CHAPTER 13
Moroccan Freighter
Hassani
The four men that accompanied the container aboard the
Hassani
had eaten dinner and settled down near the container to relax. At least two of them stayed with their precious cargo twenty-four hours a day. The sea had been gentle so far, and the voyage hadn’t been nearly as terrifying as they expected. None of the foursome had ever been aboard a ship before.
The ship’s captain had been well paid to transport the mystery container, and didn’t ask or care what was inside. It wasn’t his first time smuggling drugs or stolen merchandise across the Atlantic, and his crew had been told to leave the men and container alone. Other than when being fed in the ship’s galley, the men had very little contact with the crew, who were a rough-looking bunch.
Hamid was the leader of the group, and had been given the instructions on how to complete the mission. The others had been kept in the dark until this moment. Now, being at sea without communication to the outside world, it was safe to entrust the others with the details of their mission.
“My brothers, I know you have been wondering about the contents of the container and our mission. We have been chosen, God willing, to attack the Great Satan with a weapon so powerful it will destroy them.”
“A nuclear weapon?” asked Mohammed. He had been picturing mushroom clouds since the day he was selected for the operation. His family had been killed by bombs dropped from what he assumed were American planes, and his hatred of the West permeated his soul. The fact that it had been Russian jets was irrelevant.
“No. It’s something very new called an electromagnetic pulse bomb. The Americans are powerful because of their computers and weapons. But when this bomb is set off, it will destroy much of their electric grid. The weapon is so potent, it will destroy everything that uses electricity. Every phone, television, and computer will stop working
forever
. Every plane will fall out of the sky. They will have no lights, no way to get water, their food will spoil, and they will starve and riot and kill each other like animals. They will know true suffering, and their empire will collapse. American arrogance is about to end.”
“How does it work? Will it make a huge explosion?” asked Mustafa.
“No, Mustafa. There is no explosion. We will not be martyred when we use the weapon. The target is Los Angeles. We get close and then turn it on. We will watch their city go dark forever.”
The men were surprised. They had all accepted the fact that they were to be martyrs. “What will happen to us after we detonate the bomb?”
“After we set off the device, we will escape to Mexico and then go home as heroes. The caliphate will grow and the Americans will finally be gone from our lands. They will never recover from the destruction of their electrical system. They are dependent on it for
everything
! They will be destroyed!”
The men looked at each with huge smiles on their faces. “We will go home heroes!” exclaimed Mohammed.
Marwan silently thanked God that he wouldn’t be blown up in a suicide mission, which is what he had assumed for himself, like the others. Although he had boasted and acted fierce while in Syria, he was nothing less than terrified of being captured by the Americans. Knowing what he had done to his
own
prisoners, he imagined being captured at the hands of the Great Satan would be no better.
CHAPTER 14
CIA Training Facility
The team ran the confidence course together for the first time since returning from Africa. It wasn’t their best time by any means, but they could still haul ass. Eric Hodges was the slowest of the team, having missed almost a month of physical activity as he recovered from multiple injuries. No one said a word; they simply slowed down enough to keep the team together in a small column of twos at all times. It was good to have the family back together again.
When they finished the course, they hydrated and sat in the grass, cooling down in the morning sun. It was May, and the weather in Virginia was just about perfect.
“Sorry I held y’all up this morning. I’m working on it,” said Eric quietly in his thick drawl.
“It’s good to have you back, E. Two weeks from now you’ll be one hundred percent. You been out to the range since you’ve been back?” asked Moose. Eric was constantly shooting to keep his skills honed.
“Hell, yes. Nothing changed there,” he replied.
“I’d rather have you shooting than running, anyway,” interjected Ripper.
“Seemed weird this morning, huh?” said Jon. They’d all been thinking it, but no one had wanted to talk about it.
Eric’s eyes filled up a little and he looked down at the grass.
Ryan O’Conner, Ray Jensen, and Pete McCoy exchanged silent glances. The team had been such a tight-knit group, and the holes left by their brothers were gigantic.
“Anyway, how’s Lance and Jake doing? Anyone talk to them this week?” asked Jon, trying to change the subject he had brought up.
Moose cleared his throat. “They’re both home visiting family. Neither of them will make this mission. Short squad this trip. Just us seven and Apo.”
Jon nodded. “Glad they got a chance to get home for a while.”
Moose looked at the face of each of the men. “Listen up. All of you. Africa was tough. Everyone’s hurting. If any of you think you need some more time before we gear up again, I want you to come see me, understand? No one is going to think less of you if you’re burnt out. But if you come on this mission, you need to be one hundred percent, understood? You’re either good to go, or you stay home,
capisce
?”
The men nodded silently.
“Bullshit. We good to go?”
They all sounded off with more confidence. “Good to go!”
“Apo knows his shit. Ripper and I talked about it. We like him and we have confidence in him. Any questions or comments come up, you bring it to us, understood? We have a briefing in forty minutes. Shower up and change, and we meet in 214. Get a move on.”
