The Killer Within Read Free Page A

ticked agonizingly as everyone in the cramped boathouse waited.
    Finally, Burke’s voice came again. “They’re headed right for the target area, I count twenty crates being moved by forklift from the pier, you’ve got about Page 11
    five minutes before they arrive. Time to get set.”
    “Roger that,” Frank replied. Then to the officers around him, “Time to go, you all know what to do.” Frank and Vera took the lead, slipping out of the ramshackle building into the cool night air. Frank stayed low as the assault team, each of them carrying an M-16, followed close behind. They approached the loading area from the northeast, taking a position behind a line of old storage containers, the metal corroded with rust. Frank crouched on the ground and poked his head around a corner. It was about forty yards to the drop zone. The area was dimly lit, just a few lights from nearby buildings painting the ground a murky shade of grey.
    Frank trained his binoculars on the far side, searching for approaching vehicles. He smiled grimly when they emerged from the night in a long line. Soon, their faint rumble could be heard.
    “Here they come,” he whispered. Small figures began to separate from the gloom of the Herald building, waiving at the approaching forklifts. They all held semi-automatics.
    “How do you feel, Frank?” Vera asked in a taut voice. Was she kidding? “Like a walk in the park, Vera,” he answered. That shooting must have really messed her up. He dismissed his concern, focusing on the scene before him. The forklifts were all in the loading area, each one lowering a crate as big as a small car. The approaching men spread out around the crates, waiting.
    Frank spoke into his comm. “All units prepare to move on my signal.”
    A man pointed his weapon at one of the forklift drivers, motioning him to open a crate. The driver pulled out a crowbar and pried open the lid. He reached in and pulled out a sack, which he threw down. The man waiting caught it neatly. He put down his weapon and pulled out a knife, slitting the bag and sticking in a finger. He licked it, and Frank could have sworn he saw a smile, even in the dark at this distance.“Frank, that’s it, let’s go,” Vera whispered.

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    “Not yet,” Frank muttered.
    Another man motioned at a different crate, which a driver opened before reaching inside. He pulled out a long box that he gently placed on the ground.
    Then he opened it and removed an oblong metal tube that attached to a few other pieces. He held up the end result, a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.
    Frank smiled. “There’s the money shot.” He spoke into the comm, “Everyone move in, now.” He motioned to his team and sprinted across the intervening space, both hands on his pistol, held low.
    As planned, other teams approached from different directions. Flood lights turned night into day as police choppers descended below the clouds. A voice cried over a mega-phone, “This is the police, drop your weapons, and put your hands behind your head.” Chaos ensued. The Ecuadorians took about two seconds to start shooting. Gunfire cracked in all directions. Frank felt a sharp bite like a hornet sting in his arm, but he ignored it and returned fire. As men around the crates began falling, it became apparent that overwhelming numbers surrounded them. Those remaining threw down their weapons and surrendered.
    Frank, Vera at his side, walked toward the center of the loading area. Officers were placing everyone in handcuffs, and there was one man lying on the ground who Frank recognized. He was bleeding badly from a gunshot wound in the thigh and only half conscious.
    It was Arturo Vega. He kept muttering vehemently in Spanish.
    “Vera, what the hell is he saying?” Frank asked.
    “I’m not sure, something about paying Hector back for this, he’s not making a lot of sense.” Arturo lapsed into unconsciousness as paramedics carted him away on a stretcher. The lieutenant appeared