Family Matters Page 7

  “Gustaf Reichart,” Lazarus looked him in the eye. “Speak freely.”

  Gustaf glanced at Lafayette. Lazarus caught the feintest of wave-offs from the Frenchman. It seemed to have no effect on the German specialist. “Herr Chameleon, if I may call you so,” asked Reichart as he leaned back. “I am a bit curious.” The latter elicited more than one glance from the other team members. Young Bear, himself, seemed on the verge of laughing – which Lazarus found interesting.

  “I am curious, Herr Chameleon” repeated the German specialist, “as to whether or not you sleep with your beautiful dog by your side?” The question was delivered with the tone and intensity of a CIA interrogation. Young Bear had warned Lazarus about Reichart’s propensity towards drama and flair.

  “Herr Reichart, with all due respect,” he glanced at Craig who was clearly about to lose it, “I must inform you Langston prefers French food to German. I’m certain that if Monsieur Lafayette desires canine company, Langston would be happy to oblige.

  “Now, suffice it to say if you should desire, shall we say, ‘alternative’ companionship, there is little I cannot secure for you by the time we reach our destination.”

  Reichart sat there grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Anything?” he asked while dramatically stroking his mustache.

  “Of course,” said Lazarus. “After all, you are on vacation.”

  “That I am,” replied Reichart. “I will give it some thought. I did, however, have my heart set on that gorgeous black specimen of canine masculinity. It’s the eyes that did it for me.”

  That was it. The team started laughing and Lazarus felt the tension subside. He nodded a thank you at Reichart who returned a knowing wink. He scanned the rest of Derek’s team, willing to bet there was more to each one of them than met the eye. Lazarus was gaining an appreciation for the qualities Derek saw in them.

  “Now, as I was about to say,” Lazarus paused, glancing at Gustaf who had turned serious, “this is not an officially sanctioned mission. Yes, General Fischer has your backs, to a point – but only to a point. You need to understand there is only so much he can do. We are about to carry out a mission on foreign soil without the knowledge, let alone the blessings of the Mexican Government. The General’s hands are tied by bureaucracy and the fact Derek is a black ops CIA agent, as are all of you. This is a volunteer mission from this point on, and it is actually a two-part mission.”

  The ‘two-part’ comment got a lot of heads turning towards Young Bear. He wouldn’t even look at them.

  “Getting Derek back is priority one; the only mission as far as all of you are concerned. It will be a quick snatch and return. I know where they are taking him, and I know their defenses are nil. It’s that typical Cartel arrogance that plays right into our hands. I am going to assume everyone is on board for the primary mission.”

  The entire team resounded as one voice, “Oo-Rah!”

  Lazarus nodded and replied with his own much quieter, “Oo-Rah!”

  It was Val Wilson who asked the obvious question. Lazarus knew instinctively she held a lot of sway over the team. Not because she was female, rather because she was strong, intense, and just shy of beautiful. Lazarus wrote that off to the military posture and intensity of the situation. He could see why Mumphord was attracted to the diminutive Marine. “What’s the second mission, sir,” she asked. “The one you don’t want to risk our lives on.”

  Damn, she was as intuitive as she was strong. Lazarus smiled despite himself. “Staff Sargent Wilson is it?” he asked and got a nod by way of acknowledgement. “The second mission is personal. It’s personal to me.”

  Elijah glanced at Val and then the 6’7” former USAF Master Sargent and para-rescue team leader spoke. “No offense intended, sir, but this shit is pretty goddamned personal to me.”

  One by one, every member of the team, save Young Bear nodded their heads in agreement. Craig knew all about the second mission and was already on board.

  “I understand,” replied Lazarus. “I know it’s personal to you. You are also valued assets of the American Government and I cannot ask any of you to risk your lives on my personal vendetta. Make no mistake, it IS a vendetta, one that could very likely result in casualties. I cannot guarantee your safety or even the success of my mission plan. Check that; 95% of my mission plan will go off without a hitch. The 5% could cost lives. My life is mine to give, not yours.”

  Sargent Johnson, the youngest and newest member of the team had been silent until now. “Gunny?” he questioned as he caught Young Bear’s eye. “You’re in on this already, this second operation, aren’t you?”

