Conquistador, page 6
“Where are you now?”
“I’m on my way to Palawan. I’ve lost contact with Ramos, and fear he may be dead.”
“If he’s still alive when you find him, eliminate him as well. We can’t have anyone left alive who could point a finger at us for Ms. Cruz’s death.”
“I had already considered that. What of the two Americans?”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “They’re of no consequence anymore. When Ms. Cruz’s body washes up on shore, they’ll go home and report that she is dead. I want you to kill Ramos and get on the next flight out of the Philippines.”
“Yes, sir.” Salazar pulled off his headset and sat back in his seat. His gut instinct told him his employer was probably making a mistake. Ramos’ sudden and unexplained disappearance was unsettling. Salazar suspected the two men looking for Ms. Cruz had a hand in his demise. He made a mental note to find out all he could about these men, just in case their paths crossed again in the future.
“How long until we reach the island?” Mitchell asked Garcia.
“The ship’s captain said we’ll be there in the next five minutes,” replied Garcia.
Mitchell nodded. He and Jackson had changed into multicam fatigues and wore tac-vests over their chests. Their lift to the island was an old fishing boat that belonged to an uncle of one of Estrada’s men. Fishing nets and gear covered the deck. Jackson was at the back of the vessel, inflating a Zodiac rubber boat.
“Garcia says we’re almost there,” said Mitchell to his friend.
“That’s good,” said Jackson. “I know this is a short trip, but this rustbucket looks like it could sink at any moment and take us all down with it to Davy Jones’ locker.”
Mitchell chuckled. He opened up a pocket on his right sleeve and pulled out a map of the island sent to him by Jen. It was a copy of the original Japanese blueprint. The gun emplacement was built like a cross. In the four corners were cement pillboxes. In the center was the mount for the one hundred and forty millimeter gun, which had been taken away after the war and scrapped. There was a network of underground tunnels which connected the bunkers to the main gun position.
“If they’re holding Ms. Cruz on the island, I’m willing to bet she’s in one of the rooms that were used during the war as quarters for the gun crews,” said Mitchell.
“Makes sense,” replied Jackson. “Now all we have to do is get ashore unseen, and get her out of there without being shot.”
Mitchell reached down and hauled up a long, green plastic suitcase. “That’s why we have this.” He popped open a couple of latches and flipped the lid back. Inside was a disassembled ghost-gray Raven UAV. “I’ll send her aloft the moment we come in visual range of the island. Hopefully, we’ll be able to spot the bad guys if they’re moving about in the open.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then we pick a spot to go ashore and hope for the best.”
Jackson shook his head. “You know, Ryan, the longer we’re together, the more your plans become off the cuff.”
“That’s because we can anticipate each other’s moves.”
“If you say so. Come on, let’s get that drone in the air. I’d rather not blunder into an ambush if I don’t have to.”
Within minutes, the UAV was airborne and flying toward the island. Mitchell sat on an old metal box, controlling the drone’s flight. Jackson stood behind him, watching the live feed on a laptop. After one lap of the island, Mitchell steered it toward the old gun position and had the UAV fly in circles while he and Jackson studied the images on the computer screen.
“Nada,” said Jackson. “I can’t see a thing through the jungle canopy. There could be nothing or a platoon of gunmen on the island.”
“If we can’t see them using the camera, let’s switch to thermal imaging,” said Mitchell, activating the thermal camera on the UAV. Right away, the laptop screen went dark, except for three white blobs standing where the Japanese cannon would have sat during the war.
“These guys aren’t amateurs. They must have camouflage nets strung up to stop anyone from seeing them with the naked eye.”
“At least now we now know someone is there. I’ll do one more lap of the island before bringing it home.” Aside from the three men, the island looked deserted. Rather than try to land the UAV on a boat heaving up and down in the swells, Mitchell ditched it in the water.