The team reassembled in the large meeting room after their showers. After a few minutes, Apo entered the room wearing a business suit and black glasses. He looked like an accountant or lawyer or something—certainly not like the Arab cleric or the Mexican gangbanger he had shown them the first time they met. The men actually laughed when he walked in.
Ripper couldn’t contain himself. “So Apo—which one is actually
you
? Is
this
the real you, or are you going to come back wearing a dress later on?”
“Around
you
animals? No way. And the real me? I don’t have an answer for you, I’m afraid. It changes daily. Sometimes I wear disguises in my own building to get in and out just to see if I can do it. If I were four inches taller it would be easier. My apartment building just thinks there’s a lot of short guys living there.”
The guys laughed again.
“Looks like you all actually showed up. Thank you for that. And Mr. Hodges, welcome back. I’ve watched you shoot. Quite a talent you have.”
“When did you watch me shoot?” he asked quizzically.
Apo smiled. “Like I said, I like to sneak around just for practice. It’s a skill, just like shooting and languages.”
Apo faced the rest of the group. “Today begins your mission briefing. We’re still gathering intelligence out in the field and working our foreign assets. The container is out there somewhere, and we have no idea what’s in it or where it’s headed. In the meantime, we’re heading to Mexico. Maybe we get lucky and get some good information on the container and track it down to Las Zetas, or maybe we just get to fuck up the biggest drug cartel in Mexico. Either way, we’re going to war, gentlemen.”
Moose’s thoughts flashed to Theresa, and he was happy she had dumped him and moved on to her medical career. Another war zone wasn’t what he wished for her, no matter how much he liked her.
Apo walked to a laptop and began typing. On a large screen behind him, a very ugly Hispanic face appeared. “This beauty is Riccardo Moreno. No one calls him that. He is simply El Gato. The Sinaloas had El Chapo, Las Zetas have El Gato.”
“El Gato, like ‘cat’?” asked Jon.
“Bingo. The man has nine lives. After the third attempt on his life, which left a whole lot of dead bodies except his, he earned the nickname. He’s now the most powerful man in Mexico. There’s not a government official in the entire country that doesn’t worry about being contacted by El Gato and asked for a favor. No one says no to this man. If you do, they find your head in a duffle bag along with the heads of most of your family and friends. You’ve all been in war zones, and you’ve seen some brutal shit.
These
guys are right up there with the nastiest of them.”
Apo hit the keyboard and changed slides. The scene was hideous. Twenty or so dismembered torsos were shown on the ground. All of the bodies were without heads, arms, or legs. “People, this isn’t even classified. You can Google this shit all day long. These guys do not mess around. When they want to send a message, intimidate the local population, or punish law enforcement, they do so in a loud and dramatic fashion. I can only pray that these folks were dead before they started hacking them to pieces, but based on my experience with these animals, I’m guessing they were very much alive at the beginning. You’re a local cop making twenty bucks a month. Even if you hate drugs and the cartels, are you going to go against this kind of shit? Like I was telling you before, the Mexican authorities lack the trust in each other to face these guys. Except for the occasional major invasion by Mexican troops, there’s no way to touch Las Zetas. And half the time when the troops are being sent in, El Gato gets tipped off before they arrive, anyway.”
Apo changed slides to a beautiful mansion on a hilltop overlooking lush green forest with the ocean far in the distance. “This is El Gato’s humble abode. Maybe fifteen thousand square feet of marble and imported furniture. A few swimming pools and waterfalls, and hot and cold running
chiquitas
.”
“Nice place,” said McCoy.
Apo pointed at McCoy and smiled. “Glad you like it, because you get to go visit. I left out the part about the K9 units, guards with machine guns, security cameras, fences with concertina wire, and maybe a few land mines here or there.”
Apo popped up the picture of El Gato again. “The president of Mexico has authorized us to kill or capture El Gato and extradite him to the United States. Only the very highest of the Mexican authorities will know we are there. Quite frankly, the Mexican president doesn’t trust his people any more than we do. The good news is, we won’t have double-crossing
federales
to deal with on our team. The bad news is we’ll have zero support locally until the last minute when their president sends in Mexican Marines to help us out, once we’re in position.
“Because of the sensitive nature of working in Mexico with folks we don’t know very well, there will
not
be any direct coordination on the ground.”
That got a few strange looks from the men.
“I know. It’s a crazy way to run an op. But we’ll coordinate through Langley, and Dex will communicate directly with their people on the ground at the appropriate time. President Pena Nieto is new. He’s trying to attack the corruption problem, but he’s learning early on that it’s extremely difficult. He trusts General Hernando Ortega, who trained here in the US several times, to run the mission on their side. General Ortega’s best man, Colonel Rafael Lozano, is personally running the assault from their end.”
“How do we get in and out?” asked Moose.
“
We
means two different things. I’ll be flying in alone as a United States citizen. Check this out,” he said with a smile as he pressed a button on the laptop.
On the screen, an FBI Most Wanted page popped up. There was Apo’s face, with a $50,000 bounty. It said he was wanted for drug trafficking and unlawful flight to avoid persecution.
“Holy shit,” blurted out Jon Cohen. The usually quiet SEAL turned red after he said it.