  Craig shrugged. “I got plans to travel with the Chameleon here after we extract Derek. He offered to take me helicopter hunting for feral hogs. I can’t pass that kind of shit up.” His dead-pan expression gave nothing away.

  The team looked at each other, trying to flesh out the second mission without asking any direct questions. Lafayette was the one who snapped to it.

  “These feral hogs you speak of,” said the former French COS operative, “are they the ones that have been decimating the balance of nature in the Sierra Madres? I believe the northern end.”

  “Yep,” replied Lazarus.

  “I take it you wish to, as you American’s say, ‘bag the biggest boar’ of the herd as well?”

  ‘Yep” he said again.

  Mumphord interrupted as he caught on, “Them hogs tend to run in the valleys, even underground from what I’ve heard. Any truth to that?”

  “Yep.”

  “You going to tell us anything but, yep?” asked Reichart.

  “Nope,”

  “Fuck it then,” replied the German with flair. “I am so going hog hunting after we pick up Derek. Is there a bag limit?”

  Lazarus looked Gustaf with his no-eyes-involved smile, “Yep.”

  “Well, shit.” Gustaf kicked the floor. “Okay, what’s the fucking limit?”

  Lazarus’ grin lit up his whole face, “all of them.” The look on Gustaf’s face made Lazarus very comfortable with the eclectic German. He turned and headed towards the cockpit. “Wheels up in fifteen. Anyone that’s not in it for the long-haul can deplane now. We’ll bring Derek back to you.”

  He never looked back as he settled behind the controls, Langston joined him in the co-pilot seat. No more than 5 seconds later he heard someone pull the cabin door and latch it. A quick glance to his right confirmed his assumption. No one got off. No one was going to get off. No one was going to opt out on the second half of the mission. That part gave Lazarus pause, but only to reflect on the probability of not everyone making it out alive. They would be eight against hundreds when they hit Los Zapatos.

  Lazarus laughed out loud and looked at Langston; patiently sitting in the co-pilot seat staring at his Master like the man had lost his marbles.

  “It’s only eight if I don’t count L.J. and Encarnación. Shit, buddy, we’ll have damn near an army by the time I toss in the 130 and the chopper.” Lazarus felt good about the mission. He had no illusions no one could die, including him. This wasn’t what he did. He was an assassin, not a military man. The logic hit him perfectly.

  “Gunny?” he hollered. “Front and center!”

  Young Bear snapped to attention in the door seconds later. “Sir, yes sir,” he answered.

  “Gunny,” said Lazarus, “it has come to my attention I have zero combat training. It’s not what I do; the way I’m wired. I need you to lead this team, and that includes me. You up to it?”

  “I’m a United States Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant, sir,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Combat is ALL I was trained for.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” chuckled Lazarus. “There’s a folder in the drawer under the coffee maker to the aft. Get it out and start making plans for the extraction. You will have a helicopter, most likely a Huey, but it will be tip-top mechanically. I’ve got Puff, but I don’t want to use her. That’s overkill for this mission. Put it together and be ready to pre
p the team by 0600 tomorrow.”

  “Copy that,” said Young Bear who headed back to get the envelope. The weight of the mission now firmly settled upon his shoulders. The smile was all you needed to know the weight was nothing to the Marine.

  The rest of the team cat-napped while Young Bear looked over the maps, photos and other info provided by Lazarus. A hard smile flattened his lips as he began to make notes and circle locations on the map. The largest circle was in red; circling what had to be a satellite image of an old cabin about 1.7 miles north of Zamora Pica de Oro, a small town with around 900 inhabitants located on the Jamapa River. The Jamapa formed much of the border with neighboring Guatemala. His smile grew wider as he circled a small oxbow off a river that emptied into the Jamapa, the oxbow had been cut off by silt over time and was now a horse shoe shaped pond with about .5 acres of grassland. Trees provided cover to the east and the area was about 7 tenths of a mile to ENE of the Zapatos cabin.