“According to your map,” said Jackson, “there should be a machine gun bunker right in front of us. I say we go in through there and search the compound room by room until we find Ms. Cruz.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Mitchell turned to face Garcia. “No disrespect, but Nate and I know what we’re doing. I’d like you to remain on the boat and make sure the captain doesn’t decide to take off and leave us stranded.”
Garcia nodded. “I’m not offended. I was never a soldier. I’ll make sure the ship is still here when you’re ready to leave.”
“Time to go,” said Jackson, grabbing hold of a rope on the front of the Zodiac and hauling it the edge of the boat.
Mitchell gave him a hand. While Garcia held the Zodiac, the two former Rangers climbed down into the raft and waved their goodbyes. Jackson switched on the electric outboard motor and steered the Zodiac straight toward the shore. The second the bottom of the raft touched the sandy beach, Mitchell leaped out and helped pull the Zodiac out of the water. He and Jackson dragged it to the edge of the jungle. Both men were wearing NVGs. The world was a mix of light and dark green.
Mitchell drew his 9mm Beretta and screwed a suppressor into the barrel. He edged forward and stepped into the jungle. The empty concrete bunker was less than ten meters away. With his pistol at the ready, Mitchell warily approached the blackened pillbox and peered inside. Aside from some trash dumped on the ground, the emplacement was empty.
“It’s clear,” Mitchell whispered over his shoulder.
Jackson dug out a small handheld device from a pouch on his vest and turned it on. He aimed it down the long dark tunnel. He whispered, “My motion sensor isn’t picking up a thing. We should be safe for now.”
“Okay, let’s go,” said Mitchell, as he crawled over a cement parapet and slid into the tunnel. The air was cool and musty smelling. He moved along as quietly as he could. His nerves grew taut. Mitchell was ready to react at a split-second’s notice.
The sound of a man coughing echoed down the tunnel. Mitchell dropped to one knee. He waited a few seconds before standing and continuing his search. The man had to be in one of the three other tunnels. When they came to the center of the complex, Mitchell raised a hand. Through his night vision goggles, he could see light coming out from underneath a door. He looked at Jackson and pointed at the closed door. His friend nodded and pulled out an M84 stun grenade. Since they didn’t know where Julia Cruz was being held, the plan was to use non-lethal weapons as much as possible. Both men crept to the door. Mitchell held up his hand and slowly counted back from five with his fingers. The instant his hand clenched into a fist, Jackson pulled the pin and kicked open the door. With an underhand toss, Jackson threw the grenade inside the room. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut.
One second later, the M84 detonated with an earsplitting bang and blinding flash of light. They brought up their pistols and rushed inside the room. Two men were standing there, with their hands over their eyes. Both were dropped with a shot to their knees. Jackson ran over, kicked their weapons away from the men and picked them up.
“Okay, which one of you speaks English?” asked Mitchell.
The two mercenaries writhed in pain on the ground.
“First one to talk gets to live,” Mitchell threatened.
“I’ll cover the door,” said Jackson, taking up a position looking down the corridor.
Mitchell placed the end of his pistol’s silencer on the forehead of one of the men. “Can you tell me where the American woman is being held?”
The man let go of his bloody knee and pointed out of the door. Through gritted teeth, he blurted out, “Next tunnel. She’s in the right-hand tunnel.”
“Salamat,” said Mitchell, thanking the man in Tagalog. “Stay where you are, and you we won’t kill you. If you try to leave this room in the next hour, I will shoot you. Got it?”
The men nodded their understanding.
“Okay, Nate, I suspect the element of surprise is long gone. We saw three heat signatures so we’ve got to assume we have at least one more merc hiding somewhere in the tunnels.”
Jackson held his motion tracker out of the doorway. “Looks clear.”
With his pistol held out in front of him, Mitchell stepped out into the tunnel and moved along the wall until he came to the central gun emplacement. All that remained was the steel mount the cannon once sat on. The other corridors branched off. Mitchell pointed to the right.
A bright stream of light coming out from under a door vanished. Mitchell glanced at his colleague. They had found the last man. Jackson grabbed another M84. Together, they snuck to the door.
