Hostile Fire (36 page)

The big crate eased forward and upward again, fully supported now by the sling and the cables. Then the sky pilot pulled the heavy crate out of the confines of the BAC One-Eleven. It was free and clear. It swung slightly as the Skycrane put on more power and lifted it straight into the air, then swung to the southeast and headed toward Mexico City’s Benito Juárez Airport.

The SEALs cheered. Murdock grinned.

“Bradshaw,” Murdock bellowed.

“Over here, sir. We’re all set up and the great one is on the edge of his seat.”

Murdock took the handset.

“Your baby is out of the nest and flying home. You should see him at your home base in about an hour. Not sure of the speed of this windmill but I’d give him an hour.”

“Good. I’ll breathe easier when the package is safely here. Then we worry about getting it back in town where she belongs. That’s part of a song you may know, Dolly. We’ve had some more developments.”

“About the cells in Tijuana and La Mesa?”

“How the hell you know that, Murdock?”

“Some letters we found here. Maybe we didn’t tell you about them. We have names and addresses.”

“I’ll look at them later. Your SH-60 should be in his LZ. Give him a call and wake him up. Then haul out of there and take those two air force guys and the prisoner with you. It’s now eight-fifteen. You should be here by ten o’clock. We’ll have you on the Gulfstream II out of Benito at two o’clock, or fourteen hundred.”

“Tijuana?”

“No. North Island in Coronado. We want to check your gear and get some briefings from Tijuana
Federales
before you hit TJ.”

“We better be moving. I’m out of here.”

“See you in about two hours.”

Murdock handed Bradford the mike. “Gardner,” he bellowed. “Tell that SH-60 jockey to get his rig warmed up, we’re on the way with three extra passengers.”

“Can do,” Gardner said on the net.

Sergeant Caldwell saluted Murdock. “Sir, I hear we’re hitchhiking back to Benito with you. Is that right?”

“It is, Sergeant, unless you want to walk.”

“Rather fly, sir. How far to the new LZ?”

“About two miles. Think you’re up to it?”

“We’ll both give it a try, sir. Like you say, it’s one hell of a lot better than walking all the way back.”

Benito Juárez Airport
Mexico City, Mexico

By the time the SEALs returned to the airport, the Skycrane had long since departed. Stroh didn’t tell them where it went and they didn’t ask.

Stroh talked to them on board the Gulfstream.

“First, I’m going with you to San Diego.”

There was a chorus of shouts and whistles.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Yes, we’re going to work with the
Federales
in Tijuana. For those of you who don’t know, that federal-sounding word is just that, the Mexican federal police. Sort of like our FBI but not at all like them. Sometimes they are loose cannons themselves. But this time we trust them and they heard about your trip into León and asked us to come and help them wrap up the TJ end of things. We still know more about it than they do, and we’ll keep it that way.

“Yes, we have hot meals on board courtesy of Mexicana Airlines. It’s their first-class flyer dinner. Not sure when we get into San Diego because we now stop in Tijuana first. We’ll refill ammo for anyone who’s almost out and get ready to take a bus ride into Tijuana. Our Mexican neighbors want this cleared up as soon as we can. Any questions?”

“What about La Mesa?” Gardner asked.

“Not sure on that. The FBI and the area task force are
working it. They might not need us. We’ll watch and wait on that one. Mexico first.”

The copilot waved at Stroh from the cockpit door. “Okay, we’re next in line to take off,” Stroh said. “So sit down, belt in, and dinner will be served as soon as we reach our cruising altitude.”

“Thank you, miss,” Jaybird cracked.

Stroh grinned. “Murdock, next time we go fishing, let’s use cut bait. I think Jaybird’s mouth would make some tasty morsels for the blue sharks.”

There were cheers and catcalls and general approval of the comeback.

Lam held up both hands. “That’s a score. I’m counting. The long-term results show that currently our totals are: Jaybird one thirty-four and Stroh one twelve. I think the old man is gaining on the upstart.”

