last year. Balboccia was behind them all. He had been monitored by intelligence services for a while, but he signed his death warrant when he arranged a hit on two envoys of humanitarian organizations, one Canadian and one British. Their death was a warning against all foreigners in Colombia. This time, Balboccia wouldn’t have time to fire.

The team, arriving in silence, began to scale the wall in a human pyramid. Twinkie crouched to let Gonzo climb on his shoulders. Then, Taz clambered onto Gonzo’s shoulders, and the rest followed suit. The first to reach the top of the wall began to pull the rest over. They worked quickly, quietly and so synchronized that they might have appeared an amorphous black monster trying to shimmy along the wall. They breached the grounds, taking care to evade the eyes of the guards. Up until now, no guard was watching the exterior, but Taz was sure that they would encounter resistance. The commando climbed the mansion wall in scaling to the second floor using a grappling hook. They attained a second-floor balcony. Gently, Mike picked the lock on the door and it opened slowly. They entered a black room that seemed to be an empty bedroom. They moved as a group toward the stairs, where they split. Twinkie and Taz went off to take the third floor, Mike and Gonzo took charge of the second, and Danny and James descended to occupy the ground floor.

Like angels of death, they executed their plan. At the ground floor, Namara led a half turn and saw two guards in a long corridor. The first stood at the centre in semi-darkness, smoking a cigarette. He noticed that the man wore a pistol in a shoulder holster. The other looked to be watching television at the end of the hall that looked like a kitchen. The two men had their backs to Namara. He noticed several rooms along the corridor.
The manoeuvre that he used was risky, but it was the only one that let him stay silent
. He tethered his MP5 to his uniform so as not to lose it. He pulled out his double-bladed dagger and began to advance slowly in the direction of the guard in the corridor. Guerra aimed his submachine gun, preparing to open fire if things went badly. Namara tiptoed silently, placing his feet deliberately on the marble. He was silent as a snowflake coming to rest on the ground. He had to eliminate the guard, but not in the corridor. The sight of blood on the ground would alert the other guard. He had to use the shadows to execute his mission correctly. Coming up behind the first guard, he clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his cry and dragged him into a black room off the corridor. With a slash, he slit the artery. The guard died quickly and without a cry. There was blood all over the floor, unseen from the hallway, just as he’d planned.

“Hey Jimmy,” called the other guard.

Namara pressed himself by the doorframe, ready to fire at anybody entering.

“Jimmy!?” he shouted again, more impatiently.

Namara heard the footsteps approaching. The moment the other guard walked in, he attacked, giving him the same treatment as his colleague. Namara returned to the hallway, leaving the bodies in the bathroom. He signed to Guerra to join him. They advanced to a massive kitchen that they swept with a glance, but it was empty. They followed another long corridor and entered room by room to search. Guerra saw a door half-closed in the light. He charged in and saw a guard sitting on a toilet, reading a magazine. He shot a bullet directly to his head that cracked the white tiled wall behind him. Guerra caught the body immediately to avoid additional noise when he fell. After laying it out on the ground, he shut off the bathroom light. He returned to the corridor and continued with Namara.

“Charlie-3, clear!” said Twinkie over the radio, indicating that the second floor was clean.

The last room of the ground floor was a huge drawing room. They saw in the reflection of a glass, that there were three guards sitting around a television. Guerra and Namara decided to charge the room. They launched an attack pointing their MP5’s. A guard saw them enter and cleared his eyes trying to draw his sidearm, but he got two of Namara’s bullets in the chest before there was time to yell. Guerra snagged the two others with head shots. None of the three had had time to get up from the couch.

“Charlie-1, clear!” said Guerra on the radio.

After a moment, Mike and Gonzo responded. “Charlie-2, clear,” called Mike. “Balboccia is identified. Elimination confirmed,” he added.

All joined Namara and Guerra on the ground floor to take the basement together. There was nobody left. Fifteen guards had been killed in total – six by Namara and Guerra, seven including Balboccia by Gonzo and Mike, and two by Taz and Twinkie. They left as silently as they came, re-scaling the wall. They camouflaged in the surrounding woods. They ran one mile in single file in total darkness where a driver and a camion waited. They left, silently. The only noise was that of the motor that vibrated through the black night.

CHAPTER 20

November 30, 2008, Bogota, Colombia.

“Hotter n’ hell today,” Namara lamented as he tugged at his shirt collar and tie.

The team had been mobilized to escort a VIP: Ambassador Frankler of the USA was in Bogota. The ambassador, who was expected at a downtown conference at 5 pm, had received death threats that, as far as intelligence could tell, would probably be carried out during this transport. Taz’s men took the place of his bodyguards. They were dressed like bankers, in jackets and ties, and wore their silenced MP5’s under their jackets. They moved in two bullet-proof vehicles with tinted windows – all official vehicles in Colombia had to be bullet-proof because of the sheer number of attempts. The menace wasn’t bullets, but rocket-launchers. The possible perpetrators, they had learned, were traffickers of an important cartel.

