CHAPTER 17
They landed on the dirt strip five hours later, but not soon enough for Ali. The shrieking whistle of the turbo-props combined with the shaking of the transport as it trundled slowly over the poorly-kept strip made her even more anxious to disembark and get going. It was 1700, five p.m., and the October sky was beginning to darken, socked in with low-hanging gray clouds that threatened rain at some point. Already, the chubasco in Baja was changing the weather so far inland.
The C-130 cut two of its four engines, and the rear door yawned open and revealed, to her relief, Captain Gomez with two transport trucks ready to take them and their gear to their destination. In no time, the plane’s crew had slid the pallet down the ramp, and six Marines in a line started moving the gear out of it and into the trucks.
Ali guided Ram over to meet Captain Gomez. She stood back, watching the two men as they shook hands. It was a warm, sincere greeting in Spanish, and confirmed to her that Ram had honestly changed from the man she had known in the SEAL team. He was clearly a leader and appreciated the Mexican Marine’s help in this joint mission.
Above them, the sky was angry. Only a few faint stars peeked out in the October evening as the clouds moved above them. The wind was moist, warm, and gusty. All were telltale signs of a chubasco heading in their direction.
She left Ram and José and set off to find her gear and get saddled up. The other ex-SEALs were doing the same thing. There was no talking. She saw the green duct tape used to ensure that no sounds would be created when metal hit metal on their body or the pack they carried. Even her dog tags, which she still wore, were taped together to ensure that a tinkling sound couldn’t be heard by the nearby drug soldiers as she moved around her hide in the pine tree.
Ali felt comforted by the familiarity that came with working with SEALs. She knelt on the dry, dusty soil, rapidly moving her hands over her M4, slapping a mag into it but not placing a bullet into the chamber. Not yet.
It was twenty miles via winding dirt roads to reach Azarola’s fortress, and it would have to be done without truck headlights or they’d be spotted. The drivers would don NVGs in order to snake the trucks over the narrow, rocky roads, while at the same time climbing in the elevated areas. When they were within three miles of the fortress, they would disgorge the team to make the rest of their way on foot.
They would meet the two Marines in her hide and get the latest update from the radio headset on the channel available to everyone on this mission. And then, it would be show time.
She felt Ram approaching and lifted her chin, seeing him in the glare of the aircraft’s inside lights as he came their way. One of the ex-SEAL’s, Cory Phelps, had placed all of Ram’s gear on the seat of one of the trucks. She saw he had his game face on—but so did everyone else. They were now in combat mode. Mentally, she counted heads: Randy Cross, Kelly Lomas, Tyler Hutton, Dave Barnett, Cory and herself, comprised the team. Ram had added another member before they left Artemis. All told, there would be seven going in for the rescue. Ram was still finishing off a quiet talk with José, nearby. All were professionals, hands moving quickly over their gear, turning and helping one another on with their heavy fifty-pound packs they’d be carrying in on this op.
Talk was nil, except when necessary. There was no joking, no laughter, just a deadly, serious tension surrounding them all.
Ali got all her gear ready and climbed into the rear of one of the canvas-covered trucks. There were wooden benches on either side, and she hefted her gear into it and climbed in. That heavy Kevlar vest weighed twenty-four pounds. The vest she’d donned earlier, also had pockets for magazines needed for her M4. Her .45 pistol rested against her hip.
There was a CamelBak pack they would each carry on their backs that had plenty of water, but a gallon of water weighed roughly eight pounds. That three-mile hike was going to be brutal at eight-thousand feet as they headed into the dead of night.
Earlier, she’d seen Randy checking the wind speed, his face tight with frustration. There was no way he could get a Raven up in these off-and-on gusts. The drone would be tossed around like a toy and he wouldn’t be able to control it.
Disappointment washed through her. A Raven could make a huge difference in safety for them as they approached the fortress. Suddenly, she wondered if Cara was all right. She longed to call the Marines in the hide to find out, but resisted. They checked in hourly unless something went wrong and so far, no contact had been made. She pulled the headset into place, turned it on, and placed the mic close to her lips. Securing the wires and cables along the shoulder of her vest, Ali made sure the mic worked, testing it.
“Hear you loud and clear,” Kelly responded.
