Family Matters Page 2

  Antonio Ybarra was Ben’s right hand, as it were. He had grown up with de la Sedro on the streets of Juarez and owed his life to the older man. If not for Ben, he would have been beaten to death by members of a rival street gang. There was nothing Antonio wouldn’t do for the man he saw as savior and brother.

  The rest of the team included Jesus Veracruz, Rene Gutierrez and Carlos Martinez. Rene and Carlos both lost brothers, while Jesus lost two nephews, the brothers of Marcos Martinez. Rene and Carlos were good soldiers in the Cartel. They had no real ambition to move up and were satisfied with the money and the fear they wielded as Zapatos. Jesus was less inclined to toe the Cartel line. He was Marcos’ brother and shared the desire for revenge on the CIA operative, as well as the rest of Derek’s team.

  Ben, Antonio and Jesus executed the kidnapping and were now headed to the Selva Lacandona, the Lacandon Jungle which spread from the southern tip of Mexico through Nicaragua. Their destination, a remote cabin east of the village of Ocosingo, in the Mexican State of Chiapas. The only time Derek was allowed out of the van was to take a leak and drink some water. It wasn’t much but Derek took what he could get. The added benefit was identifying the occasional landmark that let him know they were headed south, at least for now. Derek spent some of the time sleeping. When he was awake, he worked his muscle groups carefully to avoid attention and to keep the blood circulating. No matter where they were headed, or to what end, there was little chance Derek would die alone; at least not the way he looked at it. If it was his time, he would go out as a soldier; taking with him as many Cartel thugs as possible.

  ~2~

  November 11

  9:00 AM – CST

  USAF Captain Jason Van Welkin was ready for wheels up by 9:00. He was semi-patiently waiting for one Derek Grimsrud, civilian GS15 attached to Fort Bliss from God only knows where. Van Welkin knew Grimsrud was CIA, but that meant nothing to him. Right now, the captain’s only concern regarding Grimsrud was his delaying the take-off.

  There was no hurry, Captain Welkin just didn’t like delays. His C-17 Globemaster was fully fueled, with a KC-10 tanker scheduled for mid-air refueling if need be, somewhere over Ohio. With a range of over 6000 miles, it seemed completely unnecessary to the Captain, but it wasn’t his call. More than once he’d been diverted mid-flight and having full tanks made pretty much the world his onion.

  His co-pilot, First Lieutenant Isabella Cantonal, suggested they reach out to General Fischer to check status. They hadn’t gotten a phone call from Derek, which wasn’t like the agent. She reminded Welkin General Fischer had personally requested the favor. The fact Fischer was a Marine wasn’t as important as his current title, Director of Covert Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency. That tipped the scales in Derek’s favor, so Van Welkin made the call.

  It took a couple minutes to get through to the General. They were first told he was in a meeting. Captain Van Welkin ignored the answer. “I understand what you’re telling me corporal, but this is a classified call with high priority on a personal matter involving the General.”

  The corporal was used to people trying to bully their way through to the General, but there was something in the tone of the Captain’s voice that got his attention. The Captain never raised his voice or changed tone or pitch. He stated the message as a fact beyond question. The corporal made the call. “Stand by Sir,” he stated, “I’ll let the General know you’re on the line”.

  “Thank you, Corporal,” said Van Welkin without gloating. “I appreciate this.” You get more flies with honey, etc.

  Five seconds later Major General Nick Fischer, USMC, picked up the phone and cut to the chase. “Sit-rep, Captain Van Welkin.”

  “Copy that, sir,” responded Van Welkin. “Our expected passenger is MIA sir, fifteen minutes overdue as of 0915 local.”

  General Fischer took a deep breath before responding. “Understood, Captain; you are cleared for take-off without Mr. Grimsrud.”

  That caught the Captain off-guard. “Excuse me sir, but I need to confirm your last order.”

  “Understood, and respected, Captain. I repeat, you are cleared for takeoff without Mr. Grimsrud,” repeated the General calmly. “Thank you for the check-in Captain; out.” The general didn’t even hang up, he simply punched another line and started dialing. The number he called answered on the first ring.

  “Good morning, General Fischer,” answered a slightly gravely woman’s voice.

  “Good morning to you, Alice,” replied Fischer with a smile in his voice.

