Papal Justice Page 4

  They pulled into the parking lot of a long nondescript building. Cal had never been there before, but the gate guard had given them perfect directions. He knew they were in the right place because of armored Humvees and military police cruisers surrounding the place. Luckily, a familiar face was waiting outside, and the man pointed to Cal and Diane, saying something to a burly black airman in full combat gear.

  Travis Haden met the two visitors halfway, crushing Cal in a bearhug in the process.

  “Good to see you,” said the former Navy SEAL, who also happened to be Cal’s cousin.

  “Jeez, Trav. Save it for the ladies.”

  Travis placed a wet kiss on Cal’s forehead and let him go.

  “Diane, it’s great to see you again.”

  His hug for her was much more chaste.

  “What, no bearhug for me?” Diane asked, kissing Travis on the cheek.

  “Are you kidding? Cal might not look like much, but he’s a scrapper when it comes to defending your honor,” Travis said, motioning for them to follow him into the building.

  They walked past the amused looks of the security contingent, and Cal nodded to the Secret Service agents inside the door.

  “We just met with the Blackhawk crew’s families. He wants to swing by Lejeune on the way home, spend some time with the Raiders too.”

  “That’s good,” Cal replied. It was more evidence of how the Massachusetts Democrat had evolved from self-absorbed playboy to the Commander-in-Chief. While Cal would never admit it to Brandon, he was beginning to think that his friend just might go down in history as one of the best presidents who’d ever lived.

  “He’s in here,” Travis said, although the comment was unnecessary. There were four gun-toting special operations troops with full beards standing watch outside the door. They nodded to Travis as he walked in the door, and gave Cal a once-over as he passed.

  The door closed behind them and President Zimmer stood from where he’d been reading a thick file behind an old metal desk.

  “Well hello, strangers,” he said, coming around the desk to give Diane a hug, and Cal a handshake that turned into an embrace. “I’m sorry to take you away from the beach, guys.”

  “It’s no problem, Mr. President,” Diane said. “Cal promised me a hop in Air Force One.”

  Zimmer looked at Cal, who was shaking his head. The president chuckled.

  “She’s as bad as you are.”

  “Worse,” Cal added, receiving a playful slap on the shoulder from his girlfriend. “Any word on what caused the crash?”

  Zimmer shook his head, the smile fading from his lips. “They think it might’ve had something to do with the fog, but they’re not sure yet.”

  Everyone was silent for a moment.

  “So what did you want to talk about?” Cal asked.

  “Did you know we went to Rome?”

  “Yeah. We saw you on TV with the Pope. Good visit?”

  Zimmer nodded. “The Pope is a good man. I’m glad I got to meet him.” There was hesitation there, something in his eyes that made Cal wonder. He’d assumed the trip up to Eglin was about the crash, that maybe the investigators needed help.

  “Is this about the Pope?”

  “It is.” Zimmer ran a hand through his perfectly sculpted hair. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to make of it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Okay. Give me the overview.”

  President Zimmer told Cal about the private conversation with the Pope, about the attack on the small Acapulco parish and possibly others. Finally, he detailed what he knew about the secret brotherhood of warrior monks that the Pope had tasked with finding his kidnapped flock of priests and children.

  Cal looked over at Travis, then back to Brandon. “Is this for real? Are you seriously telling me that the Pope has monks that shoot guns and take down bad guys?” He said it in jest, but no one laughed. “Come on, guys, that was just a little funny.”

  Zimmer didn’t even crack a smile. “And the part about jihadist soldiers running around in our backyard?”

  “We’ve been talking about that for years. I’m sure you get reports on this stuff every week. I told you before, it’s only a matter of time before they exploit our weaknesses along the border. And don’t even get me started about our border with Canada.”

  “Trust me, I know all about it. My concern is that this is something new. Travis checked with the CIA, and there wasn’t even a blip on their radar. If that’s the case, we have an obligation to at least check it out.”