“Roger that. Thanks.”
Ali knew that Ram would ride up front in the lead truck with the Marine driver. Both would be wearing NVGs. Ram would be riding shotgun, M4 ready, a bullet in the chamber, safety off. These M4s, like the SEAL variety, had no safety on them, for good reason. Without the Raven to fly in front of the trucks at a couple-of-thousand feet so its infrared camera could record body heat and humans, they were flying blind.
It was amazing how much they relied on advanced electronic equipment. Yet, as Ali knew, so many times it couldn’t be used because of weather conditions or other geographic challenges—or the electronics simply failed. This mission boiled down to the good old ops trajectory of human eyesight, a set of sharp ears, strong intuition to sniff out anything that was out of place, walking quietly, and using hand signals to communicate.
“Ali?”
She looked toward the rear. Ram stood there, M4 over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Want to ride up front with me?”
It was an order, although he made it seem like a casual question. That was another big change in Ram. “Can I leave my gear here or do I need to transfer it to the lead truck?”
“Leave it here. Captain Gomez thought it would be best if you were up front with me and the driver. He said you know these back roads better than anyone.”
“That’s probably true,” she said, standing up. “Walked hundreds of miles on them in the last two years.” She gave him a wolfish grin.
He grinned back and held out his hand to her to help her out of the truck. Surprised, Ali hesitated and then grabbed his hand. “Thanks.”
Ram stepped back, holding her hand firmly. “You’re welcome.”
On the ground, he released her hand, but her fingers continued to tingle where he’d curved his hand around hers. He had rough, thick callouses on his palm as well as on his trigger finger, telling her he was in top shape in every possible way. Surprised by his assistance, she slung the M4 across her shoulder and followed him to the lead truck. It was being fired up, belching unseen blue clouds of diesel smoke into the humid night air.
Ali climbed in, sitting between the driver, Marcus—a Marine she knew well, and Ram. The quarters were cozy but not too tight. The windows were down. There was no air-conditioning and she was already beginning to sweat, glad she didn’t have her gear on except for the ammo vest she wore as a matter of routine. Everyone answered when Ram asked the team to check in with him. Everything was packed in the two trucks. It was time to roll.
Driving seventeen miles up into the Sierra Madre Mountains was slow and sometimes torturous. It hadn’t rained yet, and for that, Ali was grateful. These clay roads would turn into a slick mire that could spin even a heavy military truck off the road and down a cliff or into the woods below, all in a heartbeat.
“Do we know when the rain’s coming?” she asked Ram.
“Captain Gomez said it will be dry going in. The first band will reach the fortress in about six hours. We’ll be on station by that time.”
“Randy wasn’t looking happy about not being able to get the Raven up to fly us in.”
“Yeah,” Ram muttered, “I’m unhappy about it, too.”
“With this kind of weather coming in, Azarola will hunker down,” she told him. “There aren’t going to be any roving Jeeps on the back roads tonight. They don’t like getting stuck in clay, either.”
“Good to know, but we still need to be watchful.”
“Absolutely.”
*
Ram tried to brace himself in the cab of the truck. The wind tore at the bulky military vehicles along the winding dirt road that would take them to the three-mile mark where they had to stop and exfil. The cab was tense and quiet, the grinding of the truck’s gears constant. It was almost too wide a beast for the tight curves that wound around a mountain rising thirteen-thousand feet above them. On the other side, with his NVGs on, Ram could see a thousand-foot drop-off. There were no guard rails up in this wild, untamed mountainous country. Nada.
Sometimes, the swaying truck would pitch him into Ali, or vice-versa, and he savored those accidental brushes against her arm or thigh. Ram thought that if she could read his mind, she wouldn’t sit next to him at all. But something had changed between them and they both realized it.
He hadn’t thought about offering her his hand to help her climb out of the truck earlier, but it had just felt like the right thing to do—and to his surprise, she’d accepted. It was dark, her face deeply shadowed, so he couldn’t honestly read her expression. But he heard the husky quality of her voice and it wasn’t cutting or angry. When Ali’s long, beautiful fingers curved around his, he felt his heart opening wide, wanting her. He felt the callouses on her fingers as well, the sign of a combatant. It had no effect, however, on her femininity in his eyes.
