Seal team six extra size.., p.57
SEAL Team Six Extra-Sized Holiday Bundle, page 57
"Depth of water, tides and easily concealed ports of departure," Agostini said. "We can create some models easy enough."
"The explosives would be a key," Shannon said. "The last sub was almost ten tons. This one would be at least that or larger."
"Our man Eric Bivens uncovered a missing shipment of HIGH JEX that was to be used in building the third set of locks to the Panama Canal," Dana said. "Twenty tons of the stuff. Shipped out of Caracas from a demolition company there."
"Sounds like a gift from Hugo," Liz put in.
"HIGH JEX is a marine explosive," Agostini informed the table. "It's used on underwater obstructions. If I were going to build an exploding submarine it would be my first choice."
"Eric's timetable from the time of its departure to the point it went missing in Panama allows for it being in Mexico as early as six months ago," Dana said.
"Where the hell is Eric?" Liz asked.
Dana's cell jangled and vibrated. Someone at the White House was calling.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HOUSE BY THE SEA
The team abandoned the Bahia Tranquilo house.
There was no way they could be certain of how much German Reyes had given up. Heath claimed that Reyes held his ground but Heath wasn't conscious for much of the interrogation. And it sounded like he should be grateful for that small blessing.
These sadistic bastards could know all about the team's presence or enough to make some educated guesses. They'd made contact with a terror cell now. This wasn't el narco any more. Either way they needed to get the hell out of their current base of operations. And now they knew that some local law was in on the plot. They'd need to lay low from police as well as the Pecadores. With Reyes dead, any ancillary connections they had to the PF were severed.
Blair Freeman lined up a new safe house for them; a vacation home on the ocean. The agency rented it through an invented private citizen's bank account. It was a cinder block and bleached wood shack with no electric service. The house was a fixer-upper but placed right on the sand and more fitting to the team's surfer-stoner cover than the mini-mansion they'd vacated. It was also separated from the other houses along a shore road by rows of high dunes. By night, the high tide rolled over the road and isolated the house entirely from the mainland.
There wouldn't be any more fried chicken and pizza takeout. No more cold beer either. That was fine with the SEALs. They were at war now. They'd been hurt and were aching to hurt back. It all came down to time and place.
"Puerto Secreto?" Flame said. "You're fucking with us."
"I didn't name the place," Blair said. He had a sea chart unfolded on a sagging picnic table on the house's veranda. The sun was out and the breakers could be heard crashing onto the shore fifty yards from the house across a broad expanse of sugar white sand.
"Probably been used by smugglers for hundreds of years," Manny offered.
The SEALs stood around the chart and examined the ten mile section of shoreline it depicted. The inlets and inland water ways and estuaries south of Mazatlan were laid out in scale with depths indicated; a full topographical depiction of the floor of the sound. There was a folder of satellite prints as well and Blair laid them on the chart over the map references they corresponded to.
"There's a broad opening and then it doglegs as it goes inland and widens out again into a basin," Blair said as he drew his finger along the map. "The basin is an estuary where water flows west through a marsh from a wetlands here."
"We going to have any live high ground intel?" Pig said.
"This op is not popular with the administration." Blair said sourly. "What you can expect a lot of is deniability. Do not get your asses in a sling or get captured."
"Not in my day planner," Flame said.
"There's no satellite other than regional coverage and the eye we got assigned to this orbit won't cut through the overcast if it gets much soupier," Blair said. "And drones are out of the question. The drone program is compromised and there would be six kinds of shit fits in Mexico City if they found out we were buzzing them with any hush-hush UAS."
"Who fingered this place?" Manny said.
"Esteban Benitez gave it up," Blair said. "Don't worry, it's all solid intel. You guys broke him good. He gave up everything about the Pecadores'connection to the cell that's building the sub. It all gels with other intel we've gathered."
"What is the connection?" Pig asked.
"Strictly commercial. The Iranians bring in the pseudo and the Pecadores give them the loan of one of their smuggling centers. It's this boatyard here. They run meth north from here on dayboats that look like hires for one-day fishing trips. They meet up with faster boats that run it into US water."
"This the boatyard?" Chili said and held up a sat photo showing an aerial view of a collection of metal roofed buildings at the head of the basin. Two of them were long buildings that ran out over the water; boathouses perfect for constructing a submersible away from prying eyes.
"Yeah," Blair said. "There's a service road that runs inland from the highway to keep them supplied. You can see the trucks parked there under those trees. We have some thermal imaging that shows roughly twenty personnel on site. It's a dead cert they're all badhats. We have all kinds of confirmation."
"Badhats?" Flame snorted. "That some new agency tough guy talk? They email you a list every day, Blair?"
"Badhats. Badguys. Assclowns. Fuckwads," Blair shrugged. "You know what I'm saying."
"These gangbangers are willing to give these fuckers cover in exchange for cold pills?" Manny said. "Considering the shit that will eventually rain down on them if one of these sub bombs makes it into an American port? It's not worth the heat."
"There's a real probability that the Pecadores have no idea what SOJ is up to," Blair said. "He's telling them only what they need to know."
"He's got to be making them some crazy promises," Chili said.
