Mexican Heat (Nick Woods Book 2) (7 page)

Chapter 7

If Hernan
Flores thought the largest anti-government attack in Mexican history might push
Juan Soto from the country, he calculated wrong. Within two hours of catching
the news of the assault, Hernan Flores’s fellow billionaire Juan Soto was
touring the devastation at the Presidential Palace.

Rubble
and debris littered the ground and Juan stood by his friend President Roberto
Rivera. More than fifty armed soldiers stood around them, alert and dangerous,
while military helicopters buzzed overhead. News cameras watched Soto and
Rivera closely -- they were, after all, Mexico’s two most powerful, non-cartel
men -- and both stood tall and determined, like confident leaders. Men who were
unshaken and full of resolve.

Hernan Flores
saw the footage live, as did nearly everyone else in Mexico who had access to a
TV. This was a national tragedy reminiscent of America’s 9/11 and all work had
stopped as the country sat paralyzed in complete shock, wondering if more was
to come -- their country would break down into complete chaos.

Flores
watched the two men on a massive TV, and he assumed Soto was there only because
the President had begged him to be. Surely in the shock and ruin of the morning
light, Rivera had needed his strongest supporter to come forward and reassure
him.

But
President Rivera hadn’t even asked. Instead, Juan Soto had heard of the attack
from an assistant, turned on the news, and texted his friend to tell him he was
on his way. Now they stood, on full display, while millions of shocked and
worried Mexicans watched their every move.

“You
coming here means more than I could possibly say,” Rivera said, his hand on
Juan’s arm.

“It is
nothing,” Juan said. “I saw the chaos and destruction and I felt my
grandfather’s eyes on me, God rest his soul.”

“I
think,” Soto said, then paused. He looked at a still-smoldering, wrecked Humvee
near them and he gritted his teeth. Some blood on the side of it had darkened
from the heat of the fire, but hadn’t burned off. It added a sweet, sick smell
to the chalky grittiness that came with the smell of cordite, dust, and blasted
concrete.

Juan Soto
looked away from the blood, swallowed hard, and continued. “I think my
grandfather, with his single fishing boat that he borrowed to the hilt to buy,
would have stood up to the kind of men who would do this.”

He turned
to look at the wrecked Presidential Palace -- once a source of pride for all
Mexicans. Juan swung around and faced the President, his friend for nearly ten
years, and he said, “Roberto, my friend I am pledging to you now, on my soul,
and on the soul of my grandfather, that I will not leave this land. Not today.
Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

Rivera
saw a fire in Soto’s eyes and wondered what it meant. Ten minutes later, when
the two arrived in a private conference room inside the Presidential Palace, he
asked about the look of anger, but all Soto would say was that he was planning
some additional assistance to the government of Mexico.

Rivera
got the feeling this wasn’t financial aid. Or anything that was even remotely
legal. But whatever it was, he enjoyed seeing the old fire in his friend again.
The second-to-none businessman who never showed his cards. The man who never
gave up, regardless of the odds. The man who had faced bankruptcy and never
blinked or panicked.

Roberto
Rivera, and certainly the government of Mexico, needed more men like Juan Soto
to stand up and say “enough.” And with the knowledge that Soto wouldn’t be
leaving Mexico -- taking away his money and support -- Rivera felt renewed
strength, despite the unprecedented setback his government had just suffered.

While
Juan Soto was squaring his shoulders for a fight, the government of the United
States was doing the exact opposite. Even before the news had leaked that
nearly an entire Navy SEAL Platoon had been lost, the President of the United
States had decided to abandon his shaky neighbor to the south. No more troops.
Reduced aid. And nothing that could stick to him with his re-election campaign
around the corner.

Public
opinion polls showed Americans staunchly opposed to intervening in Mexico, and
the President already faced the calls for congressional hearings on why a Navy
SEAL Platoon had been there in the first place when the War on Terror was still
in full swing. With the election approaching, he knew his opponents would work
this angle as hard and for as long as they could. So, following the grueling
meeting with his staff, he wanted it very clear: No more involvement that could
be traced back to the U.S. government. Period.

Without
troops from the Defense Department or more financial resources from the State
Department, only one tool remained to help buttress President Roberto Rivera’s
besieged government: The CIA.