They were going into a highly dangerous situation where everything was in play and in flux. A huge part of him, as always, wanted to protect her. Yet, he knew he didn’t dare do so openly. Ali was to take the lead in the tunnel because she had been in it before and knew it well. They didn’t. She was the point person for this mission, the one who would get fired on first if she was discovered.
Trying to push all his need to keep her safe aside, he released her hand as soon as she landed on the ground. The sound of her voice when she thanked him was oddly husky and filled with emotions he couldn’t begin to sort out, but it made his heart swell with an even more intense need of her.
How he wished he had seen the look in her eyes. It would have told him so much more. He was damn good at reading facial expressions. He had to settle for voice intonation, which was a green light for their connection to continue to grow and build between one another as far as he was concerned.
His mind shut off his personal thoughts. Through the NVGs he saw their destination to their right, a partially flat area of the tall mountain on that side of the road. The driver carefully eased off the road and into the slightly sloping, oval-shaped meadow. It was October and the grass was no longer green, but yellow. According to the weather people snow came early to the Sierra Madres, and at eight-thousand feet, it had already happened. Indian summer was underway.
But the fortress was at seventy-five-hundred feet and the forecaster had said rain, not snow, for that area. They weren’t prepared for snow, and all their uniforms and equipment were jungle colored, anyway. Still, it was another dicey situation they had to remain aware of. The truck ground to a halt.
“Saddle up,” Ram ordered his team, opening the door and sliding out. He turned, and before he could offer Ali his hand, she’d come out of the cab and was looking around with her NVGs, trying to ferret out anything that might be moving at 1930, seven thirty p.m. She then walked quickly to the other truck and like the others, climbed swiftly and silently into her gear. By the time Ram got his assembled, his team was surrounding him, waiting quietly for his next order. The trucks and drivers would remain here and guard the trucks.
Ram checked in with the two Marines in the hide above the fortress. They reported light rain coming into the area, nothing important, but the good news was that the weather had driven the sentries inside. The women were left in the cage outside, a fourth tarp dropped over the front of it to protect them from the incoming weather. He knew his team heard the same intel and he felt Ali step up beside him. She said nothing but he could swear he felt her relief.
They needed some luck—a break—and they’d just gotten it. Now, they had to hoof three miles up a sloping dirt road, closing in on the villa. Everyone checked their gear, jumping up and down, moving sharply and from side-to-side to see if any sounds emanated from their heavy packs or their other equipment. The only thing Ram could hear was the wind howling off and on above them. The humidity increased and his skin glinted with sweat as he gave the order to move out.
SEALs always jog, if possible, to their objective. They left fifty feet between each person. Three miles and carrying close to eighty pounds of gear on their person was going to test them mightily and Ram knew it. Ali was behind him, a good fifty feet away. Everyone would be alert, looking and listening. In the night like this, hand signals were useless unless they were close to one another. A click or what sounded like a beep from someone’s radio would warn them if they spotted something. They would instantly crouch, one knee on the ground, finger on the trigger of their M4s, looking around for the enemy and directions from the team member who made the strategic call.
Ram didn’t want to hear that beep over his headset. He began a slow jog, not too fast, but not too slow, either. Three miles meant ten-minute miles. It would take half an hour to reach Ali’s hide tree. The wind slapped at him. He pulled his Kevlar helmet strap, tightening it beneath his chin, and then moved out, increasing the pace.
Despite the danger, Ram’s thoughts were solely on Ali. So was his heart. His mouth tightened into a thin line, his eyes slits as he silently jogged through the turgid night, the wind buffeting him, tearing at his clothing, making sounds harder to discern around him.
The old SEAL refrain, “the only easy day was yesterday,” was true. Tonight was going to be a bitch.
*
Ali was relieved to reach her hide. The group stood silently around the huge trunk of the hundred-foot pine tree. Above them on the platform she’d constructed two years earlier, were the two Marines, giving them their latest eyes-on intel. It was dark, but that was good. The wind continued to rise and fall—sometimes a forty-mile-an-hour gust, sometimes just a breeze. The trees sang and moaned, depending upon the speed of the wind roaring through the area. The weather was fickle making it harder on them. The light rain continued off and on, just enough to force the sentries to remain inside the villa and not perform their security rounds.