“Looks
good
, right?” said Apo proudly. “I got me some
street cred
,” he said with a Cuban accent. His name on the wanted poster was Alex Ferdinando. He then went on for thirty seconds in rapid-fire Spanish. The chameleon was back in the room.
He stopped abruptly and returned to his perfect English, making everyone laugh.
“Yes, so anyway, I will be landing by private plane out of Florida and meeting with one of El Gato’s captains. I’m going to try and convince him to do some business with my people in Florida—big business. Heroin. I’ll be flying down with two million in cash, compliments of the CIA.”
“Or maybe just flying to a villa to live for ten years?” asked Ryan with a grin. O’Conner was usually serious, so everyone grinned at his slight joke. He wasn’t much of a joker, and typically served as the team’s medic and clergy.
“Not a bad idea, but I’d need more money. I like to live large,” replied Apo. “So anyway, while Alex Ferdinando is arriving in great comfort and luxury . . .”
“Here it comes,” whispered Ripper.
“
Exactly!
” replied Apo. “
You
will be deploying out of a submarine at night to hit the beach near El Gato’s fortress mansion on the hilltop. From there, you will hump full combat packs into the jungle, where you will set up camp, undetected, until we’re ready to move. You’ll need food and water for a week, as well as your choice of weapons and breaching explosives. There’s no way to get you into Mexico with your combat equipment and not have El Gato find out unless it’s totally covert. You’ll have control communications here with Dex Murphy. He’ll be coordinating with the Mexican Marines as well as keeping tabs on me, hopefully. If they smell a rat, you’ll be looking at pictures of
me
on Google next.”
Moose made a face. “So why go in that way? They may kill you for a hundred reasons, including their own entertainment. Why not just come with us?”
“While I appreciate your concern, it’s what I do. You’re good at combat, I’m good at spying and bullshitting. I was tops in my bullshitting class at Fictional University, and it had excellent students. Part of the deal with Mexico was grabbing El Gato. We need him alive if at all possible. If we just assault the house, we’ll never get him. Just like El Chapo had a mile-long tunnel out of jail, you can be sure that El Gato has tunnels, helicopters, and maybe a spaceship to avoid capture. I need to get in close before you hit the house. It won’t be any worse than half the shit I’ve done.”
Apo’s tone became more serious. “Besides, capturing El Gato is only half the mission. We’re not going to Mexico just to be part of their war on drugs. We need to find that package. I have more intel on that, and it isn’t good news.”
Apo changed the slide on the screen. A large object appeared, but no one knew what they were looking at. It was the size of large, rectangular truck engine, with coils of thick metal wire wrapped around it, like wire around a pencil.
Jon took a guess. “Transformer?”
“You’re close. Anyone else?”
They all studied it in silence. It looked like it was part electronic, part computer, and part engine.
“This is an electromagnetic pulse weapon, or EMP. This one here is ours. It’s called CHAMP. Stands for Counter-electronics High Power Microwave Advanced Missile Project. We’ve been working on it for years, just like the Russians, Israelis, and Chinese. The air force admitted to having one in May last year. Basically, you can destroy your enemy’s electronic equipment instantaneously without any collateral damage. The way the air force intends to use it is against military targets—planes, communications, radar installations, you name it. But if used against a city, it would cause massive power failures on the grid and destroy everything from phones to computers. Basically, it would move a civilization back a couple hundred years.”
“Unless you’re Amish,” said Ray Jensen quietly. He had grown up in rural Pennsylvania not far from “Amish Country” in Lancaster. “They probably wouldn’t even notice.”
Apo chuckled. “Excellent point. We should bring them in on this for post-electro-apocalypse lessons. So anyway, we received a tip from the Mossad. One of their agents in Iran says the Iranians shipped one of these to Syria for an attack on the US. It obviously coincides with my firsthand observation while in Syria. Now, the president doesn’t want anything to derail his new treaty with Iran, and he says Israel is fabricating the story because they have their own reasons for wrecking the treaty. I have been adamant in my recommendation to listen to the Israeli intelligence, based on my own experiences in Syria, and have been told to stand down. The president heard my report and chose to ignore it.”
“Doesn’t that give you a warm fuzzy?” asked Ripper sarcastically.
Apo paused for a long exhale. “Look guys—I know we don’t do politics, and this is above our pay grade, but I had friends die to gather what I consider to be important intelligence. This isn’t the first time my facts have been ignored. I know I don’t get to see the big picture, whatever that may be, but when I know that vital intelligence is being ignored because it doesn’t fit some bullshit narrative, I get a little pissed, yeah.”
“You are so politically incorrect I think I really like you,” said Pete McCoy. “No disrespect to Mack or Cascaes, but we never had these kinds of conversations before you showed up.”
Moose stood up, looking angry. “Because these kinds of conversations aren’t good to have. Apo, I understand your aggravation—I really do. But bashing the commander in chief runs counter to how we operate. SEALs follow the chain of command to our death, period. This is counterproductive, dangerous, and smells like insubordination.” He looked at his men, one at a time. “I hear any of you bad-mouthing anyone, you answer to me,
capisce
?”