But the
CIA was stretched to the max. Operatives from the Agency stalked and hunted
terrorists and extremist groups literally across the globe. From the cities of
Pakistan to the mountains of Afghanistan, from the deserts of Saudi Arabia to
the prayer mats of mosques in Syria, from the shanties in Yemen to the very
edges of north, south, and west Africa, the CIA was fighting an all-out,
win-at-all-costs war of both offense and defense.

All that
activity, however, meant the Agency was over-extended, exhausted, and
under-manned. It lacked enough quality operatives, spies, and analysts to fully
pursue the War on Terror, as it was still called. So, regardless of what the
President wanted, or what the CIA Director wanted, or what Mexican President
Roberto Rivera needed, shifting forces to take on a uber-powerful drug lord in
Mexico -- one who had nearly taken down the entire government in a single
strike, while also batting down a full platoon of SEALs as if it had been no
challenge -- was not something the CIA was looking forward to adding to their
list of priorities.

Inside
the CIA, an endless parade of meetings was held, from low-level strategists all
the way up to the Director. They all knew the President wanted something to
happen -- off the radar, of course -- but none of them knew how to make it
happen without undermining more important efforts elsewhere. (Unsaid was that
if a terrorist attack happened in America, or even against America but in a
foreign land, they’d be blamed for that, as well.)

The
overall opinion at the CIA was that little could be done in Mexico. And frankly
bigger battles needed to be fought. Battles against radicalism and terrorism
around the globe, not localized border drama to America’s south.

Plus,
Mexico was corrupt through and through. Anyone sent there would be dimed out by
ten different Mexican officials before they even arrived, so why bother? Wasn’t
that what almost certainly happened to the Navy SEAL Team? Besides, the drug
cartels mostly left America alone so why go after them? And even if you toppled
the latest cartel and its leader, in this case the Godesto Cartel and Hernan
Flores, they would be replaced by a successor before the predecessor was even
buried in the ground.

Yet
still, the folks at the CIA knew they had to do something. The President
insisted that Mexican President Roberto Rivera be supported, yet only in a way
that was off the books and couldn’t be placed back on the United States, which
really meant him and his re-election effort.

So, the
Director continued to press for more meetings until they had solutions -- any
solutions.

And in
the palpable desperation of one of these follow-up meetings, a name was
sarcastically spat out. It was a joke that under the circumstances was funnier
than hell. Without question, jokes and laughs were what the meetings had all
turned to -- after all, they couldn’t justify the displacement of operatives
that had spent years infiltrating terrorist groups to now up and go
gallivanting around in Mexico.

The only
solution they had was literally a joke.

But that
name that started out as a funny and cruel joke began circulating. And every
time it was brought up in a different meeting, the same pattern emerged:
rip-roaring, hard laughs followed by slow consideration as the idea was chewed
on. And sometimes one of the braver people in the room -- or one with the least
to lose -- would say something along the lines of, “He actually might be the
perfect person.” Or “solution.” Or as one analyst said, “the only son of a
bitch crazy -- and paranoid -- enough to pull it off.”

And as
meeting notes were shared, a consensus emerged. Nearly everyone agreed there
was no other person better suited.

If it
could be done, Nick Woods was the man. And if something needed to be done, who
better to send than the man who had wrecked more Soviet Spetsnaz and CIA
operatives than any other living man.

And on
the flip side, if the mission were to fail as most felt it would, Nick Woods
was no big loss. The CIA Director could legitimately tell the President they
were sending their best man, the situation would remain in the background, and
the President would either be re-elected or not. But most importantly, the CIA
would be maintaining its most important priority around the globe.

No way
would the CIA endanger American lives at the whims of a President worried about
his re-election effort. And so the decision was made: Nick Woods would be
found. And he would be convinced to pick up his rifle again in service of his
country.

All that
was left was to decide who among them was ballsy enough to actually recommend
Nick and in the process put their own career in the hands of a madman.

Chapter 8

The man
crazy enough to finally approach Nick was having the worst day of his life. He
was still tied to a chair with a Claymore mine aimed toward the only exit. Blood
ran down his face from a nasty head wound and his arms throbbed from a rope
tied far too tightly around them.

Nick
Woods sized up the man and repeated what his hostage had just said.

“Mexico?”
Nick asked. “You need my help in Mexico? I thought our wars were in Iraq,
Afghanistan, and a half-dozen countries in Africa and the Middle East. What the
hell are we doing in Mexico? The drug cartels mostly leave us alone.”