"There may be more to it than that but it's just theory," Blair said. "The Iranians may be promising the Pecadores to make them their own submersibles; reusable jobs. It's a good theory. This Jamshidi is a boomer guy. It wouldn't be hard with cartel resources to build some serious smuggling craft."
"So there's more than one Iranian in the house?" Pig said.
"I think that's safe to assume," Blair shrugged. "Iranian nationals or a collection from across the region. The Arab Spring has created a whole new generation of recruits."
"What's this here?" Manny said and held up a sat photo of a hexagon shaped structure at the end of a finger of land where the inlet narrowed in the middle at the dogleg turn.
"It's a SEMAR station. Mexican Coast Guard. They have a couple of fast attack boats stationed there but most of the time they're out patrolling the coastline."
"Shore batteries?" Pig asked.
"Nothing like that," Blair said with a chuckle. "Mexico's not planning on an invasion any time soon."
"These coasties, what's their deal?" Flame said.
"We can assume they're bought and paid for."
"Will they fight?" Manny again.
"I can't say one way or the other," Blair said. "My expert opinion is that they're paid to look the other way no matter what happens in that sound. Besides, you guys are going to ninja your asses right past them, am I right?"
"Wet approach makes the most sense," Flame said. "Depths are good. In and out."
"We bring in boats?" Chili said.
"I want a look at the place first," Manny said and tossed the sat photos to the table.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"Son of a bitch," Dana muttered to herself as she drove north on US 295 through a steady drizzle that turned the world through the windshield into a dreary gray landscape of afternoon traffic and featureless highway curtain walls.
The text message she received over the secure NSAnet told her only to report to Fort Meade ASAP. She phoned Eric Bivens as she drove. Maybe he could offer some clarification. It wasn't mission pertinent. It had to be some internecine fuckery somewhere.
Eric's agency phone account had been suspended. A recording directed her to an information tree at NSA. She tossed the cell phone against the dash hard enough to bounce it to the back seat. Boyd Williams was paying her back; getting even with her through Eric. Making his point by taking one of her players off the board.
Dana turned her Accord onto an exit marked with signs reading "NSA Employees Only" and followed a service road to a checkpoint and then on to the headquarters' stadium-sized parking lot.
She was directed from reception through a second ring of the security gauntlet to a central waiting area on the sixth floor. There was so much to do. So much new intelligence. And she was sitting here outside the principal's office and didn't even know why.
They had a name and a probable fix on the Arab thanks to the keen observations of the captive SEAL. She hadn't reacted to the news that German Reyes was dead. Dana could still picture his tired eyes from the teleconference the week before. He seemed resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. His only concern was that his family be kept safe and she had assured him, a disembodied voice from an unknown location, that they would not come to harm. Reyes believed her, trusted her words, though he could not see her face or read her eyes.
All were dead now. Reyes had been betrayed. It did not matter that it was by his own fellow officers and carried out by killers who may very well have been American citizens. She gave her word to him. She convinced him to help them defend the national security of a country that was not even his own. He paid for that misplaced trust as did his wife and children.
Dana put all of that off till another time. She was still a player in this action. The threat was confirmed as real and a team was in harm's way. She was not going to be sidetracked by political gamesmanship. If Eric had become a victim then he'd have to man up and take the consequences. She thought he could handle holding her place downtown but he either wasn't ready or wasn't capable. She'd talked a man into sacrificing himself and his family. The career suicide of an officer under her supervision couldn't compare to that. Eric would find another place in the public or private sector. If he couldn't do it on his own she could make some calls and see he was taken care of.
A young man who didn't look old enough to qualify for NSA status came and got her. She followed him to the office of an assistant deputy director where she was welcomed to sit in the only guest chair. The youngster departed. The ADD's chair behind a neat desk was empty. Dana knew this tactic. She'd be sitting here properly cowed when he did arrive; waiting till Daddy got home.
A fussy, balding man hustled into the office and gave her a sniff before settling in the chair behind the desk. He thrust a file at her without a word of greeting or introduction.
"Do you know this man?"
It was Eric's folder. His name was prominent on an official government ID photo clipped to the folder cover.
"Eric Bivens," she said and placed the folder back on the desk.
"He was found earlier today speaking in private with a member of the media," the ADD said and regarded Dana with a cocked eyebrow.
"And?" Dana said, meeting his gaze.
"This Bivens was sharing classified information concerning an ongoing operation being conducted through the CTC and Navy," the ADD said with a bit of smile.
Bullshit, Dana thought.
"Yes?" Dana said.
"You don't seem concerned."
"Who reported this to the Agency?"
"That is immaterial, Agent Morton."
"Not to me it isn't. I need to know the source of this complaint as well as what materials Officer Bivens is accused of sharing."
"I'm afraid you're wrong on both counts," the ADD said and pulled open a drawer on his side of the desk and removed a new folder. Her folder.
"Excuse me?"
"Eric Sanders Bivens is no longer a member of this agency. He has been terminated and placed in probationary custody until the director considers further actions."
"Bivens is assigned to me and playing a vital role in an operation currently ongoing. I need to speak to the director about this."
"You are no longer active on Operation Openhand."