  “You want me to go down there?” Cal asked, not surprised by the president’s coming request. He could see it on his face. Brandon’s mind was made up.

  “I do.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  Cal shrugged and turned to Diane. “Well, babe, it looks like our time in paradise just got cut short.”

  Chapter 6

  Seacrest Beach, Florida

  4:14pm, March 13th

  Cal didn’t say much on the way back to the house. Diane knew better than to pry. Like a lot of men, Cal liked to digest information before coming to a conclusion.

  She’d seen the reluctance on his face when the president leveled his request. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the president, the opposite was the case, but the analyst in her understood that at times Cal thought he knew better than his good friend Brandon. Not to say that wasn’t the case, but Diane might’ve been a little more subtle in her manners with the leader of the free world, even if he was a good friend.

  But that wasn’t Cal’s style. While she’d instantly seen his drive when they started dating, it wasn’t until they started working together that Diane saw the breadth of Cal’s personality. His men trusted him because of his confidence. To say it was cockiness would be naïve. Cal Stokes lived and breathed the battles he fought. It was part of who he was. If others didn’t like him, they could just pound sand.

  It was why men like the president came to Cal for help and guidance. He admitted when he was wrong, asked questions when he didn’t understand, and always passed the credit off to his men. She’d asked him once why he thought so many men trusted him, why they put their lives in his hands. He’d shrugged and said, “I guess it’s because I’m a Marine, and I’m not afraid to figure it out as I go.”

  And that was what he was doing now, even as he guided their rental car back to the beach house. His eyes scanned, but his mind was calculating. Diane wondered what he would say when he gathered his men.

  The house was empty when they arrived. After grabbing two Coronas from the fridge, Cal and Diane walked out onto the back porch. It led to steps that spilled out onto the white sands of their own private oasis. Cal heard the taunts before he saw them. They were playing eight on eight tag football, shirts versus skins.

  Cal stopped and took a sip of his beer. He watched as the two sides collided at the line, and then, despite the deep sand, the mountain who was Master Sergeant Willy Trent broke from the line, heading for the end zone. Jonas Layton was playing quarterback and stepped back to pass.

  Gaucho, a short latino with a deep tan and an eccentric dual braided beard, barreled toward him, somehow slipping through the offensive line. Jonas scrambled, heading toward the water, waiting for Trent to get open. And then he launched a perfect spiral that sailed downwind over the defenders’ heads, and was snatched out of the air by the the massive Marine.

  “Touchdown!” boomed Trent.

  The skins team’s arms shot up as they howled at their opponents.

  “Twenty-one to fourteen,” called Neil Patel from his beach chair on the sidelines. He had his prosthetic leg perched on a large blue cooler. The dark-skinned Indian had his ever-present laptop open, probably hacking into something he shouldn’t or coming up with another multi million-dollar idea, even as he kept tabs on the game.

  Cal hated to wreck the moment. He would have rather gone down and substituted for one of his men, but duty called. He whistled
to get their attention. Heads turned his way.

  “Bar’s open in five minutes.” He pointed back to the house. If any of the TJG warriors were disappointed, they didn’t show it. He’d given them a heads-up about where he and Diane were going. They knew something was cooking and they were used to this life. One minute you were lounging by the pool with a cocktail in your hand, the next you were flying overseas.

  Cal and Diane headed back into the house. The first to join them was Daniel “Snake Eyes” Briggs. The blonde haired Marine sniper was retying his ponytail when he stepped in.

  “How did it go?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the wine fridge.

  Cal wished he’d had time to bring Daniel with him. Not only was the sniper his near-constant companion and pseudo-bodyguard, he was also the calming influence to Cal’s fiery tendencies.

  “He said to say hello,” Cal replied, taking a seat at the end of the large sectional couch.

  Daniel looked at Cal for a second like he was going to press, but he sipped his water instead and took a place next to the large kitchen island.