The cheering cut off as the sleek jet’s throttles rammed forward and the seventeen passengers were pinned to the backs of their seats as the craft thundered down the Mexico City Airport runway and lifted into the sky.

Tijuana International Airport
Tijuana, Mexico

The sleek jet took off from Benito Juárez Airport in Mexico City and climbed to its usual cruising altitude of twenty-five thousand feet. The pilot told them on the speakers that their flight time to Tijuana would be two hours and fifty-eight minutes.

Jaybird yelped. “Freeze-dried tomatoes on a hamburger bun. We’re two hours ahead of San Diego time. We gain two hours going that direction so we get there fifty-eight minutes after we take off from here. On the clock that is. Damn. Always wanted to get somewhere before we left. Didn’t quite make it this time.”

“You’re full of shit, Jaybird,” Wade Claymore said.

“That’s probably true,” J.G. Gardner cracked. “But the fact is he’s right. If you could fly fast enough this direction halfway around the world, you could get to that destination twelve hours before you left.”

“Until you hit the international dateline out there in the Pacific and you gain a whole fucking day,” Canzoneri said.

“Enough already,” Luke Howard roared. “Where’s the food?”

“Coming at you, girls,” the crew chief said, coming out of the cockpit. He was a first-class petty officer and grabbed the closest SEAL, Fernandez, to help him pass out the food.

The clock showed slightly before noon when they landed at Tijuana Airport. It had been some time since Murdock had seen it and they had made some improvements. He didn’t see much of the new part as their plane taxied to the transient hangars where a bus and two police cars met them. Each
SEAL wore his cammies and combat vest and carried his assigned weapon and double ammo. The civilian-clad
Federales
met them and talked with Murdock. Their spokesman was fluent in English.

“Welcome to Mexico. You guys travel fast.” He held out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Roberto Perez.” Murdock shook his hand.

“Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock. Hope we got here in time.”

“You did, we waited for you to start. You came fast. I know this plane. She goes almost ten miles a minute.”

“Good to be here,” Murdock said. “How can we help you wrap up this end of the problem?”

The Mexican
Federale
looked to be in his thirties, Murdock thought. He was just over six feet tall and slender, with heavy muscles showing through his lightweight suit. He was clean shaven, with close-cropped dark hair. His darting black eyes took in everything as the SEALs came off the plane and lined up in squad formation, weapons slung and muzzles pointing down. The cop looked around the area, then at his two men, who nodded.

“First we get your men on the bus and out of sight.”

“On the bus,” J.G. Gardner barked. The men broke ranks and moved into the bus. As they did, the Mexican cop waved Murdock to one of the cars. Murdock pointed to the J.G. to go with the men.

In the car the cop relaxed. “The sight of those weapons could get told to the wrong people. We have an operation set up. You gave us the name and address of the cell leader here. He had been on a watch list for six months, but we never had enough evidence against him. Now we do. We’ve had his place under surveillance for six hours now and he seems to be inside and has not left. No one has come to his house. It’s in a good neighborhood. We’ll try to go in quietly and hope there is no gunfire. Tell your men they are backup. We have a force of twelve men waiting to take down the house.”

“Why do you need us? You seem to have everything covered.”

“You never know here in Mexico. They might have been
tipped off we’re coming. Last month one of our top leaders in the Tijuana
Federales
force was arrested for aiding and abetting one of the larger drug cartels. So you just never know. We keep trying.”

The cars led the group out of the airport and through ten miles of streets and highways and more streets until they came to a section of Tijuana that looked like any U.S. city, with paved streets, sidewalks, good three- and four-bedroom, two-story houses with neatly tended lawns.

“The target is two blocks from here,” Perez said. “Half of my men will go down the alley and set up. The rest of us will come from the front. All are dressed casually as locals. All have automatic weapons. We’ll want half your SEALs blocking the near end of the alley. The other half will move within fifty yards of the target and conceal themselves behind houses and trees. Then when all is ready, we will break down the door and go in.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Murdock said. He and Perez had just exited their black Buick when Murdock heard a sharp report.

