Insertion, page 6
“Standby, Court, I’m coming!” Kwame shouted, forming a thin-like pencil shape as he tilted his body downward to increase his velocity.
“Right behind you,” Max said, copying Kwame’s figure and picking up speed himself.
“Court! Court!”
“I think she’s passed out already!”
“Kwame, fan out now or you’re going to shoot past her!” Max shouted, but it was too late. Coming in way too fast, Kwame tried to grab Courtney but blew past her right side. It was all up to Max now. Approaching Court, he fanned out himself and looked at HUD. Just above twenty thousand feet.
He crashed into Courtney and wrapped his entire body around her, his momentum matching her speed and trying to stop her body from the flat spin. Her eyes were shut. Reaching just to the right of her chest, he felt the chord to the parachute and ripped it as hard as he could. The chute and stabilizer flew upwards, slowing down their decent. The problem wasn’t over, though, because he was still attached to her and the extra weight was causing them to fall faster than what the parachute was weighted for.
Courtney was still unconscious, the HUD now reading sixteen-thousand feet. Max reached over, created a fist, and rubbed excessively on her sternum. Nothing.
“Kwame, I need you to track Courtney’s bag, we just shot past it.”
“On it!” he said, pulling his own chute to try and stay together as best he could.
“Come on Court,” Max said, his HUD displaying numbers falling too fast. Fumbling for her front zipper, he reached through and maneuvered his right hand through her under-layers until he was sure he felt skin. He rubbed so hard on her sternum he was sure the skin was becoming one with his glove.
After a few seconds of intense rubbing, her eyes snapped open.
Regaining her surroundings and seeing Max’s hand in her shirt, she said, “Listen, I still have a boyfriend.”
Yanking his hand away and frowning, Max shoved off right at ten thousand feet, but stayed as close as possible to monitor her.
“You good, Court?” Kwame asked, trying to tilt his head up, barely able to make out his teammates.
“Yeah man, I’m good,” she replied, “just a little dizzy is all.” Trying her best to focus on Max, her vision slowly returning back to normal.
“I thought we lost you back there,” Max said.
“I was just testing you,” she replied, giving a thumbs-up.
“I hate to interrupt, guys, but I spy with my little eye a contact bearing zero-five-four,” Kwame said, using his big right arm to point into the distance. Luckily the fiasco in the air didn’t blow them too far off-course, putting them only half a mile or so away from their boat.
The rest of their decent went by smoothly and the second they hit the water, a balloon capable of holding their weight and stuffed with a small CO2 canister erupted on their belts. The warm weather and water were kind of relaxing to Max, even though he knew he was now on the bottom of the oceanic food chain until the boat picked them up. Nonetheless, he enjoyed the brief rest as their target made its way closer to them.
CHAPTER 11
“Welcome to Mexico,” the grey-haired Hispanic gentleman said after he helped Max and the rest of the team out of the water. Enrique Suarez’s scraggly salt and pepper hair, which matched his stubble, took on a five o’clock shadow around the lower part of his face. He looked extremely fit for his age. Whatever he was doing during retirement was suiting him nicely. After offering them each a towel and a bottle of water, Enrique grabbed their parachutes and flight suits and gave them to his men to toss in the corner of the boat.
After the proper greetings were exchanged, they went inside to what little space they had for a kitchen. The boat was only forty-seven feet long and looked like every other fishing boat in Southern Pacific. Running rust was prevalent around the entire outside of the vessel, the smell of rotten fish everywhere they stepped. The operators on the boat continuously ducked and dodged low-hanging wires, a reoccurring theme throughout the vessel.
“You know, I could almost mistake this for an actual drug boat,” Max said, standing in the corner of the small kitchen, leaning against one of the rusted-out pipes.
