Night of the Hatchet

By A.W. Hammock

When former Delta Force Operator Caleb Cook uncovers a plot involving a deadly terrorist cell, partnered with a ruthless drug cartel, his life and the lives of his family and countrymen will be in constant danger unless Cook can stay one step ahead of the violent men planning to use a deadly weapon to strike deep into the heart of America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483421216

Book preview

AWH

CHAPTER 1

C aleb Cook walked along the narrow jungle path in Costa Rica, wondering how he would get out of this one. Behind him, two men with rifles nudged him forward toward what they planned would be his death.

Just a little farther and this will all be over, one voice said. The man’s voice held an uncaring tone that sounded like a rusty barrel being dragged over gravel. Caleb couldn’t help but wonder how many other unfortunate souls had had to make this journey, never to be found and never to return.

Caleb had experienced life-and-death situations before, but always on the other side of things. He never dreamed that his life would end like this. Everything seemed surreal—the vividness of the day, the bright-green canopy colors, the damp musty smell of the jungle, the soft squishing sound of their feet as they passed over the trail. Caleb listened as the birds, howler monkeys, and other jungle creatures—normally noisy and alive with sound—all fell silent as the small group of three made its way through the narrow path. The jungle creatures knew something dangerous was making its way toward them.

Caleb was experiencing the sensory overload that many people have when faced with life-and-death situations. Caleb’s senses had been tuned to peak, and he was aware of smells, sounds, and movements he’d previously failed to notice.

I’ve got to get these guys off guard, Caleb thought. I’ll keep playing the meek victim, they’ll relax, and then I’ll strike! Bastards want me dead. We’ll see about that. And at that point, Caleb’s decision was made.

As the group entered the small clearing in the jungle, Caleb noticed a large hole already dug in the ground, with shovels standing in the freshly removed dirt.

End of the road, mister, the smaller of the two would-be killers remarked, his voice a snarl.

Yeah. Any last requests? voiced the second of the two killers, but the man with the rifle in Caleb’s back never finished his threat.

Without warning, Caleb pivoted in a movement so swift and violent that the two killers had no time to react. Caleb spun, using his right forearm to smash aside the rifle in his back, stepped forward, closing the two-foot distance between him and the first man, and before the first man’s mind could register the action, Caleb whipped his left elbow around and struck the killer square on the chin with so much force that Caleb felt the man’s jaw break under the contact. In that one forceful spin, Caleb had unarmed and knocked the first man unconscious. Caleb continued the sweeping movement, grabbed the rifle from the second man, and snatched control of the man’s weapon. Having control of the second man’s weapon, Caleb administered a head butt to the man’s nose so forceful that the blow crushed the cartilage in the man’s face. In just an instant, Caleb held on to the rifle of the second man and now stood over the two would-be killers.

Blinded by rage and the thought of the two men who just minutes before had happily joked about his death, Caleb steadied the rifle just above the first man’s temple and fired. The shot was at point-blank range, and the side of the man’s head disintegrated. Without a word and running on autopilot, Caleb stood over the second man, who had regained consciousness at the report of the rifle. As the second man begged and pleaded for his life, his face a mess of broken teeth, bubbling blood, snot, sweat, and mud, he realized that he would find no mercy in the hazel eyes of the man standing over him. Eyes that now seemed to be on fire. The rifle fired again, sealing the fate of the second man and drawing Caleb out of a trance that had been invoked only moments before. The whole episode lasted only seconds, and Caleb, now standing over the dead men, felt the dizzying effect of adrenaline still pulsing through his body. He felt renewed and refocused. Caleb busied himself with the task of burying the men and their belongings. He pushed the bodies into the hole they’d intended for him and shoveled dirt in to conceal them. He then smoothed out the ground with the shovel and scattered leaves and small branches over the resting place of the two would-be assassins. Caleb buried all of the men’s belongings except for the AK-47 rifle, a few extra magazines, and a cell phone he’d taken off the second body.

They won’t need them, Caleb thought as he walked back down the path with the rifle butt folded and down by his side. Happy to be free, Caleb’s thoughts now turned to the man who had ordered his death. Yeah, you’re going to pay, he thought as he walked along the jungle path. And no one will save you when I come calling.

