David Golemon - Ripper

The eyes of the Anaconda never left the back of the man his intelligence people said was not Hanover Jones from New York, but one Henri Farbeaux. The Anaconda knew that collecting, while being his main profession, was not the reason he was in Nuevo Laredo. He also knew the real reason and had decided to have fun on an otherwise boring day. He smiled as he started down the stairs after his guest.

The Anaconda would soon tire of the game.

The entire private sector of Laredo International Airport was now closed off to regular traffic. A Chevrolet Tahoe pulled alongside twenty other Chevys of the same model. Jack now knew the Feds had arrived in force. He looked over at Everett and Mendenhall and saw Carl nod his head toward a large sealed-off hangar that was visible through the aircraft’s window. Inside he saw a Laredo Police Department SWAT van and pulling up next to that was a large step van Jack knew to be the FBI HRT unit. The Hostage Rescue Unit gave Jack the cold chills. He shook his head, knowing now that the president of the United States had made his decision — the rescue, if there was to be one, would be conducted under federal auspices, not the Army’s, and certainly not the president’s most protected and black agency, Department 5656. Jack normally understood that secrecy was paramount, but at the moment he couldn’t care less about the black aspects of their department. He knew as he looked at the gathering federal authorities that the rescue would be strictly a law enforcement operation.

Jack and Everett shook their heads when a news van was stopped by the FBI agents and questioned. They both knew the news was spreading about the incident across the border, which in turn meant the operation was fast becoming too visual for the Event Group to participate.

“Will Director Compton and Colonel Collins please report to communications; the president is on video link through Europa,” the communications room said over the loudspeaker.

Jack was joined by the director and they slowly made their way to the communications area of the 707.

Jack stopped in front of the director and watched as he took a deep breath. The director spoke and listened for three minutes as Collins anxiously awaited word on if they would get the chance at the rescue attempt.

The news delivered by the president wasn’t good.

“Yes, Mr. President, not until you get definitive word,” Niles said as he felt the heat of Jack’s anger behind him. “But sir, may I recommend that this be turned over to DELTA? We’ve already had a breakthrough by the media into the secure zone of the airport, which means Guzman will know of any rescue attempt before it even leaves here.” Niles handed Jack a small slip of paper and the colonel cursed under his breath as he read the words, “No Go.” “Yes, sir,” Niles said and then placed the phone down and nodded at the signals officer on detached service from the navy and assigned to the Event Group. “The president wants a word, Jack,” Niles said standing and pacing a few steps away.

“Colonel, are you there?” asked the stern voice.

“Mr. President,” Collins answered.

“You are hereby warned as I just warned Niles: you are not to exceed your authority, Colonel. Our dealings with President Juarez have been shaky since his election. We cannot go charging across the border with a group of men whose presence I would never be able to explain. Your department’s secrecy is paramount, even above your personnel. Is that clear, Colonel?”

Niles could see Jack half turn and almost walk away, but he stepped up to him and gestured toward the speakerphone where the president was still speaking.

“I give you and that little bald bastard under the desert a lot, and I mean a lot, of leeway, Colonel, and I expect my orders to be followed. This is an international incident for Christ’s sake.”

“Mr. President, you know for a fact that my security teams have a far better chance at getting our people out of there than anyone. We’re tight, we know how each other reacts. I implore you to give us a shot at this.”

“Do not interrupt, Colonel. Your boss explained things to me, after the goddamn fact. That’s the only reason I don’t have agents from the FBI storming that aircraft of yours right now. If I allow this, you could cost your Group your cover. You have to stop and think.”

Collins remained silent and Niles closed his eyes and removed his thick glasses.

“I don’t hear an ‘I understand you Mr. President’.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Now, all I am asking is that you give me time to coordinate with the Mexican authorities. We need that president down there. He knows what a threat this Guzman character is. However, he does not want a military incursion into his country. This has to be a law enforcement issue, not a military one. How is Mr. Ryan doing?”

Jack shook his head, stepped closer to the speaker, and took a seat, allowing his body a moment’s respite. “Ryan’s a strong kid. Now that he’s in American hands I give him a far better chance than being possibly operated on by Guzman’s surgeons.”

“Now, give us time Colonel. We will get those women back across the border. Baldy, you keep your people in check over there or I will fry your ass.”

Niles stepped up to the microphone. “Keep us informed, Mr. President.”

“Damn you bookworm, say it!”

“Yes, sir, we will stay put.” The line disconnected and Niles turned to face Jack, giving him a weak smile. “It seems I’m running out of favors.”

Jack stood and took Niles by the shoulder. “I know the feeling, Mr. Director. What about my other man, Udall?”

“The Mexican police recovered his body and it’s on the way back across the border.”

Collins nodded and then looked at Pete Golding, who stood next to Niles. He had several items in his hand, which he handed to Compton while slowly looking away from Colonel Collins’s gaze.

“What is it?” Everett asked.

“Our surveillance drone,” Pete answered, “the Predator, well, it took these. They’re grainy, but I think you’ll be able to see what we and Europa saw.” Niles, after studying the picture on top, then handed Jack the first blown-up photo. “These were taken just fifteen minutes ago,” Pete said by way of explanation.

Collins looked the eight-by-ten proofs over and his heart froze.

“That’s just great,” Everett said looking over Collins’s shoulder as he examined the first and the second picture Niles passed over. “What in the hell is with this guy?” Carl asked.

The first photo showed a large blonde man as he stepped from a luxurious helicopter. The second was taken only moments later, and the man had glanced skyward, as if he knew a Predator was flying overhead. The face was one no staff member on the Event Group aircraft would ever fail to recognize. It was Colonel Henri Farbeaux.

“I figured that son of a bitch for a lot of things, but not to be involved in this,” Everett said as Jack gave the photos back to Niles.

Compton watched as Collins walked toward the open door of the 707. He quickly made a decision and gestured for Mendenhall and Everett to join him.

“Colonel, I suspect that the president’s going to go with a joint operation, split between the Mexican HRT team and the FBI. Europa broke into the FBI mainframe and she says they will more than likely go in two hours. I forwarded the plans for the Perdition hacienda to the president who passed them through regular channels to the FBI HRT unit,” Niles said, trying not to look into Jack’s eyes as he did so. “I figured they needed all the advantage they could get.”