“That’s because it probably is. We stole it.” Enrique laughed. “We didn’t have a non-conspicuous boat to pick you guys up in,” he said, cocking his head to the side thinking of another vessel they possibly could have taken. “Alright,” Enrique said, looking around at all the individuals crowded in the kitchen. “First things first. You three,” he said, pointing to the Americans that parachuted into the water, “y’all need to understand that the Mexican cartel owns Guaymas, but they share it with the Saint Bertrand Cartel.” His heavy Mexican accent lingered in the air.
“How does the Saint Bertrand Cartel share this area if it’s in Mexico?” Courtney asked, taking a sip from her water bottle.
“Let me correct myself, they own some of the property down here but, because they ‘lease’ some of the buildings,” he said with finger quotes, “they helped to pay the cartel down here to pretty much buy out la policia,” Enrique said, then taking a swig from his own water bottle. Snapping his fingers and signaling to one of his men, he said something in Spanish. The guy he spoke to stepped back outside, not entering the kitchen again. “Second thing you guys need to realize, we’re in Mexican waters. We’re only ten miles out, which means that we’re not quite in international waters however, every boat out here is considered a drug boat—”
“Meaning that we have a high potential to be stopped and boarded like everyone else being we’re still in state waters,” Max said.
“Bingo, my friend,” Enrique replied. “We’re on our own out here, not to mention again that this boat is stolen. Now I hope nobody gets seasick, because from here we have a decently long trek inside the inflatable boats we have covered up in the back.” He pointed to the area on the fantail covered in tarps.
“What about this boat?” Kwame asked, feeling queasy.
“You alright, amigo?” one of Enrique’s men asked, as he put his arm on his shoulder.
“I’m fine, I was just never a fan of the open ocean, I just need to—” he stopped mid-sentence and ran outside.
“We’re going to anchor this boat here,” Enrique said. The man who had stepped outside, presumably to keep a lookout, had now peeked his head through the threshold and said something in quick Spanish that neither Max nor his partners could make out.
Enrique turned toward his new friends and, seeing their bags piled into one corner on the boat, said, “Tell me you have silencers to accompany all that gear?” Not needing to say anymore, Max walked over, Courtney doing the same, and opened the watertight zipper, pulling out their gear to show Enrique. Satisfied with what he was looking at, he said, “I hope you gringos brought your A-game, because you may need it sooner rather than later. We have a boat approaching us, it’ll be here in twenty so get ready.”
“You three don’t speak Spanish, do you?” Enrique asked as Kwame stepped back in the room, having remnants of spit on his shirt.
“We can get by,” Max said, picking up on the fact that they should hide so they avoid questioning.
“Typically they just want us to answer a couple of quick questions but if they step onto this boat, they don’t step back off. The local enforcement is all corrupt, so they will waste no time in notifying their cartel friends they have some unwelcome visitors from up North.”
“Just more victims of the drug war,” Max said, handing Kwame his pistol and silencer attachment.
Finishing his talk, Enrique told the rest of his men who were still inside to walk back outside. Following suit, he told the three to sit tight and went outside to greet the oncoming two speedboats.
CHAPTER 12
Pete, Alex, Kyle, and Nate had been sitting with Janet in the seventh-floor conference room, with Davids approval, for several hours. Alejandro’s cartel was more extensive than any of them had imagined, and his empire spread to several corners of the globe. They had their hands in everything from drugs, illegal sex trafficking, and even running a series of casinos throughout various Indian reservations in the United States. Alejandro Alvarez was clearly a very smart and savvy individual. Janet and the team covered all of Alejandro’s financial records, possible hideouts, drug routes, and every other aspect that dealt with his powerful cartel.
“Fuck,” Nate said, stacking the last bit of papers together neatly, then putting them with the rest of the pile in the middle of the table. “I think I have enough information to start and run my own cartel.”
“Oh really?” Kyle said, “and what are you going to call it? Gringos R’ Us?”
Snickering ensued as Nate flipped Kyle the bird.
“You idiots wouldn’t know the first thing about running a drug cartel,” Alex said who was sitting with his back toward the table. He was flipping through the television channels even though they were all muted.
