Book 2: Episode 9

Fuerzas Especiales (FES), Cuerpo de Infantería de Marina

Sonoran Desert, Chrisanto, Sonora, Mexico

It took hours, but they finally got full control of the compound and everyone left alive inside.  The Federales had roadblocks set up for miles around, so vehicles were not getting in or out.  There may have been random bad guys in the desert, but they were on foot and wouldn’t get far.

Peters’ team had one of the hangars locked down tight.  The pilot had received medical attention but was basically unhurt other than a slight concussion.  The two surviving mechanics were hooded and cuffed to wooden chairs.

He heard another helicopter outside and walked out the side door.  Looking up, he saw it was another Blackhawk.  This one was unmarked.

Bustamante joined him beside the hangar.  “I think this is yours, amigo.”

“Si.”  Both of them were a little worse for wear.  Peters was dirty and soot stained from pulling the pilot out of the helicopter.  If anything, Bustamante looked worse, he had blood stains all across his chest and down one arm.

Within a minute, the helicopter had landed and two men in civilian clothes and body armor came out, holding small machine guns.  They looked around, spotted Peters and gestured to a passenger in the helicopter.  Park stepped out and walked over to Peters and Bustamante, correctly staying forward of the rear door and keeping to the pilot’s two o’clock as he walked out from under the spinning rotor.

He walked over to Commander Bustamante, hand out.  “Commander, thank you so much for your support last night.  We will take it from here.”

He turned to Peters.  “Inside.”

Peters followed Park into the building, turning to see Bustamante following and closing the door behind the three of them.

Park turned and realized Bustamante had entered the building.  “Commander, I don’t think you are cleared for this.  Please excuse us.”

Bustamante gave Park a hard glare then walked up and poked Park in the chest with a soot stained and bloody finger.  “This is my fucking country.  You are a guest here.  Don’t forget who and where you are.”

Park got red in the face, visibly angry.  “We can have this discussion with your superiors, if you like.”

Bustamante laughed.  “Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight, spooky boy.  You are in my country.  I report only to Admiral Rodrigues.”  He turned to Peters and winked.  “You may not know, but he is the head of the Navy, like your joint chiefs, no?”

Peters chucked.  “Yes, I am aware.”

Bustamante nodded, then smiled for the first time in hours.  “He is also my wife’s uncle.”  He crossed his arms over his bloody body armor.  “He is very fond of his sobrina.”

Peters patted Bustamante on the shoulder.  “If you leave, I’m leaving also.”

“Gracias, mi hermano.”

Shoulder to shoulder, the two grim-faced men faced Park.  Park looked like he wanted to take issue but finally caved.  “Fine!  But this stays here until we know what we are into, agreed?”

Park nodded and looked at Bustamante, who answered.  “Si.”

“Fine.”

Finally, the three men walked over to the cot where the pilot rested.  The Mexican Air Force medic nodded at Bustamante.  “Jefe, this one does not speak Spanish.”

The three men gazed down at the pilot.  He was dressed in a green camouflage flight suit with no markings.  The camo pattern looked odd to Peters, it wasn’t the pattern used by the USA or Mexico.  The pilot had short, sandy brown hair over a clean-shaven face.  Around 30 years old.  He did not look in any way Mexican.  Most Mexicans were some derivation of the indigenous population or the later arriving Spanish.  This man was clearly neither.  While there were plenty of non-Latino immigrants in Mexico, they were less common.  Certainly not within the ranks of the Sinaloa cartel.  This guy looked…  Slavic? 

Peters had a bad feeling.   “My znayem, kto ty.”

The man’s eyes opened wide, a panicked look on his face.  Peters shook his head, a disgusted look on his face, but Park had no reaction at all.  Bustamante looked from Parks to Peters, confused.  “What?”

“That was Russian.   This dude understood me.”

“Russian?”  Bustamante pulled Park aside, Peters following them closely.  “You do not look surprised.  Tell me why you are not surprised to find a Russian-speaking pilot flying a military helicopter in my country!”

Park just shook his head.

Bustamante was becoming angry.  He grabbed the CIA officer and started shaking the smaller man violently.  “YOU WILL TELL ME NOW!”

Peters pulled the commander off the CIA agent and pulled him outside.  “Calm down, man.”

“I will not be calm.  You will tell me what is happening.”

