David Golemon - Ripper

The man who ran dirty tricks, Hiram Vickers, made the call to one of the most ruthless security teams in the history of the United States, now being run by a rogue element inside CIA at Langley and once thought destroyed — the Black Team, also known in American myth as — the Men in Black.

A half hour after Jack, Carl, and Mendenhall had made good their escape from the international airport, they found themselves at the checkpoint, ready to start their second unofficial invasion of Mexico. The border guard eyed them, and then after all the nervousness in the preceding minutes, he just waved them through with an admonition to spend as many dollars as they could while in Mexico. Everett had nodded his head, smiled, and made a drinking gesture at the bored border guard.

“What are Pete’s glossy eight-by-tens tellin’ you, Jack?” Everett asked as he checked his rearview mirrors out of paranoia.

“Well,” Collins said from the backseat of the stolen 2005 Chevy Blazer, “it looks like we’re going to get a little wet, and our knees may get scraped up some, but Pete and his female computer counterpart actually pulled something out of the official geological survey of Mexico.” Jack leaned forward as Everett drove and perched himself between Carl and Mendenhall and showed them what Pete Golding had found. “Here by the river, we have a culvert that runs from the Rio Grande ten miles inland almost directly into Perdition. The hacienda is damn near sitting right on it. Maybe it was used in the old days to feed river water to some sort of agriculture.”

Will took the old map first and studied it, and then he looked over the Predator intelligence picture.

“Colonel, this survey map is dated 1927.” Will half turned in his seat as Jack reached into the back and pulled out the bags they had packed back on the 707. “Do you think that old concrete culvert is still there?”

“The opening at the river is there, and I suspect it’s still used by illegals crossing the border. It’s watched by the U.S. Border Patrol, but not until after nightfall.” Jack quickly looked at his watch. “That means we have about fifteen minutes to get inside that thing before we start hearing helicopters coming down on us.”

“I take it our plan ends at that point?” Mendenhall asked, lowering the map and the photos.

“See Will, you hang around us long enough and you start figuring out how we work,” Everett said smiling as he turned off the main road and tore down a large side street that ran along the Rio Grande.

As Jack started passing over to Mendenhall their night clothing, body armor, and night vision scopes, his cell phone rang. He opened it and answered. He closed his eyes for a moment and then thanked the person on the other end.

“Ryan just came out of surgery. The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery. He’s already awake and wondering where everyone is.”

Mendenhall in the front seat looked out of the passenger window and sighed. His best friend was going to live, and he had a hard time not showing his commanding officers how close he and the navy aviator had become. Collins watched Will for a moment and then closed his large hand over Mendenhall’s shoulder. He never did hide feelings that well.

“The culvert should be right around here somewhere,” Everett said as he slowed the Blazer down to a crawl.

Collins looked back across the river and saw no traffic on the U.S. side of the border, but he knew that didn’t mean there weren’t eyes on them.

“Here we go,” Carl said as he pulled to a stop.

The culvert’s opening was hard to spot in the setting sun, but Everett was right, it was there half camouflaged by weeds and other river growth. As they started pulling on their body armor and other clothing, Will reached into their bag of tricks and pulled out his weapon of choice — a silenced, or suppressed equipped, German-made MP-5 submachine gun. Will called it his oldie but goody. He handed Collins and Everett their Berettas, and they equipped themselves with the weapon they had used most of their careers, the M-14 carbine, an M-16 variant that also came with suppressors. All three assault weapons were laser-sighting equipped. Everett had what Mendenhall called the captain’s ballsy weapon with the M203 grenade launcher attached, what the captain called his big negotiator. They each placed their night vision scopes onto their heads and then darkened their faces with greasepaint.

Everett watched Collins as he handed him the extra magazines of 5.56 ammunition and tossed Mendenhall six extra clips of nine-millimeter rounds for his MP-5.

“She’s still alive Jack,” Carl said as Collins stopped what he was doing and then just nodded his head.

“Then let’s get over there and make sure she stays that way.”

With that Everett took the lead and started for the culvert’s wide opening. He stopped short and quickly brought up his weapon. With his night vision scope raised up over his brow, he must have scared someone because there was a small yelp, and then Jack and Will heard a child start crying. Collins stepped forward and saw what had stopped Everett at the opening.

“I’ll be damned,” Mendenhall said as the last of the sun vanished.

Inside the culvert were about eight women, six children, and four very frightened men. They all had bundles of clothing and the men were wearing backpacks. Collins stepped forward, lowering his weapon.

“Hola,” he said and tried his best to smile. “Se habla English?” he asked as he saw two of the children were barefoot.

“Si,” the first man said as he stepped forward, “Inmigración?” the thin man asked as he removed his dirty and worn cowboy hat and half raised his hands. They all three noticed that he stepped in between the women and children and the heavily armed men he faced.

“No,” Jack said as he took in the frightened men and women. As far as he could see they weren’t being escorted by the slimy men that charged Mexicans their life’s savings to get them across the border. Collins reached into his black nylon pants and produced a pair of large wire cutters.

Everett and Mendenhall exchanged looks of curiosity.

Jack handed the man the cutters. “Good luck. Try crossing a mile or so down river; this place is watched after dark.”

The man hesitantly took the dykes from the strange and dark man in front of him, and then he nodded his head as Jack, followed by Everett and Mendenhall, squeezed past the family attempting to get across the border for new life in the United States.

“You never cease to amaze me, Colonel,” Will said as he lowered his night vision goggles.

“I can’t blame people for being poor and hungry and out of work, Lieutenant.”

With that small confrontation behind them, the three men invaded Mexico.

Sarah McIntire looked up as the door to the cell room opened. Several of the teenage girls whimpered and tried to bury themselves into the rear wall of their prison. Sarah turned to face them and held her index finger to her lips, trying to quiet the young and very frightened women. She laid the head of Henri Farbeaux gently onto the concrete floor just as Guzman stepped through into the light. He was followed by three of his men. The Anaconda stepped up to the old and rusty bars.

“Señora, I have a question for you,” he said as he smiled his best disarming smile. “Just who are you?”

“I’m a geologist,” Sarah answered, not allowing her eyes to shy away from the small man before her.

The Anaconda put a hand to his mouth and then lowered it after he had thought something through. “I find that hard to believe. First we have a retired lieutenant colonel from the French Army trying to rescue you … or buy you as it may be, and now we have a joint operation between your government and mine to conduct the same action, only on a far more violent scale, all on yours, or Professor Stansfield’s, behalf. Now I own the woman from Baylor, but I don’t own you. So, I’m afraid the popularity is strictly yours.”