Ali had seen that before. Azarola was a poor disciplinarian when it came to protecting his fortress. Any time it rained or snowed, whatever the inclement weather that rolled across the area, he allowed the guards to remain inside.
This was such a night. It was good luck for them. Bad luck for Azarola. If the sentries remained inside, it would be easier for them to reach the hostages. Fingers crossed. Ram gave the order to drop their packs and leave them at the base of the tree. Ali was glad to be free of the weight, pulling on her Kevlar vest and closing its Velcro seam. In two minutes, the team was lighter and ready for action.
“Ali, take point.” Ram’s voice was low, but not a whisper. Few people realized it, but a whispering sound carried farther than an actual low, spoken tone.
“Roger. Tyler?” He was to back her up as they went into the tunnel, the rest of the team behind him.
“On your six, Ali.”
She smiled a little, nodding her head. The six meant her backside. “Roger that. Let’s boogey . . . ”
Tyler was a paramedic and it would be his job, if they found any of the four women injured and unable to walk, to call in their issues and order a Medevac helicopter to meet them in the meadow to assist. He was six-feet tall, strong, and able to carry someone if needed. According to the Marines in the hide, all four women were walking around and seemed unhurt. Again, fingers crossed.
Ali pushed ahead, aware of a path that could barely be seen in daylight or through NVGs. The wind was lighter as they moved down the slope toward the fortress. There was a lot of thick brush where the tunnel entrance was hidden, and Ali would bet that Azarola had it planted in the area for just that reason a decade earlier.
She shivered. She was so close to getting to Cara! Her emotions welled up as she jogged in and around trees, following that path. Just a little longer, she told her sister. Please, Lady, help us get to them. Help us . . .
Sweat was trickling down her temples, soaking into her clothing. Breathing through her mouth, she cautiously entered the opening to the tunnel, her M4 barrel raised, finger on the trigger. It was built of brick and concrete, seven-feet high and eight-feet wide. Ali knew the men over six feet would be crouching. It wasn’t a long tunnel, but the stale, humid air hit her solidly, increasing her sweat rate. The ground was dry, but leaves and limbs had fallen into the entrance, making it dangerous. If she stepped on one of those dried tree limbs, it could crack and cause a distinct sound—one that would have them surrounded in minutes.
Ali relied on the fact that the opening to the entrance, about four-hundred feet long, opened up behind the huge garage within the enclosure. The adobe wall of the garage, ten-feet high, would hide their presence. If the sentries had been out doing their jobs, one of them would have been walking this route once an hour.
She hurried along, the path becoming empty of rocks, limbs, or leaves. All she had to do was make sure she didn’t scrape against either wall and create a sound. Behind her, she heard the soft swish of her clothing, but that was all.
She grew more and more tense as she drew close to the entrance. There was a round wooden door, bearing an old, rusty latch. She stopped and turned to see all of the team coming quietly to a halt directly behind her. She made two taps on her radio, a signal to the Marines in the hide to give them a verbal report in their ear pieces. What was going on outside in the dark fortress?
“All clear,” one reported. “It’s a go.”
That’s all Ali needed to hear. She’d put on her shooter’s gloves, the tops of the fingers cut off so she had direct contact with the handle of the door. Slowly, she turned it.
CLICK.
She halted. Waited. Breath suspended for a moment.
Focusing her hearing, she heard nothing on the other side of the thin wooden door. Slowly, she let out her breath and eased it open. Through her NVGs all she could see was grainy green images. The distance between the garage and the opening in the ten-foot wall of the fortress was six-feet wide. It wasn’t a lot of width. They’d have to be really careful not to scrape the sides of either one, making undue noise.
Before she went any further, she released the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Then, she pulled out a small can of WD-40, spraying the two hinges so they wouldn’t squeak. The odor of the spray drifted into her nostrils as she quickly shoved the small can back into a thigh pocket.
The door yawned open without a sound. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest as she quickly and silently made her way down to the end of the garage. There, Ali halted, waiting for everyone else to catch up with her.