“I know you’re out there,” hollered an agitated man inside the room. His accent was Arabic. “Trust me, I’m not bluffing when I say I have a gun aimed at the woman’s head. If you try to enter this room, I’ll blow her brains out.”
“Okay, friend, let’s calm down,” said Mitchell. “If we all stay cool we can all come out of this alive.”
“I want you to leave this island right now, or the woman dies.”
“I can’t do that, and you know it. How about you open the door and let Ms. Cruz go free. If you do that, we’ll leave you alone.”
“We! Who else is out there?”
“There’s just one other man and me,” replied Mitchell.
“I can’t let the woman go.”
Mitchell looked over his shoulder and pointed to a door a little farther down the tunnel. Jackson nodded and crept to the door. He tried it and found it was open. With a quick wave at Mitchell, he slipped inside.
“Why can’t you let the woman go?” asked Mitchell.
“I just can’t,” said the man.
“Whatever you’re being paid, I can double it.”
Jackson walked forward as quiet as a mouse, until he came to a door leading into the next room. He ran his hand along the door looking for a crack he could look through and found one, halfway down. Jackson dropped to one knee and peered into the other room. It was hard to see. He could make out Julia Cruz lying face down on a cot. She didn’t seem to be moving. A man stood in the middle of the room with an Uzi pointed at the closed door. Jackson could hear Mitchell and the Arabic man talking. The longer they talked, the better chance he had of rescuing Ms. Cruz. Jackson placed his stun grenade back in its pouch and drew his pistol. He stood up and took a step back from the door. When he heard the merc scream something about money followed by the cocking of his submachine gun, Jackson knew it was now or never. He took a deep breath, brought up his right foot, and kicked open the door. The man turned to fire, but was killed where he stood by a single shot to the head. His body fell backward onto the ground. Jackson swung his pistol around, making sure there wasn’t another person waiting in the shadows.
The door leading to the tunnel smashed open, and Mitchell ran inside. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” replied Jackson, looking down at the corpse. “I didn’t want to kill him, but I don’t think this one ever intended to play ball with us.”
Mitchell walked to Julia’s side and laid a hand on her back. “She’s breathing.” He rolled her over, flipped up his NVGs, and shone a light in her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. “She looks drugged.”
Jackson tucked his pistol away, bent down, and scooped her up in his arms. “Lead on, Ryan. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Mitchell brought his NVGs down and waited a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust before leading them back the way they came. At the machinegun bunker, Mitchell climbed out first. He took a quick look around to make sure it was safe before taking Julia into his arms. Once Jackson was outside, he once more took Julia. They were about to head to the beach when the sound of a twig breaking somewhere off to their left made them freeze in place. Mitchell brought up his pistol and followed the noise being made by someone moving not too stealthily through the jungle. All of a sudden, a man tripped over his own feet, stumbled out of the brush and smashed headlong into Jackson.
The man’s eyes widened when he saw Jackson looking down at him. Before he could move, Mitchell flipped his pistol around in the air and brought the pistol grip down onto the man’s head, knocking him out cold. The man fell like a sack of potatoes to the ground.
“Let’s hope he’s the last of them,” whispered Mitchell.
Julia was laid down in the middle of the Zodiac. Within seconds, the raft was back in the water, heading away from the island. Mitchell got down on his knees and turned on his flashlight. He did a cursory check of her body. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her, other than being pumped full of drugs.
Mitchell picked up a Motorola and called Garcia. “Eddie, this is Ryan. We have Ms. Cruz. We’re going to need an ambulance when we get back to Palawan Island.”
“Got it,” replied Garcia. “Is Ms. Cruz hurt?”
“No. Just drugged, I think.”
The lights on the fishing boat came on, lighting up the sea around it.
“Okay, I see you,” said Mitchell, thinking the ship looked like a Christmas tree. “We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“I’ll give Mister Cruz a heads-up that his sister is safe, and that you’ll call him from the hospital.”