“Our
focus
is
on most of those places, and that’s where our resources are.
But, recent events tell us that Mexico is about to completely destabilize. A
drug cartel leader named Hernan Flores has nearly toppled the government.
President Roberto Rivera has almost been pushed from power by Flores and this
Godesto Cartel. And the country’s largest businessman -- or at least largest
lawful businessman -- is about to exit the country, removing his family and all
his assets. Our analysts and strategists do not believe the country can survive
his departure, so we’re offering serious aid.”

Nick
nodded. “And this aid involves that major dust-up with the Navy SEALs down
there, and the attack on the Mexican Presidential Palace?”

“Yes.
Hernan Flores hurt us bad. Wiped out much of an entire SEAL Team Platoon. He
also simultaneously embarrassed and devastated President Roberto Rivera.”

“Why not
just kill this Flores fellow? How hard can that be?”

“We
can’t. He’s beloved by most Mexicans and he owns several legitimate businesses
including numerous newspapers and TV stations. He’s wiped his trail so clean
that Rivera’s government can’t even get a warrant against him, and even if they
did, most of the Mexican people would think it was because the President feels
threatened by the possibility of Flores running against him.”

“Are you
sure he’s not clean?”

The man
looked exasperated. “Of course we’re sure. He runs his operations through
several henchmen, who he claims are merely friends. But we’re sure that Flores
has an extensive network and is behind it all.”

Nick looked
down at his M14. “I still don’t see what the problem is. Why not send some
military task force down and handle the problem?”

“We
already did, remember?” the agent said. “And Flores wiped out nearly an entire
SEAL Team Platoon and we barely left a mark on him. And the CIA literally lacks
the resources to send our own task force down there. Our military units and
intelligence assets are deployed all over the place, obviously very heavily
concentrated in Afghanistan and Pakistan, not to mention Iraq. Plus nearly a
dozen African countries. We lack the manpower, and even if we had it, the same
thing would happen. We’d send a team, the details of their deployment would get
leaked, and they’d be dead in no time.”

“And you
think it’d be different if I went?” Nick asked. “There’s barely an honest cop
or merchant in Mexico right now. I’d be dead in no time, as well.”

“We don’t
think so,” the agent said. “You’ve led a hunter-killer team against the Soviet
Spetsnaz in a country where you could trust no one. A few years ago, you evaded
some of our best CIA strike teams for weeks and weeks with almost no external
support. You have a nose for danger unlike anyone we’ve ever seen. We think
you’re the best man we have available to go into Mexico.”

“You want
me to go alone?” Nick asked, nearly incredulous.

“No, of
course not. Develop a plan and come pitch it to us. You’ll lead the effort. We
have the money to make whatever you want happen, as long as we keep it off the
books, and as long as we’re not pulling men from our current ranks. The
President wants this kept quiet.”

“How do I
know this isn’t some scam?” Nick asked. “Just some trick to get me filleted,
and outside the country, at that?”

“If we
wanted you dead, even as good as you are, we could have snuffed you out a
hundred times by now since our agreement a couple of years ago. Drones.
Snipers. Car accidents. Our opportunities have been endless and we haven’t done
a thing. No one wants you dead, believe me, but I understand after being
betrayed so many times that you’ll be fighting those demons for years to come.”

“Why
would I want to do this? You’ve read my file. I’ve got a lot of money stored
away. I’ve got my guns. Why do this?”

The agent
smiled, as if he already knew he’d accomplished his mission.

“Two
reasons. First, you’re bored. You know this. We know this. Second, you’re a
sucker for duty. Our country desperately needs your services and we intend to
pay very well. But, it’s duty that will eventually win you over. Our country
can’t allow Hernan Flores and the Godesto Cartel to win and completely
destabilize Mexico. We don’t need a Third World country directly on our border,
and you’re the best man for the job.”

Nick
turned, thinking about what he had been told.

“One
other thing,” the agent said. “We know what you went through a couple of years
ago and we know you still have some unfinished business with the man behind it
all. It just so happens we want to deal with him, too. His corruption and abuse
of power has grown too much, so we’re prepared to tell you his identity and
help you eliminate him if you’ll help us in Mexico first.”

Nick
turned and knew they had him. The agent knew, too, and smiled. “Now, can you
cut these ropes before I lose a limb?”