  “What are your orders, sir?” asked Alice without preamble.

  “Light up the GPS on Mr. Black, Alice. I need to know where he is in 5 minutes.”

  “Done, sir,” answered Alice as she ended the call and started punching numbers into a keyboard.

  Three minutes later she had General Fischer back on the line.

  “Go, Alice.”

  “I have Mr. Black’s current location at 28.6330° N, 106.0691° W, heading south on Highway 45, approximately 300 miles north of Chihuahua.”

  “Copy that,” replied General Fischer. “I want an update every 15 minutes via text. I might not be in my office.”

  “Understood, sir,” replied Alice as the line went dead.

  General Fischer leaned back in his chair and wove his fingers together and placed them behind his head. With his eyes closed he began to run possible scenarios. After ten minutes his eyes snapped open and he reached for the phone.

  “Yes sir, General,” answered Corporal Kristofferson.

  The corporal took notes as he made a list. It was extensive and clear. This was not a drill and the General wanted action. The corporal didn’t hesitate. He was a Marine like his boss, and one of their own was missing. It was time to get him back.

  *****

  His first call was to former Gunnery Sergeant, Craig Young Bear. The entire team was on R & R, and Gunny was the man who would know where everyone was.

  “What,” Craig grunted into the phone, slightly annoyed that the call was so early.

  “Gunnery Sergeant Young Bear, this is Corporal Kristofferson calling on behalf of Major General Fisher, Director of Covert Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  Young Bear didn’t respond.

  “Gunny are you there?” asked Kristofferson.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” said Craig offhandedly. “I was just wondering who the hell would think I didn’t know who General Fischer was by name alone?”

  “Understood, Gunny,” said the corporal. “That was per the General’s orders. He wanted to be crystal clear that this was high priority.”

  “Then get to the point, corporal,” growled Young Bear, “we’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Copy that, Gunny.” Corporal Kristofferson took a deep breath and stated flatly. “Agent Derek Grimsrud is missing and presumed captive by hostile forces. The General believes Los Zapatos are responsible, based on history and current Intel.”

  Craig didn’t hesitate. “Where does the General want me?”

  “General Fischer wants the entire team in Dallas within 4 hours. If transportation is an issue, I will have fighters dispatched to pick up team members who don’t have ready access to commercial or military flights.” The corporal looked at the clock on the wall. “The sooner I know who needs a lift the better.”

  Craig didn’t even answer. He ended the call and started speed dialing the rest of the team.

  Derek’s team was an eclectic collection of operatives, even by CIA standards. Some of the most critical members weren’t even US citizens. It didn’t matter to Derek. They were his team, and each was the best or near best in his or her given specialty. Young Bear led the way. Former Marine Gunnery Sergeant turned chopper pilot. Young bear could handle a Sikorsky CH53-E with the best of them. Not only was he a hell of a pilot, he was deadly accurate with the weapons systems.

  Next was the 6’- 7” Master Sergeant Elijah Mohammed Mumphord; former USAF Para-rescue team leader and r
ecipient of the Air Force Cross for service in Afghanistan. Elijah single-handedly went behind enemy lines to recover an F-15 pilot who had been shot down. The pilot barely survived the ordeal. He would have died if not for the skillset of Master Sergeant Mumphord. As an Air Force Para-rescue member, Elijah was practically a field surgeon. Coupled with his expertise in small arms, it made him a vital asset to the team.

  Val Wilson, the only female member of the team, was one of the most lethal. Another former Marine, Wilson had been a martial arts instructor for 6 years, and taught close combat for 5 more. Staff Sergeant Wilson knew more ways to kill a man than any other member of the team. She was as skilled with knives as she was an M-4 or handgun. The fact she could kill someone over 10 different ways without a weapon was what kept the boys respectful. Her diminutive stature at 5’1” and 120 lbs. often led to interesting encounters with drunken men who consistently underestimated the Staff Sergeant.

  Army Sergeant Jason Johnson was the newest member of the team, and the only other American. Johnson had spent 6 years working counter-terrorism with Delta Force. He was good at hand to hand, and an excellent tracker. He stood an even 6 feet tall, weighing in at 210 pounds. There was zero fat on the former Delta member.

