Cartel: A Jason King Thriller (The Jason King Files Book 1) Page 8

  ‘So you need me.’

  ‘We need someone. I’d been arguing for the forging of a division like this for quite some time, but it kept getting shot down. Finally, this situation presented itself. Using SEALs or DEVGRU wouldn’t cut it. They’d be identified in a heartbeat if they headed into Tijuana’s slums as a pack. This is the opportunity for a single man — a lone wolf — to enter the city and take out the men who are antagonising us.’

  ‘So an emphasis on stealth?’ King said. ‘You want no-one to know that I’m affiliated with the government?’

  ‘Exactly. No uniform. No official mission. Just approval from the highest powers in the government for a single man to do what’s necessary.’

  ‘So I assume…’ King started.

  Lars clearly recognised where the conversation was headed. ‘You’ll need to accept the risk. We won’t be able to come to your rescue in the event that you need it. If something goes wrong and you find yourself imprisoned by one of the cartels, or Mexican officials … there’s nothing we can do. You don’t belong to us. You don’t belong to anyone. You’ll have to accept that before you decide to go through with this.’

  ‘I always assumed as much.’

  ‘It doesn’t bother you?’

  ‘Of course it bothers me. But that’s always the way it was going to be.’

  ‘This is a lot for your first task,’ Lars admitted. ‘I’d rather you test the waters as a solo operative with something a little safer.’

  ‘I can handle myself,’ King said. ‘Throw me in the deep end — I couldn’t care less. Just gives me a chance to prove myself to whoever’s watching.’

  ‘You really want to do this?’ Lars said.

  He spoke with an incredulous inflection to his tone. Like he had been expecting a mountain of resistance to have to push through to get King on board.

  ‘Operating alone excites me,’ King said. ‘But it’s really been decided that I’m the best solution to this problem?’

  ‘There’s no easy fix,’ Lars said. ‘But we need to restore order. This is a new breed of criminal. Tijuana’s reached a boiling point, and our agents and officers are at risk. Not to mention all our tourists that head to the city for cheap thrills. Civilian casualties are at an all-time high. Collateral from the drug war.’

  ‘And you think that if I kill Ramos and all his men that problem will magically resolve itself?’

  ‘I think nothing of the sort,’ Lars said. ‘But it’s a fact that a single organisation is responsible for the massive spike in murders. Executions, mass graves, shootouts in tourist hotspots. Bodies are turning up every single day. Before Ramos came onto the scene, there was relative calm. Draco had full control over the city. It’s easier for us to address the larger problem of the Draco cartel when this new bloodthirsty entity is out of the way.’

  ‘Got it. And how do you propose I do that?’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘If Ramos is so hard to find, how am I supposed to do it? I’m not a detective.’

  Lars smiled and nodded. ‘You sure aren’t. Thankfully, we had the lucky break of a lifetime. That’s why we have to rush you into the field. Today, if possible.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We caught a guy trying to cross the border. His story didn’t add up, and by the time the border officials contacted us, we were certain we had our man.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘A tech guy. From Silicon Valley. Heading across the border for a supposed vacation after quitting a high-six-figure position at one of the Internet giants. His story fell apart after minor interrogation. He didn’t exactly excel at social interaction. Apparently he was sweating bullets and shaking just trying to cross the border. That’s how the officials were alerted in the first place.’

  ‘Ramos hired him?’

  ‘We’re almost certain. He admitted to accepting an anonymous offer for the position of a lifetime. He knew it was illegal. No-one else is offering that sort of money in Tijuana. It has to be Ramos.’

  ‘And if it’s not?’

  ‘Then we regroup, and try again later. But this is the golden opportunity. If you’re willing to go through with it, we’ll act now.’

  ‘Hang on,’ King said. ‘You want me to pretend to be this guy?’

  ‘For as long as you need to.’

  ‘That’s a stretch.’

  ‘I know it is.’

  ‘I couldn’t answer a single question about computers.’

  ‘So you put a bullet in Ramos’ head before he gets the chance to ask you anything.’

  ‘What if I only meet face-to-face with the men in his ranks?’

  ‘Then you trace them back to Ramos and kill him.’

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘You don’t have to accept this. But the makeshift training camp we’ve got down in the woods will be shut down. You’ll be integrated back into Delta … or maybe something more bland. We’re on thin ice here already.’

  King sighed. ‘Okay. Send me in.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Not at all. But if it’s your superiors asking, then you tell them that I’m one-hundred percent certain.’

  Lars stood up and stretched in the dawn light. ‘Let’s get back down there. We’ve got a lot to take care of.’

  King got to his feet in turn. Together, they set off down the mountain trail, clouds of breath still forming in front of their faces.

  ‘Fucking Mexico,’ King muttered under his breath, wondering just how smoothly this operation would unfold.

  13

  San Diego, USA

  1 mile north of the border…

  The chartered military plane touched down at Brown Field Municipal Airport early in the afternoon that same day.