  Flight time to Liberia was just over two hours at the speed the G200 was maintaining. Lazarus circled the small city; coming in from the southwest for a smooth landing. The G200 rolled easily down the runway, turning left and continuing past eight various sized private jets and turbo-props parked at the west end of the airport proper. The jet left the concrete for an asphalt apron that led to a non-descript metal hangar at the north west corner of the airfield. The hangar doors slid open as Lazarus guided the jet in. LJ was standing near the east wall, hearing protection on. As soon as Lazarus cut the engines, LJ climbed into an old push-back tug and rolled up to the front gear. He hooked the tug to the jet and quickly turned it around to face the now closing hangar doors.

  Lazarus made the introductions as the team deplaned. Hands were shaken, and nods exchanged. The mood had changed. The banter was gone; the faces of each member seemed set in stone. The lone exception was Reichart, who threw an arm around LJ and began to grille him with questions about life in Costa Rica.

  Reichart’s disposition never changed – anyone that knew him would tell you the same. They’d also tell you that’s what makes him so dangerous. He would smile the same while cutting your throat as he would talking about his love of soccer. If you really wanted to see a happy Gustaf, just keep watching when he blew something to hell and gone. The bigger the bang, the wider the grin.

  It was nearing 7:00 pm - local time. They had spent almost the entire day either flying or waiting around to fly. They piled into the Jeep and Land Cruiser while LJ loaded what little gear they had into the back of a deuce and a half, parked just outside the walk door.

  LJ walked over to Lazarus and tapped on the glass of the Jeep. “Hey, boss,” he said as he handed Lazarus an envelope. He headed back to the truck without waiting for an answer.

  It was a note from Stephanie Salerno.

  “Good evening sir. I’ve taken the liberty of delivering the helicopter you requested to your plantation. From what I gleaned from the very tight-lipped Cooper, this is not ‘business as usual’ as far as you are concerned. Your business is none of mine, and I am not asking. I am, however, making a very educated guess this is a personal matter. No, Cooper did not say a thing. That is one loyal man you have there Mr. C. I said that to say this; non ci sarà alcun costo per le armi. I know you speak several languages quite fluently, so I won’t bother with the translation. You have been good to me, via Cooper that is, and you’ve been good for my family business. This is my way of saying thank you.

  “Now, before you get all emotional or something silly, someone DID pay for all the materials you will find in the truck delivered to Encarnación, as well as the chopper left at your airstrip. The donor paid full market for everything, yet wishes to remain anonymous, which is typical in our line of work. I can assure you of one thing, the gifts are freely given. It seems you did him a tremendous favor several years ago and this is his way of thanking you. I’ll admit, I was surprised by the generosity since I have no idea who this man is, or how he found me, let alone how he knew of your mission.

  “Trust me, Mr. C., finding me isn’t hard, after all I am a college student in Corpus Christi. However, knowing about my family business and your mission is what threw me. Everything was handled through blind trusts and wire transfers, thanks to the unparalleled skills of the young lady Mr. Cooper uses to handle his finances. She is truly remarkable.

  “Whatever is going on, I wish you the best of fortune and a successful mission. Now go do what you do better than anyone I’ve ever done business with, Mr. Chameleon – be deadly.

  “Sincerely,

  “S. S.”

  Lazarus smiled as he folded the note carefully and tucked it away in a waterproof pocket built into his jacket. The note had moved him in a way he didn’t understand. Salerno was a Sicilian arms dealer. Business is business. Somehow, she had deduced this wasn’t ‘business as usual’ for the man she called Mr. C. Since he WAS Cooper Johnson, he knew he hadn’t told her squat. A shiver ran up his spine, but not an uncomfortable one. Another tumbler fell into place, and as before, Lazarus didn’t understand.

  ~9~

  November 11

  7:27 pm – cst

  Lazarus was confident they would get to Los Zapatos cabin even before they arrived with Derek. The Huey they were flying had limited range; 200 miles was average. Assuming they had an auxiliary tank, they could stretch it to 275; 300 tops. It was almost 1400 air miles from Chihuahua to Zamora. With a minimum of three stops for fuel, probably 4 at about 30 minutes each it would add 2 hours to their 8 hours of flight time. From the information Katsumi supplied, Lazarus put their eta at or around midnight.