Kelly Lomas would remain on station at the entrance, watching and guarding the area. Tyler came up close to her, crouched, and waited. Ram, Cory, Dave, and Randy followed. Her fingers felt slippery with sweat. She was so close to getting Cara out of here! Fear shot through her but she gulped and barely turned around the corner, making sure no sentries where there. It was clear. She made a hand signal that all could see, telling them to move forward, and then disappeared around the corner of the garage.
At the next corner of the building, Ali knelt down on one knee, Tyler nearby. She clicked the radio twice, alerting the Marines for another eyeball report on the inside of the fortress. Wind was picking up again and soon, gusts would hit the area. She could see the back of one tarp lifting on the huge cell, flapping and making a lot of noise. That wasn’t a bad thing in her estimation. It would potentially cancel out any sound they made by mistake. And mistakes were a natural part of any op.
“All clear.”
Ali made a hand signal and sprinted the six feet to the rear of the cell. Instantly, Tyler followed her, right on her heels. She went to one end of the tarp and he left her, approaching the other end of it. They both lifted it quietly and slipped beneath the folds, facing the cell itself. Now, they were protected by the tarp. No one would see them if they came out of the fortress.
Ali saw the four women lying down on some thin blankets in the middle of the hard dirt floor of the cell. The bars were made of iron, rusted, and reddish. Ali was sure this cage had held many, many people over the decades from the looks of the worn metal. Breathing hard, trying not to make any sounds, she spotted Cara at one end, a pitifully thin blanket drawn across her shoulders, her legs pulled up against her body. There was no way to get to them to signal, so she whispered, “CARA!”
Instantly, Cara sat up, her eyes wide, jerkily looking around.
“Cara. It’s Ali! Wake the others! Come to the rear of the cell!”
Ali heard her sister gasp. Then, overcome, she sobbed, pressing her fist to her mouth to stop from making any more noises. She quickly leaned over, grabbing each woman’s shoulder, awakening them. Whispering urgently to them, they stirred.
Very soon, Ali had all four women crouched, hands on the cold steel bars, their faces pressed against them as Dave, in German, explained what would happen next. Tyler Hutton also spoke rudimentary German and Ram had decided to add him to the team because three of the women might need another translator. As the two ex-SEALs talked to them in very low tones, Randy, their lock pick expert, moved ghost-like around to the front of the cell, hidden beneath the tarp so he remained invisible to prying eyes. He quickly pulled out his lock picks and went to work on the old, rusty padlock that held the women inside the cell.
“Ali!” Cara cried, reaching out, grabbing her extended hand. “You came! You came!” she sobbed.
“Sssshhh!” Ali begged, gripping Cara’s hand, squeezing it. “Please don’t make any more noise! Let Randy get this lock opened.”
Gulping, tears streaming down her taut, dirt smeared face, she gave a jerky nod.
“Listen to me,” Ali said, “as soon as the door is opened, we want each of you, one at a time, to go with one of us. Cara, I’ll be there for you. The German women will be escorted by the other men, who speak their language, on our rescue team.”
Dave and Tyler were quickly translating to the German women, who eagerly bobbed their heads, hope suddenly flaring in their dazed expressions along with real terror.
Ali could tell that the German women knew very little English. They were sobbing and trying not to make noise either, but it was impossible. Their eyes showed their panic and desperation. What had they been through? Every woman’s hair was unkempt and had neither been brushed nor combed for a long time. They were dirty and unwashed; their body smells strong—they’d lived in filth.
Ali thought she knew why. Cara was the most attractive but these other women, twice her age, and all in their mid-forties to early fifties, it appeared, had probably been sold to a sex trafficker in Asia to spend their days servicing men who couldn’t afford much to have sex with one of them. The truly beautiful women would have been cared for, cleaned, and their hair washed.
But these three German women? No. They were what sex traffickers called “culls,” leftovers. And maybe that was just as well because they hadn’t, she hoped, been molested, physically examined, or their information put out on a black-market prostitution website. There, if an interested sexual predator liked what he read, photos of the woman were sent. That was how they were sold around the globe. If they had been put out on the dark web already, Ali didn’t think they’d still be at the fortress.
Randy suddenly appeared. He gave Ali a thumb’s up, grinning, his white teeth against the dark, camouflaged grease paint on his face.