  King sat in the cold metal fuselage, his rear resting against the cold metal seat, his back leaning against the cold metal wall. He was the sole passenger of the aircraft, strapped into a military safety harness while the body of the plane rattled around him as it begun its descent.

  The morning had been a whirlwind of confusion. What seemed like half the U.S. government had shown up in Wyoming upon confirmation that King had accepted the mission. He had been thrust from contract to contract, signing his life away every ten minutes. He had accepted full responsibility for the outcome of the operation, and been informed time and time again that he would not be extracted or acknowledged in the event that he was captured.

  Then it had been a short drive to Cheyenne Regional Airport, followed by a flight direct to the Otay Mesa neighbourhood in San Diego, California.

  When he landed, it would be boots-to-asses.

  He’d been informed that there was little time for stalling, or Ramos would grow wary of a change in schedule and disappear forever.

  If King was to infiltrate their ranks, he would have to act now.

  React intuitively.

  Just how he liked it.

  The nerves began to set in. It started with a slight tremor in his hand, which he quickly suppressed just in case either of the pilots flashed a glance back into the fuselage. He didn’t want any reports of nervousness making their way through the upper ranks of the government. He wanted them convinced that their operation rested in good hands.

  In reality, the fear threatened to overwhelm him.

  He’d expected to roll with whatever came his way, but the idea of failure and excruciating torture at the hands of a livid drug cartel sent shivers down his spine. The stakes were impossibly high — if he slipped up or allowed himself to be captured, there would be no-one coming to his rescue. If he wasn’t killed quickly, it would spell a horrific demise at the hands of whoever he had antagonised.

  But he was ready.

  He had spent half his life training for something like this. He had one opportunity to make a first impression upon whoever was in charge of this division, and he convinced himself that he would make it count. The idea of a career as a solo operative enticed him, providing him with an excitement that he had
n’t previously felt.

  The military plane slammed down onto the runway, jolting King in his seat. He rode out the rattling and shaking until the brakes kicked in and they coasted to a halt somewhere near the terminal. There were no windows in the fuselage, and King had no idea what lay outside.

  The co-pilot stuck his head around the corner. ‘There’s a car waiting for you. Apparently you have everything you need otherwise.’

  King glanced down at the black duffel bag resting on the seat beside him, and shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Good luck out there.’

  With the artificial hiss of hydraulics, the rear ramp of the plane descended toward the tarmac outside. Slivers of daylight punched through the darkened cabin, until the ramp hit the ground and sunlight flooded into the large metal tube. King unclipped his seatbelt and slung the duffel bag over one shoulder. He strode down the ramp, his scuffed boots ringing off the steel.

  Just as the co-pilot had said, in the time it had taken the plane to power down a car had been sent from the terminal to collect him. It was a second-hand Chevy Buick with scuff marks above all four wheels and a stern-looking man in the driver’s seat. King opened the passenger door and dropped inside, escaping from the scorching San Diego heat.

  He reached across the centre console to shake the hand of what he presumed was a rental-car official. Instead, the man — complete with greying hair and a permanently furrowed brow — flashed a military-grade identification badge at him.

  King took a look at the ID.

  Department of Defence.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hello, sir,’ the man said formally.

  ‘This isn’t a rental car?’

  ‘This is James Bennett’s car.’

  ‘Who the hell is James Bennett?’

  ‘You.’

  Everything clicked. If King was to be impersonating the tech-guru from San Francisco, he would have to ensure that everything matched. If Ramos got the slightest hint that his contractor had been compromised, he would high-tail it out of Tijuana to avoid arrest.

  ‘Sorry,’ King said. ‘Things are moving pretty fast. I’ve got a narrow window to capitalise on this situation.’

  The DOD official shrugged, like he couldn’t care less about the details. ‘I’ve been told to transport you outside the airport’s limits and then leave you with the car. Then it’s all yours.’

  King paused. ‘Are you in the dark about all this?’

  ‘I certainly am.’

  ‘Is that normal?’

  ‘Not normal for me.’

  King nodded. ‘Thanks for the help, then.’

  He settled in as the driver set off across the runway, following a pre-determined path to avoid interfering with any air traffic. As they sat in silence, he stomached a gut punch of nerves. They were only a mile from the border. As soon as they left the airport behind, King would be left to his own devices. It would be his first official day in the field as a solo operative.

  He couldn’t shrug off how disorganised the mission felt. It seemed like only an hour ago he had been unconcerned with live operations, focused on his training alone, preparing for a date far in the distance when he would first be deployed on his own.

  That day had raced up on him in the blink of an eye.

  The Chevy trawled through a guard checkpoint built into the airport’s perimeter fence, allowed through after the driver had a brief conversation with the guard manning the booth. They came out onto a wide dusty road surrounded by sweeping plains of dead grass. In the distance, King spotted the traffic congesting as the line to one of the border checkpoints began to form.

  There wasn’t much distance between the two.

