The Covert Element Read Online Free PDF Page B

FIVE
     
     
    Present day, somewhere in Tamaulipas Province, Mexico.
     
    Master Sergeant Juan Fuentes, U.S. Army Rangers, Retired,
hadn’t been honest with his men twenty years earlier when he told
them that he was returning to Mexico to care for his ailing mother
and to run the family fishing business.
    His mother and father had already died by the time of his
return to Mexico. It had always tormented him that the U.S.
Immigration and Naturalization Service hadn’t seen fit to allow
them to remain in the States, even though he himself was an
American citizen by virtue of his birth within its borders.
    Nevertheless, with his parents’ support and encouragement, he
had returned to the United States at age eighteen to become an
Army Ranger . . . to train to fight with the best. During his service to
the American government, he had remained true to his oaths and
done his best to be a model soldier.
    At the same time, he also strove to be a model son. Each
month, he had sent a portion of his meager Army pay to his parents,
to help support his family. They needed the assistance not only
because fishing had become a lower class endeavor for all who
could not afford the large commercial fishing craft, but also because
the ever-growing Mexican drug cartels had begun to "tax" the locals
"for their own protection."
    At least his family was fortunate in one respect. Their fishing
boats were small, slow, and of poor quality. These attributes made
the boats unsuitable for the drug-running activities in which most
larger fishing operations were forced to engage, simply to avoid
torture or death.
    Ever since the Colombians had lost control of the greater
portion of drug trade in Nicaragua and El Salvador, it had become
too dangerous for the Colombian opium farmers to transport their
crops via the land routes through Central America to the rich drug
market in the U.S. So they had turned to the sea for trafficking –
using fishing boats to deliver their harvest to Mexico.
    A fisherman’s private vessel would set sail from a Venezuelan
or Colombian fishing port carrying anywhere from twenty kilos to
500 kilos of cocaine in its hold. It would make its way northwest
into the Caribbean until it had reached certain designated
coordinates. Then it would drop its cargo into the sea – usually with
a short range GPS transmitter attached. If the drop was in shallow
water, the product might rest on the ocean floor, perhaps contained
in a metal box heavily wrapped in protective layers of plastic to keep
out both water and inquisitive sea creatures. If the drop point was
in deeper water, the whole package might be left to float, with a sea
anchor attached to limit its movement with the wind.
    In either case, within a matter of hours, a second fishing boat
from Mexico would arrive at the prearranged coordinates to retrieve
the package, transporting it back to a Mexican port . . . a port whose policía were on the cartel payroll. A port where the drugs could
safely be unloaded and relocated for repackaging and distribution.
    Near the end of Master Sergeant Fuentes’ tour in the Army
Rangers, his mother contracted cholera and died. After his mother’s
death, his father no longer feared for his own life. He had seen the
corruption, torture, and murder by which the cartels subjugated his
community. While he knew that, by himself, he could not seriously
harm the forces of the cartels, he could at least cost them some
money.
    So late one afternoon, as the fishing boats returned from their
long day at sea, Juan Fuentes, Sr. piloted his shabby wooden fishing
rig, El Valor , out of Tampico harbor, lying in wait for the
commercial fishing vessel, La Esperanza de Dinero . He had loaded
the bow of his boat with barrels and cans of gasoline . . . enough he
had hoped, to do the job.
    When he saw the drug-carrying craft approaching, Fuentes, Sr.
maneuvered the Valor so it idled near the Esperanza’s path to the
harbor. When he judged the Esperanza to be within