  The foreign contingent was led by the flamboyant Gustaf Reichart, former member of the KSK Kommando Spezialkräfte, (Special Forces Command, KSK) is an elite special forces military unit composed of special operations soldiers selected from the ranks of Germany's Bundeswehr and organized under the Rapid Forces Division. Gustaf was a slim 165 pounds at 5’11”. No one knew his former rank, and he never offered. What Gustaf DID offer was an almost unparalleled expertise in explosives, whether standard military or improvised. The fact he was openly gay was often the source of both humor and frustration within the team. What was never at question was his commitment and loyalty, and no one was tougher than Gustaf when it came to survival.

  The UK Special Forces contribution to the team was Lieutenant Thomas Sheffield, sniper extraordinaire. His weapon of choice, the L115A3 Long Range Rifle. A bolt-action weapon chambered in .338 Lapua Magnum (8.59mm), with an effective range out to 1.2 km. It employs a Schmidt & Bender 5-25x56 PM II 25x magnification day scope. The weapon was augmented with a Sniper Thermal Imaging Capability (STIC) night scope for low light or night ops. Sheffield’s longest confirmed kill was 1525 meters, or approximately 1670 yards; 100 yards short of a full mile. Sheffield was the shortest male member of the team at 5’ 6”. His weight was unknown to anyone. It didn’t matter; he was one of only two on the team capable of carrying the 270-pound Mumphord if it came down to it; Young Bear was the other.

  The final member of the team was former French COS (Covert Operations Service), Sergeant Pierre Lafayette. Lafayette and Reichart had formed an odd but special bond in the unit. History will tell you there is little love lost between the Germans and the French. You’d never know it by those two. They looked like brothers to a degree. Both stood 5’ 11” and weighed around 170 pounds. Both had blonde hair that hung to their shoulders. From a distance there was little chance of identifying which was which. Up close, it was the crystal blue eyes of the German that set him apart from the light brown eyes of the Frenchman. On or off a mission, they could generally be found in relative proximity.

  It took Young Bear an hour to track everyone down. (It wouldn’t have been possible if not for their satellite phones). Reichart had been hiking in the Rockies, while Lafayette was snow-boarding at Breckenridge. It took some serious coordinating, but when all was said and done, Mumphord was already in Dallas, and Sheffield would be last, coming in around 1:30; a solid 15 minutes to spare. Young Bear, Reichart, Wilson and Sheffield were coming in on military hops; Lafayette had no problem getting a commercial flight. Young bear reported back to General Fischer.

  “Fischer here,” answered the General.

  “Young Bear here, General. The team will be in Dallas by 1330 CST. What are your orders?” asked Craig.

  General Fischer decided the truth was the best option at that point. “I don’t have an answer now, Gunny,” he growled into the handset, “but I damn sure guarantee I will by the time you are wheels down; fucking bureaucrats, anyway.” The General muttered the last part under his breath.

  “Begging your pardon, General,” said Craig. “Could you repeat the last part?”

  General Fischer grunted a laugh, “Gunny, I know damn well you heard what I said.”

  Craig laughed. “Copy that and out, sir,” he replied as he ended the call.

  ~3~

  November 11

  9:25 AM – CST

  General Fischer wasn’t looking forward to the next call, but it had to be made. He pulled up Derek Grimsrud’s personnel file and identified his next of kin; Dan and Mary Jo Grimsrud. The file also told him Dan Grimsrud was a senior analyst with the NSA. “Like father like son,” General Fischer thought to himself as he picked up the phone, trying Dan’s work number first. Dan answered on the second ring.

  “Grimsrud, here,” said Dan.

  “Good morning Mr. Grimsrud, Nick Fischer here,” replied the General, leaving out his rank on purpose.

  “Good morning General Fischer,” answered Dan with a chuckle. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t know my own son’s boss?”

  Fischer chuckled, “Apparently I did.”

  “What can I do for you General?” asked Dan.

  “Actually, Dan, I’m calling on business, and out of respect for your position I will not sugar coat it.”

  That got Dan’s rapt attention as a chill ran up his spine. “I appreciate your candor, General. I take it you have bad news to deliver,” offered Dan.

  “I don’t know how bad yet, Dan, but you deserve to know,” said the General.

  “I’m listening,” was all Dan said in return.