Damien Ortiz sat in his study, reviewing financial reports. He was a handsome man, very fit, with dark features, brown eyes, and a confident air of superiority. Damien prided himself on things being in order and of controlling everything in his world. His outward appearance was of a well-to-do senior executive, but nothing could be more misleading. Damien sat at the head of an empire built on ruthlessness, violence, and death. His main export was opium, and business had been booming, especially since he had recently ousted his competition. Damien hadn’t outbid, outnegotiated, or performed a corporate takeover. His methods were much older and much more lasting. His former competition had awoken one morning in a vacation villa with three men standing over his bed, holding silenced machine pistols. Before the man had an opportunity to bribe his way free, he was summarily executed. When the authorities found the competitor’s body, it had been shot eighty-four times. The authorities followed with an investigation, and most of them knew who was ultimately responsible, but they had no proof.

Damien’s home overlooked the surrounding landscape and was located on a private mountain ridgeline in Costa Rica. The mountain was still actively volcanic and was located in a remote area rarely visited by outsiders. The local people knew that if they got too close to the mountain, they would never be seen again. Damien’s home was a work of art in engineering and followed the landscape so smoothly that it looked as if it had grown from the ground when the mountain was formed. The security around the property was of a standard rarely seen by people other than heads of state and political power brokers.

The main house in Damien’s compound was at the highest point on the ridgeline, with the grounds sloping downward from it in a smooth-flowing grade. There were beautiful gardens surrounding the house, but none of the vegetation was higher than a half meter. The grounds spread from the house three hundred meters in every direction to the wood line. Cyclone fencing surrounded the property just behind the tree line. There was an inner fence and an outer fence. The outer fence was three meters high and had been outfitted with motion sensors. There was an area of about twenty meters of cleared space between the inner fence and the outer fence. Guard towers were spaced every twenty-five meters overlooking the exterior of the compound and covering the space between the two fences. The outer fence of the compound was electrified, and professional dog handlers, managing several aggressive and well-trained attack dogs, patrolled the dead space between the fences. Spotlights were spaced every few yards pointing into another cleared area on the outside of the outer fence. The bright lights covered every inch of the perimeter of the outer fence, leaving no areas for unseen approach.

Security cameras were operated and placed by the best consultants in the business and had views of every inch of the grounds. A professional staff manned the security cameras in the security quarters right below the house. Security sentries also used night-vision goggles as well as heat-sensing units to view the perimeter at night. All guards were paid excellent wages, with bonuses paid to anyone who captured or killed an intruder. Failure to do the same meant immediate dismissal, although former security members were never heard from again.

Damien answered the ringing phone on his desk and paused in silence as the information received sank in and took effect.

Jose and Carlos haven’t been back from that assignment you sent them on, reported the voice of Gabriel Miner, Damien’s most trusted associate and problem solver.

Well, where are they? And what the hell has happened to them? Damien demanded, almost screaming into the phone as he stood over his desk in a rarely seen loss of composure.

I’ve just sent four men to investigate and report back to me, boss, but I thought you should know. They were supposed to phone me the minute the job was finished, Gabriel replied.

Listen, Gabriel, Damien responded, now eerily calm. I don’t care what you have to do to get to the bottom of this, but you make sure that the problem is eliminated. He is in a position to cause us a lot of trouble if he makes it out of here.

I’ll see to it personally, boss, replied Gabriel, now a bit unnerved by the outburst of his employer.