  ‘Well, I’m heading back in,’ the driver said, coasting the Chevy to the side of the road and deploying the handbrake. ‘Best of luck with whatever it is you do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ King said, opting to otherwise keep his mouth shut. If the man didn’t have clearance, he didn’t want to accidentally share any information that might get him into trouble in future. Despite the haphazard nature of the operation, King still felt the need to employ some sense of professionalism.

  The pair exited the car simultaneously. King slammed the door shut behind him and crossed over to the driver’s side, watching as the driver himself waved farewell and set off back for the airport gate behind them. King slid into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and placed both hands on the wheel.

  The interior of the vehicle descended into silence.

  He took a deep breath and let the calm wash over him. There was no passing traffic to jolt him out of the state. He had exited the airport into a section of no-man’s-land, the strange scattering of unpopulated roads near the border that signified a change in territory.

  Before he set off for the border checkpoint, he rummaged through the duffel bag on the passenger seat and came out with a military-grade satellite phone Lars had given him for a check-in.

  He dialled the only contact number that had been entered into the phone and waited for Lars to answer.

  It only took a couple of seconds.

  ‘Made it safe and sound?’ the man said.

  ‘I’m out of the airport,’ King said. ‘Guessing you told them in advance.’

  ‘Of course. The border officials have been instructed to let you through without a second look, too. Your photo’s in their system.’

  ‘You sure that’s a good idea?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What if Ramos has bought them off?’

  ‘Ramos hasn’t bought anyone off,’ Lars said. ‘Not yet. Everything’s still under Draco’s control. Ramos is still making a name for himself.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Just let me do my thing. You focus on getting into Tijuana.’

  ‘Where am I headed?’

  ‘The address has been entered into the Chevy’s GPS. We had to pry the meeting point out of Bennett, seeing that the original message that Ramos sent to him was blocked by TOR encryption, then deleted. His memory is the only thing keeping this operation alive.’

  ‘Where is Bennett?’

  ‘Still in custody.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to him?’

  ‘Depends. He was about to help expand a mass-murdering psychopath’s drug cartel. That carries serious consequences.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘I can’t stress the importance of this operation,’ Lars said. ‘The two of us haven’t had much of a chance to comprehend what’s about to happen, but it’ll spell the future of this division if you succeed. You need to succeed.’

  ‘Of course I need to succeed,’ King said. ‘I’ll be kidnapped and cut up into a million pieces if I don’t. That’s enough incentive.’

  ‘You understand that you’re not affiliated with the U.S. government, right? You’re James Bennett.’

  ‘Of course. And I have full discretion?’

  ‘You can do whatever the hell you want,’ Lars said. ‘You’re not operating within the boundaries of the law. Just don’t get caught.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Stay in touch.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  That was all that needed to be said. King ended the call and threw the phone into the footwell. If Lars had been truthful and he really had no risk of being apprehended at the border, he could dispose of the device once he had entered Mexico.

  He peeled away from the stretch of gravel on the side of the road and set off for the long line of traffic heading into Tijuana. He cast his gaze down the length of the sixty-mile stretch of San Diego border county, where it trailed into the distance before disappearing from sight between the rolling hills.

  He entered the line of traffic and wiped sweat from his palms.

  It had begun.

  14

  The crossing took forever.

  By the time King reached the front of the line in the old Chevy, the digital clock on the dashboard signalled that al
most an hour had passed. The sun beat down outside, beginning its descent toward the opposite horizon as the early afternoon set in. At one point, he rolled down the window to gauge the heat. It was oppressively warm, powerful enough to draw the sweat from his pores within moments. He rolled the window back up and savoured the air-conditioned interior.

  It might be the only reprieve from the heat he would get for some time.

  The uncertainty began to take hold. Sitting in banked-up traffic for close to an hour gave him ample time to think about the lack of a coherent plan, the isolation he would experience in Tijuana, and the danger he would face in loosely impersonating a guy from San Francisco who he had never met. There were forged identification documents in the duffel bag, but they would only hold up at a glance. Bennett’s photo had been replaced with a mugshot of King’s face, but the gig would only last so long.

  It was simply a thinly-veiled ruse to get Ramos into a vulnerable position. Everything from that point onwards would be entrusted to King’s intuition. He recognised this operation for what it was — a raw test.

  How could he handle making decisions on the fly?

  How would he react to adversity?

  Questions that would soon be answered.

  He recognised that he had truly been thrown to the wolves.

  He coasted the Chevy to a halt alongside the nearest booth after what felt like an eternity waiting to reach the border. He handed the forged ID over to the blank-faced official behind the window and waited patiently as the man ran it through the system.

  Crystal-clear realisation spread across the man’s face as he brought up a window on the monitor in front of him. He double-checked the ID, glanced out at King, then nodded satisfactorily.

  ‘Good to go, sir,’ he said. ‘Enjoy your stay.’

  Lars hadn’t been bluffing. King had been approved within seconds, the border officials clearly informed earlier that day that he would be coming. He nodded back to the guard and let the Chevy coast through the checkpoint.