“Oh, and you do?” Kyle replied, his arms crossed and leaning back in his chair. “Listen, just because you’re Puerto Rican doesn’t mean you know any more than we do, bro.”
Without skipping a beat, Alex replied, “I know more than you do gringo, you grew up in Iowa.” Nate and Pete roared out with laugher.
“Bro, you grew up in the suburbs of New Mexico and was born into oil money. You’re no better than me,” Kyle said. “Like I said, just because you’re Hispanic doesn’t mean you know any more than me when it comes to this crap.”
“I never said that I know any more than you, I just said you gringos wouldn’t know the first thing about trafficking drugs.”
Kyle looked over at Nate and Pete, who both shook their heads. “It’s true,” Pete said.
Standing up from his chair and walking over to the window, producing of the best views in the building, Kyle paused to think. The spectacular evergreen trees sporting the sea of green for miles was a picture meant for a Hallmark postcard.
“Who’s gonna get Janet?” Alex asked, his head now on the table with his eyes closed.
“The real question is, did you guys see that girl who works in cyber security?” Nate asked, sparking a new conversation piece for the room. Kyle turned around and responded, “Dude, I did, I think her name is Alexandria. How old do you think she is?”
“It doesn’t matter, we all know she’s not into boys with toys the size of my pinky,” Alex replied, holding up his pinky finger and flexing it in exaggeration. Pete and Nate laughed again.
“Will you both shut up,” Kyle said. “Yeah, she’s attractive but I meant to tell you guys, when I used the bathroom about two hours ago, she pulled me aside and talked to me for a bit.”
“Nice, bro, I’ll find you a lawyer for when she slaps you with a restraining order for being a creep. But don’t worry, I hear attorneys give discounts to idio—” Nate said, but caught a dry-eraser to the side of the head from Kyle before he finished his sentence.
“Listen, clowns, what I’m saying is she came off flirtatious, but then dove into some questions about the operation,” Kyle said.
“What do you mean?” Alex asked, lifting his head and giving Kyle his undivided attention.
“I’m saying, we may have accumulated all the information we can about the Saint Bertrand Cartel, but remember what Jack said about the rat?”
“Hold on, bro,” Nate said, standing up across the table from Kyle. “Jack said there was he thinks there’s a rat, but we can’t just jump to conclusions every time someone asks us what we’re doing here. I mean think about it, for most of the time we’re at the office, so when we’re in this building, people are naturally going to be a little curious. If I worked here I would know whose who, it only makes sense..”
“I know, man, but still, something to think about.” Pete said, arms crossed as silence fell throughout the room. Just then the door opened as Janet peeked her head inside.
“You guys all solid?” she asked, receiving blank looks throughout the room. “Did I interrupt something? Or is that just your ‘here comes that bitch Janet’ expression?” That opened them up.
The team didn’t necessarily hate her, they just disliked her because Jack didn’t like her. All in all, she was very kind to them throughout the day and even threw in some jabs at the men to help ease the stress of looking at the same files all day long. No, Jack could hate Janet all he wanted to, but the four men inside the room found her very attractive and neither one of them minded a little eye candy.
Pete grabbed the stack of papers, photos, and the flash drive sitting in the middle of the glass table and handed them to her. Janet stepped into the room to grab everything, dressed in yoga pants and a light blue tank top, attracting the eyes of all four individuals.
Looking back up at Pete, her hands full, she said, “Thanks boys, I appreciate the help going through all this stuff.”
“No problem,” said the team.
“You gonna need us tomorrow?” Alex asked, who was standing up now, but turned around to shut the television off.
“No, you guys are golden. Just report to Jack at the Office, I think he said he wants you guys doing close quarters battle drills at the training site for the rest of the week.” Jack’s motto was, “do what you need to do, then you can do what you want to do.” He constantly embedded it inside all members of the Bering Group.
“Any word on the rest of the crew?” Kyle asked.