  Soon, the rest of the twenty man team, including Diane, were present and waiting. These were professionals and Cal never had to preface any of his briefs with token jargon like, “What I’m about to say is Top Secret,” or “This stays in this room.” Those things were a given.

  “I’ll get right to it. The Pope, of all people, asked President Zimmer for assistance. It seems that a small Catholic parish in Mexico was attacked. Half of its members were killed and half were kidnapped. They suspect it’s a group of unknown jihadists who did it.” That got everyone’s attention. They’d often sat around until the wee hours discussing the possibility of a terrorist incursion from the south. Cal knew what they were thinking: Could this be the one? “Apparently, the Pope has a group of warrior monks that he’s dispatching to Mexico. The initial plan is to link up with them and see how we can help.”

  Cal had seen Daniel’s normally cool eyes light up at the mention of the monks.

  “Is this for real?” asked MSgt Trent, the sweat still running down his chiseled NFL physique.

  “Which part?” Cal asked.

  “The warrior monks.”

  Cal wanted to laugh, but he bit back the humor. “That’s what the president said.”

  The room was silent for a moment.

  Gaucho asked, “Where did it happen? In what city?”

  “Acapulco.”

  Gaucho’s eyebrows rose and Cal saw Trent glance at his best friend.

  “What is it?” Cal asked.

  “That’s where my family’s from,” said Gaucho.

  “Really? I thought they were farther north.”

  “Most of them are now, but we came from the coast.”

  That was something. The wheels cranked into a higher gear in Cal’s mind.

  “Is there anyone who could help us?”

  Gaucho didn’t immediately answer, and MSgt Trent frowned, staring at his friend.

  “I don’t think so,” Gaucho finally answered. “No one that we could use.”

  Trent huffed. “That’s for sure.”

  Cal looked back and forth between the former Delta soldier and the huge Marine.

  “Do one of you want to tell me what’s going on?” Cal asked.

  Another looked passed between the two friends.

  “Tell him, Gaucho,” Trent prodded.

  Gaucho nodded slowly.

  “My uncle lives in Acapulco.”

  “Could he help us?” Cal asked, still not understanding Gaucho’s hesitation. He’d just told them that terrorists were on their back doorstep. Any contacts would be more than welcome.

  Gaucho shook his head.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Trent stepped in.

  “I said, tell him, Gaucho.” This time more forcefully.

  Gaucho looked up at his friend. “I will, okay? Back off, Top.”

  Cal had never seen the two best friends at odds. Taking a page out of Daniel’s playbook, Cal waited for Gaucho to explain. There was a trace of pain on his team leader’s face, and Cal wanted to know why.

  “My uncle was my hero when I was a kid. He’s the reason I went into the Army, why I went Special Forces. He was a green beret back in the day. Did a lot of secret stuff that he’d sometimes tell me about. While the rest of my cousins were out playing soccer, I’d sit inside and listen to my uncle. It made us close. He was there when I graduated from boot camp, and even kept in touch after that.”

  Gaucho paused to take a deep pull from his beer.

  “At some point he moved back to Acapulco. I’m not sure when. So naturally, when I was thinking about getting out of the Army, I flew down to talk to him. He’d changed. Instead of the loving guy I remembered, he was now surrounded by bodyguards and lived in some penthouse on the beach. I knew it was bad news: as soon as I pulled up, one of his guys frisked me up and down like I was walking into a Swiss bank. At first I thought that maybe he’d gone to work for the DEA or something; some undercover stuff could have explained it. But as soon as I saw his face, I knew the truth. There was a hardness there, like he’d done things that numbed his emotions. He hugged me like no time had passed, like I was still my younger self. He looked me up and down, appraising me with a smile. “You look good, Gauchito,” he said.