Mitchell put the Motorola down. He looked back at the pitch-black island. He doubted they had run across the man in charge of the kidnapping. The men they had dealt with were all just hired guns. Mitchell intended to speak with Fahimah as soon as he could and learn all there was to learn about Vladimir Salazar.
11
787 VIP business jet en route to Beijing
Ryan Mitchell sat back in a leather-upholstered chair and let out a chuckle. He had never flown in such a luxurious jet. The 787 had been converted into a high-end apartment complete with a bar, several large screen televisions, two private bedrooms, and in one room, a glass floor so passengers could look down at the bright-orange BMW X6 parked in the belly of the plane. Julia Cruz was resting comfortably in one of the bedrooms.
A flight attendant, who could have walked the catwalk of a fashion show in Paris, smiled at Mitchell and offered him a glass of champagne. He took the flute and smiled back. He couldn’t help but notice that she was dressed in a tight, form-fitting outfit.
“Hey, I saw that look,” said Jackson. “Good thing your better half isn’t here with us, or you’d be sleeping on the couch when we got back home.”
“Where am I supposed to look?” responded Mitchell. “You’d have to be blind not to see her. You do realize she’s not the only one on the plane who looks like that?”
“Gentlemen, I just spoke with the doctor looking after my sister and he tells me that she is doing well.” announced Alejandro Cruz as he entered the spacious cabin. “I left her side as she is fast asleep.”
“That’s good news,” said Mitchell. “When she came out of her drugged state in the hospital, she was quite distraught.”
“That, among other reasons, was why I’m using my personal business plane to bring her home.”
“And we appreciate you bringing us back to the States with you, sir,” said Jackson, toasting Alejandro with a glass of Scotch.
“It is my honor to have you here, and please, call me Alejandro.”
“Well, I’m glad that you have friends in high places in the Philippine government,” said Mitchell. “After we landed back at Palawan Island, the local police were accusing us of everything from Julia’s kidnapping to being international terrorists. We were minutes away from being locked up in jail when your business associate arrived and smoothed things over.”
“Yes, Hector Torres is a good man. He was the one who helped make Julia’s travel arrangements.”
“Sir—sorry, Alejandro—is that BMW in the airplane hold yours?” asked Jackson.
“No. It belongs to a friend of mine. It’s being offloaded in Beijing.”
“Too bad; it looks like a nice ride.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Mitchell looked into Alejandro’s eyes. “Sir, this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill kidnapping. The people who took your sister weren’t interested in money. They were after information. She told me that they wanted to know about her time in the Amazon working with a tribe of Indians, and about your family history. Does any of that make sense to you?”
Alejandro went silent for a moment. He had a troubled look in his eyes. “Mister Mitchell, I can’t be sure. I would, however, like to retain your services for another week or two while I look into a few things.”
“That will be up to General O’Reilly. I suggest you give him a call and see what he has to say. Things are relatively quiet at the office right now, so I can’t see him turning you down.”
Jackson set his drink down. “If we’re going to be kept on this assignment for a little while longer, I’d appreciate knowing where we’re going to be. I was planning on taking my family camping over the long weekend.”
“Nate, we’ll be in New York State,” replied Alejandro. “I own an estate in Irvington. Why don’t you and your family join you there? That goes for your wife as well, Ryan. While we talk shop, your families can play tennis or go horseback riding.”
Jackson said, “As long as there’s a spot my son can hide and play on his computer all day long, I cannot refuse your offer.”
“I’m sure Jen could use a few days being pampered,” added Mitchell. “I guess we’re your humble guests for the weekend.”
The Cruz’s estate was everything that Ryan Mitchell had imagined and more. The building was a three-story colonial home, sitting in the middle of twelve acres of forest. Armed guards controlled the access to the only road leading to the house. Cameras were situated to cover the road and the electrified fence which surrounded the entire estate. Mitchell didn’t doubt that Alejandro’s head of security had significantly upped the number of guards patrolling the grounds.