Ali grinned back, nodding. She slipped around him, remaining beneath the tarps. Soon, she was at the open cell door. Cara came out first, hunched over, frightened, gripping Ali’s proffered hand. Together, they slowly, quietly moved to the rear of the cell beneath the tarps so they couldn’t be spotted. Once there, Ali opened the tarp, looked for sentries, and saw none. She checked with the Marines in the hide and they said it was clear. Gripping Cara’s thin, cold hand, she tugged at it, heading for the corner of the garage.
Then, Ali hurriedly jogged her around the building and brought her to the entrance where Kelly was stationed. At the other end of the entrance, Ram stood guard. She was glad he was there, the eyes and ears to detect any enemy that might be nearby. She shoved Cara through the entrance, whispering, “I’ll be right back. Kelly here, will protect you. He’s going to give you a set of night vision goggles. Put them on so you can see in the dark. Stand quiet. We’ll be back with the rest of the women in a minute.”
“Okay,” Cara rattled, her eyes huge. “I-I can’t see a thing, Ali! It’s too dark!”
Gripping her little sister’s shoulder, she said, “In just a minute you and the other women will be able to see just fine thanks to our night vision goggles. Once we get everyone assembled here in the tunnel, and they have their NVGs on, we’re taking you to meet some trucks. Just hang in there. Okay?”
Turning on her heel after Cara stuttered out an ‘okay,’ she slipped out of the tunnel. Randy, Tyler, Dave, and Corey had the other three hostages. They were making more noise than Ali liked. The wind gusted and rain began to splatter in earnest around them. Opening the door, Ali stood aside as they swiftly herded the women inside the tunnel. Quickly, Kelly pulled it shut, the lock latching with barely a whisper. He turned, giving Ali a signal to move to the head of the group.
She clicked her radio three times, a signal to Ram at the other end they were coming out as soon as everyone received their NVG’s. She received a return click, telling her he got the message.
Breathing hard, her mouth open, Ali quickly sidled down the line until she spotted Cara. Her sister had lost a lot of weight. Even in the grainy green of her NVGs she looked pathetic and helpless. Reaching out, Ali gripped her hand and drew close to her ear.
“This tunnel only allows one person at a time to go down it. Grab my web belt, follow me,” and she placed Cara’s fingers next to it around her waist. “Try to walk lightly and carefully. Don’t let go of the belt, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered unsteadily.
“This tunnel is one-tenth of a mile long, Cara. Do you think you can make it? Do you need help walking?” Ali could feel her trembling. Maybe the women hadn’t been given enough food or water after all.
“I-I’m dying of thirst . . . I’m so weak, Ali . . . I’m sorry . . . ”
Quickly, Ali opened up her canteen and placed it in Cara’s hands. “Shhh, it’s all right. Drink all you want.”
Her sister glugged down the water noisily, the drops leaking out of the corners of her lips. Finally, Cara finished it, handing it back to Ali. In one quick motion, Ali affixed it to her belt and then guided Cara’s fingers back to her web belt.
“Hold on,” she urged her softly in a low tone. Ali turned, giving a signal that she knew her team was waiting to see. Wanting to get the hell out of this stiflingly hot, humid, claustrophobic tunnel was her only objective. Right now, it was raining. This was a good thing as it would cover their escape. She didn’t know if the guard would come out and check on the cell or not. She hoped not. Let it start pouring rain.
Ali’s mind worked like the sniper strategist that she was, going over every possible situation. Cara was dragging her feet, wobbling from side to side, and it was difficult to hurry with her at all. Frustrated, Ali knew there was nothing they could do until they could get them to her hide tree. There, Tyler could give them some much-needed medical attention. They still had a long walk in front of them because the trucks could get no closer than that meadow three miles away.
Would they make it, or not? Would someone check on the cell and raise the alarm? Ali knew all hell would break loose if the woman were discovered gone. They would send out search parties with weapons and the intent to kill all of them. Even in this weather and rain, nothing would stop them. They were like rabid dogs, undeterred. Azarola wouldn’t allow the four women to survive to tell their story to the media or have it posted online. He’d cold-bloodedly track them down and kill them first.
Ram had back-up plans for such a scenario—Ali didn’t want to go there, though. It was a dicey plan at best. And some of these women, and maybe some of her team, could get found and killed in the process. Without any Marine back-up on this op, they were on their own.