  “We sat down for a real first class lunch, prepared and served by some guy that kept looking at my uncle for approval. Once the small talk was out of the way, I asked him what was going on, what he was doing for work. He gave me this smile, like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell me. He told me about moving back to Acapulco, and how hard it had been to find a job. He met a nice girl, and they were thinking about getting married. One night, when they were at some club, a group of thugs started making passes at my uncle’s girl. He tried to ignore them, even asked her if she wanted to leave, but she didn’t. Finally, one of the thugs was drunk enough to grab her and pull her towards the dance floor. My uncle said he tried to pull her back and head for the door. That was when the other guy pulled a gun and started shooting. My uncle’s training kicked in, and pretty soon the guy was bleeding on the floor and his buddies were running for help. That might’ve been the end of it, but sometime during the fight, two of the guy’s shots hit my uncle’s girlfriend. She died on the way to the hospital.

  “My uncle was pretty torn up after that. He told me he went to the police, but that they had interviewed the witnesses, and none of them could identify the attackers. He knew that was a lie because of the way the bartenders had given the thugs preferential treatment, like they came in all the time. Well, he decided to have a talk with a couple of the bartenders. They refused to talk. So what did he do? He found out where they lived and held them at gunpoint until they talked. After that, it wasn’t hard for him to find the guys. The only problem was that they were tied to the reigning drug cartel. That didn’t matter to my uncle. He started with the guy who’d taken the shots, and then he got the others. Their bodies ended up as shark food, thrown off a fishing boat my uncle rented.”

  Cal could see that nothing Gaucho had just told them necessarily disturbed the Mexican-American. Violence was part of their lives. It was what they trained for, and it was what they leveled against criminals.

  Gaucho continued. “So he tells me all this, and I could understand, you know? But then his story took a weird turn. He said that the leaders of the cartel came after him, tried to kill him. Somehow he kept them at bay, dealing with two, then four, then ten man teams. I mean, that’s what the Army had trained him to do. Finally, I guess after the death toll got too high, whoever was in charge of the cartel asked for a meeting. My uncle was allowed to choose the place. They met, and after an hour of friendly exchanges, they offered my uncle a job. They wanted him to train their men to do what he’d done, and they offered him money, lots and lots of money.”

  “And he took the job,” Cal said.

  “Yeah. But the story doesn’t end there. Af
ter a year or two of training the cartel’s troops, my uncle had it all figured out. So what does he do? He kills the leader and takes over. He’s now one hundred percent on the dark side. I’m sitting there as he’s telling me this, and it’s like a stranger had taken over my uncle’s body. Same face, same smile, but the heart and soul had changed. He must have seen the look on my face because he said, ‘Don’t be so surprised. This is the fucking real world, Gauchito.’ And then he really shocked me, really made me realize he didn’t know me at all. After all that, my uncle has the nerve to offer me a job, to do the same thing he did, training the troops.”

  No wonder this was a sore spot for Gaucho.

  “What did you tell him?”

  Gaucho snorted. “I told him he was going to hell, and that he could shove his job up his ass.”

  There were chuckles around the room, the mood lightening in the face of Gaucho’s surprise revelation.

  “And that’s how you left it? He let you go?”

  Gaucho shook his head.

  “He let me go, sure. But not before he told me something that I’ll never forget.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He looked me straight in the eye and said that if he ever saw me again, he’d put a bullet in my head.”

  The room went quiet. Everyone waited on either Gaucho or Cal to break the silence. Finally, Cal laughed because it was the only thing he could think to do, and said, “Well, anyone else got any uncles in Mexico?”

  Chapter 7

  Acapulco, Mexico

  8:39pm, March 13th

  Metal grinding and the incessant hammering of factory workers below came in muffled clangs to the ears of the two men in the third story foreman’s office. Everything was metal and dirty, except for the desk. Each sheet of paper was arranged neatly, and even the pencils and pens were standing at rigid attention in their lucite holder. Behind the desk, El Moreno listened as his client went on and on about their lack of progress.