“Rocket-propelled grenade,” Murdock bellowed and he caught the Mexican cop and pulled him to the ground. He heard the report of a second grenade. Just then the first one hit four feet from the far side of the heavy Buick, smashing all the windows, showering the body metal with deadly shrapnel. Murdock had dove facing away from the car and dragged the cop with him. He felt the sting of the shrapnel when the round went off and felt some hit the soles of his boots. His left arm stung where a hot chunk of the RPG had cut a slash through his cammie shirt and gouged out a half inch of flesh.

He heard the second RPG round go off behind them. It hit the rear wheels of the bus the SEALs were still in and dumped it over on the side. The blast ruptured the fuel tank and flames roared through the back of the bus. Murdock ran that way. He saw his men kicking out windows. The door was flat on the ground under the tipped-over bus. He got to the rig and helped the men crawl out. Two had burns. A third had trouble getting out the window.

Murdock jumped up and lifted the man out. It was Prescott.
His pants were burned off and both arms burned as well. They carried him away from the flaming bus and stretched him out on a lawn. Mahanani hovered over him.

“He needs an ambulance right now,” the medic said.

Murdock looked for the J.G. He found the man away from the bus, lying on a lawn. He had bad burns on his arms and face.

“I’m okay, Skipper, just singed a little. You get a count?”

Murdock ran back to the men and began counting. The men sat and lay on the closest lawn. Murdock found Senior Chief Neal.

“Senior Chief, we’re one man short. Who is missing?”

They went over the men again. Murdock found all of his squad. Neal came back shaking his head.

“It’s Wade Claymore, the radioman. Can’t find him anywhere.”

“Did everyone get out of the bus?”

“Not sure.”

Murdock called the men around him. “We can’t find Claymore. Anyone know where he was sitting in the bus?”

“Toward the back,” Jaybird said. “I remember Tate teased him about having to go to the back of the bus.”

“Anybody seen him since you got out of the bus?” Neal asked.

Nobody answered. They all looked at the bus, which was thirty yards from them. The entire vehicle was one mass of flames. Then they heard the ammunition going off.

“What weapon did he have today?” Murdock asked.

Fernandez spoke up. “Usually he carried a Bull Pup, but we switched today. He wanted to use my MP-5.”

They heard more rounds going off. Murdock said a swift little prayer that they weren’t the ten twenty millimeter rounds exploding that would have been in the fire if Claymore had kept his Bull Pup.

“Okay, we’ve taken a casualty. Now spread out and look alive. Whoever shot those RPGs is still out there.”

He ran back to the first Buick with the glass blown out. He found the Mexican
Federale
, Perez, sitting where Murdock had pushed him down. He had a graze on the side of
his head that bled down his ear onto his suit. He held his left arm cradled against his chest.

“Broke my arm,” Perez said. “Sliced it to hell. You saved my worthless life just now. Thanks. My second in command has taken over. He’s Lieutenant Castro. He’s sent our men to take down the house. If they knew we were coming, they all won’t be there now. Can you put some men on this end of that alley right over there?”

He pointed half a block down and to the left.

“Done. We won’t shoot. Your men must be down there somewhere at the back door. We’ll block.”

“How are your men?”

“We think we lost one in the fire. Some burns. Most okay. Did somebody call for an ambulance?”

“Castro did. He wasn’t hurt. Should be one here in ten minutes. Sorry about your man. Maybe we’ll find him yet.”

“I’ll get my men in position.”

Murdock went back to his SEALs and told the burned men that an ambulance was coming. He left Mahanani with them and took the rest up to the alley mouth. It seemed strangely quiet. He called Lam over.

“Let’s take a look. It’s the fourth house down on the right. Supposed to be a fence next to the alley.”