  “Derek is missing and presumed captive by Los Zapatos Cartel,” stated the General without emotion. “We are tracking him with GPS and as of fifteen minutes ago, he was alive and well just north of Chihuahua, Mexico.”

  “Do you know where they are taking him?” asked Dan with no hint of emotion in his voice, the General took notice.

  “Negative at this time, Dan, but we are working on it.” He continued, “His entire team will be in Dallas by 1330 CST waiting for my directions.”

  The General was greeted with silence for a good two minutes. He didn’t speak. He knew Dan was processing everything. When he spoke, it took the General by surprise. “You may have his team gathering in Dallas, but you won’t have the best man for the job.” Dan stated it as a matter of fact without explanation.

  “Care to elaborate, Dan?” asked the General.

  “No sir, I can’t,” answered Dan.

  “Can’t or won’t, Dan?”

  “Either way General the answer remains the same,” said Dan.

  “Answer one question for me, Dan, if you would?” requested General Fischer.

  “I will if I can,” said Dan.

  “Is the right person for the job available?”

  “He has to be, General, or I might not ever see my son again.” With that, Dan hung up the phone, leaving Fischer pondering the answer to his question.

  November 11

  11:15 AM - EST

  Duck Key, Florida

  The final leg of the journey from Rockport, Texas to Duck Key, Florida had taken a little over 4 hours, arriving at the compound just before noon. They were greeted with a banner, stretched across the gate: “Welcome Home Lazarus, Angelique, Rebecca, Langston and Cheyenne!”

  Katsumi must have been watching for them. She opened the gate as they pulled up to it. Baxter was sitting at her side, if you could call it that. He was so excited at the sight of Lazarus that his tail was a blur. Leonard stood on the other side of the golden retriever with his hands behind his back, smiling. They pulled the vehicles into the compound and the gate closed behind them.

  Langston wasn’t one for formalities. He jumped over Lazarus and shot out the driver’s side, hea
ding straight to Katsumi and Baxter. Langston accepted a hug from Kat, sniffed hellos with Baxter, tolerating a couple of licks along the way. The shepherd gave Leonard a cursory once over, stopping long enough for a quick ear scratch, before heading back to Lazarus.

  Lazarus and Angelique had decided to bring Cheyenne out last, not sure how she would react to Baxter, Katsumi and Leonard. Angelique kept her in the Jeep when she got out, rolling the windows down to keep the Jeep cool. It was still warm in the Keys and the sun was shining.

  When they were all out of the vehicles, much to Lazarus’ surprise, Katsumi approached Angelique first. She gave Angelique a soft hug and handed her a little box, wrapped in purple paper. Rebecca was next, receiving a bigger hug and a box that matched the one given Angelique. The gifts turned out to be white gold sand dollars on white gold chains. The ladies loved them.

  Angelique fetched Cheyenne from the Jeep, hooking her leash. Cheyenne was tentative with Baxter, watching him like a hawk. But Golden Retrievers have a way about them; anyone who owns one knows what I mean. Cheyenne sniffed Baxter from head to toe and front to back. Baxter didn’t move. He wagged his tail slowly, waiting. What happened next surprised everyone, not the least of which was Baxter. Cheyenne barked and began bouncing up and down in front of the retriever. Before anyone could blink, they were off like rockets towards the back of the property. Cheyenne jerked the leash out of Angelique’s hand and bolted. Baxter was desperately trying to keep up with the obviously much faster dog. To say the least, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  Katsumi commented with pride, “I wasn’t worried about Baxter and Cheyenne, my big red-headed handsome man can handle anything that comes his way.”

  Now that the dog situation was taken care of, Katsumi approached Lazarus. Unlike the hugs she gave Angelique and Rebecca, she bowed deeply before him, her hands folded as in prayer. She stayed that way for almost two minutes. Lazarus smiled with pride, waiting patiently. The image wasn’t wasted on the women. They were beginning to understand Lazarus meant far more to Katsumi than merely being her boss, or even her guardian. He was her world in a way they couldn’t understand. That was what Katsumi wanted them to see. When she straightened up Lazarus wrapped her in his arms. With rare tears in his eyes, he kissed Katsumi on the forehead tenderly. “Thank you, baby girl, for the amazing welcome you’ve given us. You’ve made me even prouder to call you mine.”