Peters put his hands on Bustamante’s shoulders.  “I don’t know.”  Bustamante began to protest but Peters cut him off.  “But I can guess.”

“Mi hermano.  Guess.  I must know.”

“There is a reason why the CIA is suddenly interested in this piece of dirt.”

“Si, of course.”

“And it’s not drugs.  That’s DEA.”

“Si.”

“So, why?”

“What are you saying?  Spell it out.”

“The CIA has increased funding for this operation by ten times in the last year.  Me and my entire team were brought on three months ago.”  Bustamante nodded.  “And this last week, NSA has started sharing SigInt with us.”  Bustamante’s eyes widened.  “You understand how unusual this is, no?”  Bustamante nodded.  “And today, I found a Russian here.  Convenient, no?”

Bustamante stepped back and walked a few paces away, thinking hard.  Then he turned back.  “No, not convenient… related.”

“Si.”

Both men nodded and walked back inside to where Park was standing, facing him shoulder-to-shoulder once again.  Peters spoke first.  “OK, Park, what the fuck is going on?”

Park shook his head.  Peters took one arm and Bustamante took the other.  Together they dragged him to the side of the building, slamming him into the metal wall.  “Out with it, Park.”

“This is above your pay grade.”

“There is a shit storm coming and it is landing right here.  What the fuck is up?  Tell me now or I start interrogating our Russian friend and telling everyone what he has to say.”

“That is a violation of your contract.”

“I don’t give a fuck.  Tell me or I ask him.”

Park glanced up at the heavens for a second, unsure.  “Look, I didn’t want to keep you in the dark, but rules.”

“Yeah, fuck that.”  Peters let go of Park and took a step towards the pilot.

“STOP!  Wait!  OK.  OK.  We have been intercepting Russian communications for years.  They are really shitty at OpSec, OK?” 

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“OK, here is something you don’t know.  There are at least eight Spetsnaz teams active in Mexico right now.”

“What the fuck?”  Spetsnaz is the general term for special forces in former Soviet states.  In the case of Russia, the Spetsnaz were roughly equivalent to US Army Green Berets and took responsibility for training foreign militaries, among other duties.  Peters was pretty sure that the pilot wasn’t Ukrainian, and they were the only Russian-speaking military that were the “good guys” at the moment.  That meant that these dudes were Russian special forces.

Bustamante went completely still.  Shocked to his core.  “This cannot be true.”

Park, finally thinking about the implications for Mexico instead of the USA nodded.  “I’m sorry my friend, but it’s true.  Nobody at the Pentagon is sure who they are working with.  Until today, I wasn’t sure if your team was aware of their presence or not.  We have no idea if this is official or just some rogue operation.  Hell, they might be contractors using stolen Russian army gear.”

“But you know they’re here.  How?”

“We’re intercepting their communications, amigo.  We know they’re here because we can hear them talking.”

“So, you know who they are working with!”

“No, we hear coded messages.  We know there are Spetsnaz troops here but we don’t know what they are saying or who they are working with.  That’s why Peters is here, to find them.”

Peters punched Park in the arm.  “You could have told me that.”

“Need to know Peters, need to know.”  Park shook his head.  “To be honest, we were assuming they wouldn’t allow themselves to be captured. The goal was to kill them and work backwards from their equipment and any papers we found here.” 

Peters nodded. That explained his orders to use maximum force but collect gear and documentation. Bustamante was still agitated.  “I must inform my command!”

“NO!  We don’t know who is or is not compromised in your government.  We must move slowly, carefully, or we will tip them off.”

Bustamante gathered himself, with a supreme effort.  Parks watched, impressed, as Bustamante calmed himself.  He wasn’t sure if he would be as calm if his nation had faced a similar threat.  Bustamante was silent for a full minute, then he nodded.  “These are not random contractors. These are Russian army special forces.  They fought too well and were too organized to be random thugs.”  He paused for a moment, thinking.  “There is someone we can trust is NOT in league with the Russians.  We will establish a point of safety there, then we will root out this rot from my country.”

“Who do you suggest?”

“Not my family, certainly. My uncle is connected to the cartels.”  Bustamante smiled.  “However, my wife is from an excellent family.  Good connections in Mexico City.  I told you, her uncle runs the Navy.  If there is one person I can trust, it’s him.”