Dana felt a cold chill in her gut.
"You will take this folder to Resources where you will be interviewed and placed in rotation for transfer," the ADD said and plopped her folder onto the desk before her.
She began to speak but the ADD stood and left the room without another remark.
CHAPTER FORTY
ENTRADA PEREZOSA
The predawn sea in the estuary was like shimmering silk. The only hint of morning was a bronze reflection off the underside of the clouds scudding behind the black hilltops inland. The fishing yacht puttered along, the current under it fighting back stronger the closer it came to where the inlet narrowed.
Bill Daneker was at the wheel keeping the thirty three foot Bertram in the middle of the waterway. Fading lettering across the back read: Lolita. He goosed the twin diesels to keep them at a steady progress of no more than three knots. Even their low throaty growl was drowned out by the susurration of cicadas in the trees along the water.
Down on the deck was Ernie Davies along with Manny and Flame. They were dressed as touristas down to the Mexican coast for the fishing. They had poles out and trawling and an open ice chest of Dos Equis tallboys was secured to a cleat with a length of line. They leased the boat for two days from a marina up in Casa Redonda. The owner wanted to send a skipper and boat handler along with them but a fistful of hundreds and a heavy deposit changed his mind.
Manny climbed the ladder and braced himself by Daneker. He removed a pair of night vision binoculars from a case and leaned on the windscreen to train them forward. The coastline was dark on both sides. There was a ghost of an echo of fishing craft rising and falling in their moorings on the gentle swell caused by the Bertram's passage. Manny glassed ahead and found the stonewalled port defense seated on the left hand bank where the sides of the inlet drew in.
The fortification was low with six sides. A miniature star fort left over from when the French occupied Mexico. It was mostly just a heap of stone overgrown with brush. In another fifty years it would be gone, stones dragged down by nature or locals.
He moved the lenses to the right and down and saw a newer building along the shore. A concrete structure with a metal roof and a wooden deck running all the way around it. A pole lamp glared above a gravel yard where an ATV was parked. The gravel extended to a stone retaining wall along the water's edge and there was a broad wooden dock with a low profile craft moored to it.
"It's an Azteca class," Daneker said. "I was scoping it before you came up."
"British built, right?" Manny said. There was no movement from the boat now a thousand yard forward of them.
"And fast." Daneker knew boats. "She's not new but she can make over twenty knots easy. Crew of twelve. They have a tarp over the gun on the foredeck but I'll bet it's a 20mm Bofors. They'll have heavy machine guns and grenade launchers too unless they've sold them to the bandidos."
"They going to hassle us, you think?"
"I'll bet their sleeping one off. Besides, we won't be the only boatload of gringos through here today. Just the first."
"I want a look at those boathouses around the bend," Manny said.
"I can tool thorough the squeeze point but the tide is running out. I'll have to gun her just to stay put. They'll hear us coming and might not like it or they might just get curious. Either way's not good. We can't outrun that patrol boat."
"Bring us closer to shore. The far bank."
"Going for a little swim?" Daneker said with a grin visible even in the gloom.
"And a short walk," Manny said.
The water was bathtub warm and the current eased them close to shore. The Lolita lay at anchor and Bill and Ernie had lines in the water and pantomimed fishing.
Stripped to trunks and carrying only combat daggers, Manny and Flame swam easy for a narrow strip of sand. They made the sand and were into the trees as the first light of dawn crested the hills inland. It was dark and densely packed with Bursera and palmettos and offered total concealment.
Manny led the way and crossed a game trail that ran between the foliage parallel to the shoreline; deer or fox or both. They moved bent low so as not to disturb the branches above with their passage. The trail leading inland rose steeply and then fell and skirted along a clearing.
On their bellies they crawled from trees onto a sandy area draped in a bluish morning mist. They were back at the water's edge but now on the other side of the chokepoint and on the shore of the broad inland basin.
They took cover behind a wreck of an overturned boat that lay half consumed by the sand. Some crabs the size of dinner plates scuttled away at their approach. From their vantage point they could see the tops of metal roofed sheds at the far end of the basin a half mile away cross the water. Two of the sheds were extensive; long with broad entrances open to the sea. They were boathouses with the roof covering concrete jetties topped with sheet metal walls. The dark shadows cast by the rising sun prevented the SEALs from seeing within.
Manny removed binoculars from a waterproof pouch. He covered the barrels with a broad palm leaf to shadow the lenses. If he didn't the dawn light would make twin flares of the lenses and they'd certainly be seen.
He swept the far shoreline. There were a couple of fishing boats anchored near the boathouses. The trees ran down almost to the water's edge leaving a narrow strip of land between the tree line and a stone retaining wall. A collection of squat buildings. All were dark and all was quiet. Everything he could see matched up with the sat photos.
There didn't seem to be any kind of patrols or sentries. But there could be an observation post up in the trees around the basin.
The SEALs took turns with the binoculars and each studied the coastline and took it all in and memorized the sights and sounds. The insistent chirrup of cicadas faded and gave way to the caws of birds as the sky grew brighter. The mist was growing thinner on the water and swirling away on a breeze coming steadily down from the hills all around.