“We got confirmation they made their jump from the pilot, but that was it,” she said, closing the door.
“Sweet, beers, gents?” Kyle asked.
“I’m down, but what about the Alexandria situation?” Pete replied.
“I don’t think anybody needs to say anything just yet. Janet and David can’t know what we’re thinking, and not only will they both think we’re crazy, but they’re going to want more evidence that their cyber security supervisor is prodding for information in an agency that deals with counterintelligence.” Nate said.
“What, we just tell Jack?” Kyle questioned.
“Wouldn’t hurt. He always says what’s discussed within the walls of the office stays within the walls. Plus, it’ll give him a person to prod,” Alex responded. “Now, enough work talk, let’s go get those beers.”
CHAPTER 13
The two twenty-foot response boats were closing in and now five minutes out from reaching the side of the fishing vessel. Max, Courtney, and Kwame were sitting inside the disgusting kitchen as the rest of the ex-Mexican special force’s operators were outside playing the role of stubborn fisherman that didn’t want to be interrupted from their work. They had the fishing poles, bait, and whatever other gear they needed to match the part. Even though the ex-military members were out of the game for quite some time, they were not fans of the local authorities or anyone else who had ties to any kind of drug cartel.
The perfect placement for the team was discussed so that if shots were fired from the outside, nobody sitting on the inside of the boat would become a casualty. Entering the cabin, directly to the right was Max and Courtney leaning against the bulkhead just a couple feet apart, with Kwame standing to the left.
Enrique gave a quick rundown to his new friends with how the inspections were handled when they boarded a vessel. There were two boats—one was a protective boat where the members just sat watching the crew outside, while the other boat’s team boarded and asked the questions. Under no circumstances were Max and his team to be found; however, because there were two boats approaching and Enrique’s men couldn’t see exactly how many people were on the boats, they also didn’t want to be outmanned and outgunned in case things took a turn for the worst. Enrique instructed Max and his team to just hide and if anyone stepped into the cabin, it was fair game to light them up. After all, they were corrupt. When Courtney asked what would happen when a couple of law enforcement officers didn’t return to their post, or their boats for that matter, she received laughs from all of Enrique’s men. She took the hint.
Ten minutes went by as Max and the team heard the hum of the gas-powered Yamaha engines pulling alongside. Getting into their positions, he looked over at Kwame and gave him a thumbs-up to which he responded the same. Still showing faint signs of seasickness, he tilted his head back to rest it on the wall. Conducting a quick peek around the corner, Max was able to get a glimpse of the boarding team.
“AKs, at least two heads per boat, maybe three,” Max whispered to Courtney and Kwame. In the next couple of minutes, they heard an exchange of words and people jumping over the railing onto their fishing vessel. Hearing footsteps coming closer to the cabin, he saw Courtney, who was left-handed, unholster her pistol. Max looked at her and mouthed the word relax as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and hung off the tip of his nose.
“Señor, follow me, I can grab whatever you and your men need. Can I offer you three some water?” Enrique asked.
Hearing the footsteps come closer to the cabin, Max took long and steady breaths to help control his breathing. Enrique was the first to enter the cabin and kept walking straight up the stairs to the pilot house, leading the boarding team behind him to their immediate death.
Max waited until all three men walked past him before making his move. Wasting no time, he pulled the trigger as two Springfield XD nine-millimeter rounds penetrated his target, ripping the brain tissue apart and sending a massive coagulation of blood out the back of the skull. The smell of gun powder and noise from the shell casings hitting the deck filled the room as Kwame and Courtney finished dropping their targets. Almost instantly, loud noises were heard from outside in conjunction with what was going on inside the cabin, and then, silence.
“Is it clear?” Enrique shouted from above in the pilothouse.
“All clear!” Max shouted, holstering his pistol.
Walking up to Max’s target, Kwame looked down at the two small holes sitting just above the bridge of the nose and said, “No love was lost on yours.”