The cartels were also well-informed that the vehicles were bullet-proof; therefore they had to use other means to make their hit. The cartels were organized and they had several means, so Taz and his men were prepared for the worst. If an explosive device hit the vehicle, it couldn’t withstand it. The team had planned the transport passing as bodyguards assigned to his protection and not the merchants of death they were. The two escort vehicles proceeded down the narrow streets of Bogotá – in the first was Guerra driving and Namara riding shotgun. Behind them was the ambassador, Taz and Twinkie in the back, Gonzo driving and Mike riding shotgun. They furrowed the streets for a while and all seemed in order. The temperature was scorching and a huge orange sun burned intensely. Namara wasn’t used to wearing a suit anymore and was really suffering in the heat and humidity. His suit was grey, his shirt was blue, his glasses dark.

“Shit, this tie’s gonna strangle me. The humidity’s making me sick,” Namara grumbled, in a foul mood today. He tore the tie off and tossed it in the back seat. He unbuttoned his collar and breathed deeply.

“Cheer up, it looked smashing!” laughed Guerra, who had a fierce allure with his dark blue suit and black shirt.

“No-one’s gonna know I chucked it. It’s too hot for that bullshit,” he said, checking outside the back window.

The two vehicles were forced to stop when a construction truck blocked their path. Three men in work suits and fitted with hardhats seemed to be working in a manhole.

“Fucking shitheads, can’t they see they’re blocking the road?” Guerra grumbled, giving a few blasts on the horn.

Namara became suddenly preoccupied with the turn of events. They had arrived at an intersection where several open windows faced the street. That, on top of the roadblock, was abnormal, and it worried him. He peered into the windows around them, looking for a suspect. There was a space between them and the work truck. The workers in the ditch had erected a wood barrier about twenty metres from them, far enough for a vehicle to be pulverized by a rocket without the workers being harmed in the blast. If one was to fire a rocket, elevated several floors. He raised his glance to a first floor open window and caught a silhouette with a man aiming a cylinder over his shoulder. He was semi-obscured behind a white curtain fluttering in the wind. Namara realized he only had a second and shouted, “Rocket launcher at eleven-o’clock!”

He opened the door and jumped out, Guerra on his heels. He pulled out his MP5 and aimed it at the window a hundred metres up. He fired an automatic spray of bullets that were heard with whistling blasts and followed by the metallic clangs of cartridges on the burning asphalt. The white curtain tore from so many holes from the same hail that hit the man holding the rocket launcher. Jets of blood sprayed the curtain so the silhouette disappeared definitively from the window. At the same time, the three construction men had lined the road in front of the truck and were now aiming UZI machine guns in their hands.

“Hostility at twelve-o’clock!” cried Guerra, who dove behind the vehicle to evade the hail of bullets. A metal cacophony arose, bullets ricocheting and whistling everywhere. Namara joined Guerra. Taz and the others jumped out and pulled the ambassador behind. The three armed traffickers had taken the barricade behind their construction truck and fired as per their role in the direction of the two vehicles. Namara aimed slightly to his right as send a spray of bullets to detonate the truck’s gas tanks. Screams were heard all around, but Namara barricaded again to evade a hail of bullets aimed at them. It was Guerra that re-engaged them, shooting three automatic rifles and piercing the body of the truck without hurting any of the traffickers that were well barricaded.

“We’re going to run out of ammo if this goes on! Hold your fire, I’m going to try to get us out,” Guerra shouted.

Namara kept firing in their direction as Guerra shimmied on his stomach under the truck. From this position, he popped all the truck’s tires, seriously injuring a trafficker’s legs who had sent several projectiles. The latter fell on the ground screaming, attracting attention. Guerra had a great angle under the vehicle. He killed the trafficker with several bullets in his chest and head.

“That’s one down; there’s still two left!” shouted Guerra.

The two other traffickers, who wiped a rain of bullets coming from under their vehicle, decided to save themselves seeing one of them peppered with bullets. He was a mass of gore on the burning asphalt. They set to run, fleeing through the door of an apartment building. Guerra picked himself up and took the opportunity to reload his MP5 with Namara. The two made chase into the same building. Gonzo, at the back, signed to Taz and Twinkie that the way was clear.

“Twinkie, take the wheel, retreat, I’m taking the ambassador and getting the fuck outta here,” shouted Taz, yanking the ambassador’s arm and ducking his head. Taz flattened Frankler in the back seat while Twinkie took the wheel. “What about Namara and Guerra?”