Gabriel Miner had been employed by Damien Ortiz for over ten years and knew the consequences of failure. If Damien was the judge handing out sentences, Gabriel was the executioner. Gabriel had seen many skilled and qualified men die as a result of perceived failure in the eyes of a man unforgiving of loss. Gabriel had personally eliminated problems for Damien, often for something as simple as a funny feeling or the ghost of suspicion. Gabriel was a trusted confidant to Damien and worked very hard to remain a needed asset. Gabriel was a giant of a man, standing well over six feet tall. His body was heavily muscled and covered with faded green tattoos, a dark year-round tan, and a layer of black hair. His hands were thick and calloused and contained a strength more commonly found in a workshop vise. His chest was thick and deep, and his arms and legs were heavily muscled from a life of weight lifting. As striking as Gabriel’s physical appearance was, his eyes were possibly his most dominating feature. Gabriel’s eyes were a rare light blue, containing black circles round the iris. Gabriel’s eyes were eyes that had witnessed a lifetime of death, violence, and horror. They were the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. This killer worked diligently to support his boss without error. Damien Ortiz had the habit of releasing people who no longer proved their worth, and with this particular employer, a person would never be able to leave with information that might later damage the Ortiz cartel. Damien Ortiz was not someone who allowed a two-week notice and wished you farewell. Employment by Damien Ortiz guaranteed that it would be the last job a person ever held.

Gabriel knew that a failure to find and eliminate Caleb Cook would not be accepted. By volunteering to handle the situation, Gabriel proved his worth, but this also brought the possibility of death if he failed. This cycle was the ebb and flow of the life Gabriel had chosen, and now, to consider any other path would lead to his own dismissal.

The cell phone in Caleb’s pocket rang. He paused as he realized who the phone belonged to and decided not to answer it for now. Caleb didn’t want the truth about the incident in the jungle to be confirmed until he had time to effect a smart getaway. He could answer the phone and make threats, but what purpose would that serve? No, Caleb needed time to plan his next move. And anyway, why threaten men who would soon be dead?

He walked for half an hour along the path until he reached the jeep the recently deceased thugs had used to drive him to the spot. He hopped in the jeep and looked for a set of keys, only to realize that the keys had been left in the ignition.

I guess these guys figured that no one would be out this way, he thought as he cranked the jeep and drove out, his plan already unfolding on his next move.

Driving down the highway in his newly acquired jeep, Caleb used the thug’s cell phone to call his friend Phil, who ran a local charter flight out of Liberia, Costa Rica. If things went as planned, Caleb would be back in the United States within hours. Caleb advised Phil that he needed an emergency airlift to San Jose and that there was a substantial need for secrecy and discretion. His old friend Phil, a former military associate, knew immediately the seriousness of the call and promised to fly Caleb himself as soon as he reached the airstrip at Liberia.

The rotors will be turning when you get here, bud, Phil replied.

When the call was finished, Caleb destroyed the cell phone and SIM card to erase any chance of someone implicating Phil in the getaway.

The stewardess angled her way through the first-class aisle, offering drinks and snacks for the passengers. She couldn’t help but admire the striking man, now asleep, in seat 2C to her left. She was floored by the appearance of the man when he’d first made his way onto the plane, and she was secretly excited when he sat in the first-class section of the plane, her section. She had mentally performed all of the checks a lady does when she meets someone who warrants another look. As the man slept, the stewardess watched him, hoping he would wake up. She noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding band, and there were no telltale signs that he’d ever worn one. As the man slept, the stewardess looked over the passenger manifest to acquire the man’s name. Caleb Cook was the name of the man now napping in seat 2C. The stewardess couldn’t help but be attracted to the man. He was at least six feet four inches tall. He had a lean, athletic build with near-perfect muscle tone. Every inch of the man was lean muscle, tanned in the sun to a perfect bronze. He had dark brown hair that ran down over his ears, but it was not too long. She waited impatiently for the man to wake and again show her his eyes. She was stunned when she first saw them. His eyes were hazel, containing a deep rich intellect and warmth. The stewardess knew instinctively that the man must be an athlete of some sort, possibly a professional football player. She was floored that a man so striking did not wear a wedding band. Someone returning from a singles’ vacation would surely have a shadow had he taken the ring off during the trip. If not, the wife at home would have some serious questions for him when he returned. No, this man was not married. She remembered when she first saw him boarding the plane, the warm smile, the polite gestures, his agile movements, and those eyes. She couldn’t help it, but she felt a little giddy when he looked at her, smiled, and in a very friendly tone, like he’d known her all of his life, simply said, Good afternoon.