  The convoy arrived at the plantation a little after 9 p.m. Lazarus drove past the main house. Ten minutes later they arrived at his private air strip. He pulled the Jeep up to the hangar and everyone piled out, stretching and yawning. Encarnación opened the walk door. “Buenas noches, señor,” he said as he reached for Lazarus’ hand.

  “Y para ti, Encarnación, es bueno verte.” Lazarus clamped his hand on Eno’s shoulder – everyone called him Eno, Encarnación is a mouthful. Lazarus made quick introductions, calling them all by names he’d assigned in his head for operational purposes. Gunny was still Gunny; no point in changing that. Mumphord was introduced as “Ribs”; Young Bear had filled Lazarus in on all the team members, and Mumphord had family in Texas known for their barbequed ribs.

  Next up was Wilson, now referred to as Spider. She gave Lazarus a thinly veiled ‘What the fuck?’ look, but simply nodded to Eno. She’d be getting an answer for that one – count on it.

  Lazarus could read it all over the Marine’s face. “I chose spider because of your ability to climb almost any surface under any conditions, and in fact, spiders are favorites of mine.” That seemed to satisfy Wilson as she nodded curtly to Lazarus with a hint of a grin.

  “This is Delta,” said Lazarus as the young Sergeant Johnson stepped up. He’d been one in the army, so it was a natural fit.

  Next in line was the Frenchman, Jean-Paul Lafayette. He was staring Lazarus straight in the eye. He whispered in French, “it better not be Froggie.” His grin belied the attempt to appear serious.

  “Eno, this is Shooter, our French companion.” Lafayette’s grin broadened as he shook Eno’s hand.

  “Merci monsieur,” he said to Lazarus. “I do suppose tireur d'élite would be a bit much over the coms.”

  “Oui, tireur d'élite serait certainement un peu dramatique, vous ne seriez pas d'accord?” Lazarus replied in perfect French. (Elite shooter would be a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?) Lafayette was duly impressed.

  “You speak French better than many of my countrymen, monsieur,” he said.

  “I was raised by my aunt in Chateaurenard.”

  “Vive la France!” responded Lafayette with a heel-click and a salute.

  Reichart was leaning against the Toyota, arms and legs crossed, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lower lip. He casually flicked the butt as he literally sauntered over to meet Encarnación. Wi
th his strong German accent, he spoke without waiting for Lazarus to name him. There was zero chance Gustaf would let anyone create a call-sign for him. He took Encarnación’s hand, shamelessly lifting it to his lips. “You may call me, Gusto, my fine-looking Cubano, and you may call me anytime at that.” He kissed the back of the startled Eno’s hand, winked and turned on his heel, heading towards the hangar.

  No one said a word. Eno looked at his hand, at Lazarus, at Gustaf and back at his hand. “At least he didn’t kiss me on the mouth,” he dead-panned and fell into step behind the incorrigible German.

  Lazarus shook his head and Young Bear shrugged. “He does have a good point, there,” said Craig as he turned to follow Eno. Lazarus fell in behind, satisfied the intros went well. As he got to the door, he whistled two short trills and one long. Langston bounded in the door right behind his master.

  LJ had the deuce and a half backed into the hangar. Lazarus joined Derek’s team at the tail gate. He smiled a thank you to Stephanie as he took in the armaments that were now at his disposal. There was a crate of Beretta AR90’s equipped with the auxiliary grenade launcher with two crates of ammo and two more with grenades; fragmentary and incendiary. The AR90 was standard issue in the Italian army and used by many NATO allies.

  Next to the AR’s were six shoulder launch stinger missiles and another half-dozen Israeli B-300 RPG’s armed with high explosive follow-through rounds. The follow-through round is designed for use against fortified targets. The primary charge punches a hole through the structure, allowing an anti-personnel charge to pass through the wall and detonate within the building. It couldn’t take out a tank, but there weren’t many walls that could stand up to its charge. Beretta 92FS 9-mm handguns, Benelli shotguns and assorted throwing knives, were supplemented by a pair of Bowtech Reign 6 compound bows, a variety of broadheads and Bow-Mag .357 exploding tips. One was for Lazarus and the other for Johnson. He was Texas born and bred and had been bow-hunting since the age of 5.