Caleb slept. It was an old habit he’d learned many years ago and had kept in his arsenal as an added attribute ever since. He could still remember his instructor telling the small group of men, Whenever you get a chance to sleep, sleep. You never know when you’ll be up all night—or for several nights, for that matter. So when you have a chance, rest when you can; it’s the hallmark of a professional soldier. Since that time, Caleb had trained himself to fall asleep almost on command, and the skill had served him well for many years.

Something bumped his arm, and he awoke with the flight stewardess smiling down at him, a look of innocent embarrassment on her face.

I’m so sorry, sir; I didn’t mean to wake you. But since you’re up, would you like something to drink or perhaps a snack?

Please, if you would, Tracy, he called her, having had time to read her name tag before finishing his reply. Could you get me a glass of wine?

Red or white? she asked.

Red, please.

Caleb sipped the wine, feeling the liquid flow down into him, temporarily relieving the tension that had built up over the previous few days. This was a good opportunity for reflection, and with things as they were, Caleb needed time to evaluate his situation and act accordingly. He was on the last leg of his flight, Miami to Raleigh-Durham. Caleb had booked a first-class seat on his flight because he wanted to board the plane in San Jose as quickly as possible. He also wanted to be first out of the plane to get moving. Caleb didn’t need to stand in line and give someone extra time to determine what had happened or, worse, where he was. Keep moving. The time spent waiting for the flight from San Jose to Miami was his most stressful period.

Caleb had been concerned that Damien’s men might put things together and cover the airport. He could have taken a flight directly from Liberia to the United States, but something in his stomach had told him to fly first to San Jose via Phil’s plane and then fly from San Jose to the United States. The Liberia airport was the closest major airport to Damien’s compound, and Caleb had thought correctly that Damien’s men, once aware of his escape, would search there first. His subsequent flight with his friend Phil was not on the books and would allow Caleb a small buffer of time and space between him and the Ortiz cartel men. Fortunately, they hadn’t located him. Caleb knew that Damien’s men would first send a team out to the burial location, because there was no one answering the cell. It was a sure way to confirm any problems, but it would take the cartel men some time—time that Caleb hoped would allow for his departure.

Caleb’s friend Phil had personally flown him in a puddle jumper to San Jose, where Caleb had booked the next flight to Raleigh, North Carolina, via Miami, Florida. The time Caleb spent in the San Jose airport seemed to drag on forever. He had found a spot in a crowded coffee shop in the airport, sat at a booth next to the wall, and watched. Caleb had purposely found a shop several minutes’ walk from his departing gate in case someone was watching the gates for departing flights. He would simply blend in with the tourists in the shop, observe, and see what happened. When his flight boarding call was announced, he’d wait just a few more minutes, assuring that any first-class passengers would be boarded. Then he’d slip up to the ticket point, hand over his ticket, and swiftly board the plane. This would minimize the time he spent standing in a crowd. Even with a lifetime of training and experience under his belt, Caleb knew that he would not be able to effectively cover himself in a crowd of people, where anyone could be watching for him. Since the cartel knew what Caleb looked like, Caleb knew that Damien might send anyone to simply watch the airport and report back.

Surely, even someone with Damien’s power and influence wouldn’t try a hit in the middle of an international airport, Caleb thought. But Caleb wasn’t willing to make that bet. The stakes in a bet like that meant the permanent cashing in of his chips, and Caleb had a few more hands he still wanted to play.

As the jet cruised at thirty thousand feet above the United States, Caleb felt a little more at ease. Sure, Damien can send people to the United States to find me and probably have people there on payroll, Caleb thought, but all of those actions will take time. They would have to determine that I had in fact left Costa Rica and then determine where and how I had traveled. Under the circumstances, Caleb felt like he had probably bought himself some time. The thing now was to continue to stay one step ahead until he was ready to act. I can’t trust too many people on this one, he thought. That bastard has some serious clout, and money talks. Caleb also knew that Damien would apply pressure to anyone close to him. Caleb knew that Damien’s organization would eventually catch up with him. The secret here would be to get sorted, call in a few favors, and act—the sooner, the better. Otherwise, Caleb knew that he would be on the defensive, and that was never the way he operated. The age-old adage still held