Aztec Treasure

President Laura Kettering’s POV

White House Situation Room

The simple thing would have been to bomb the compound until it was a pile of rubble, but there were wives and children in there. I wasn’t willing to take the collateral damage from that. The drone video showed the guards on the perimeter fencing and patrolling the home and rooftops. “One minute to target,” the voice said.

The target was in the mountains above Imala, a small town east of the capital of Culiacan. It lay in the state of Sinaloa on the eastern shore of the Gulf of California. The drone footage was infrared, as it was four in the morning local time, with only a sliver of moon to light the May night. I’d given the ‘go’ order forty-three minutes ago. The USS Makin Island (LHD-8) amphibious assault ship was the lead element of the Marine Amphibious Group I’d diverted three days ago to the west coast of Mexico. They had moved into the Gulf of California at sundown. The Marine Expeditionary Unit embarked on the task force included the twelve V-22 Osprey tiltrotor aircraft and six AH-1Z Viper attack helicopters of the Knightriders of VMM-164.

“Initiate attack runs.” Just because there were noncombatants in the compound didn’t mean we weren’t going to blow things up. The drone launched a missile at the front gate, blasting the heavy steel doors open. The low-flying attack helicopters came into view. Two Vipers started lighting up the vehicles in the courtyard and the garage with their Hellfire missiles and 20mm rotary cannon. The other four Vipers took out the guards along the fence and on top of the roof. With their initial targets destroyed, the helicopters starting circling the compound to provide fire support.

The guns were quiet as the first tiltrotors arrived. Marines from the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit out of Camp Pendleton started fast-roping out the back onto the roof or the surrounding lawn, while others landed outside the gates on the road. The Marines stormed the house as the Vipers brutally eliminated any visible opposition. The Marines took casualties; I counted four men down in front of the house and two in the back. I could see the flashes of weapons firing, and it was an anxious few minutes before the ground commander reported the building was secure. “X-ray One is KIA,” the commander reported back.

The head of the Sinaloa Cartel was dead.

The mission shifted to intelligence gathering as Marines escorted the prisoners out of the palatial estate. Other Marines carried their wounded and dead back to the waiting Ospreys. As the aircraft filled up, they took off so the others could land. It was less than fifteen minutes before the last Osprey lifted off to head for the carrier.

The Vipers had been busy discouraging law enforcement and the Mexican military from interfering with the operations. The Mexican President would be furious at my use of US troops on Mexican soil. Well, fuck him and the horse he rode in on. We didn’t cooperate because the Mexican Government is hopelessly corrupt and penetrated by the Cartels; any notification of our intent would result in more dead Marines.

The feed went dead as the drone headed back to base. It took a few minutes for the casualty report to make it to the Commandant of the Marine Corps. “Madam President, we lost two Marines tonight. Two more are seriously injured, four have minor injuries. We killed twenty-seven Cartel members and captured twelve, seven of them injured.”

“Women and children?”

“No casualties. We locked them in a room until the Mexican authorities arrive.” He let out a breath. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“I never doubted their ability to complete the mission. Your Marines performed admirably,” I said. During the planning phase, casualty estimates ranged between five and thirty, a high cost to avoid civilian casualties. I let out a sigh of relief as the aircraft called in “feet wet,” meaning they were back over the ocean.

I called the Mexican President then, informing him of the operation and the Cartel leadership we’d taken out. He raged at me, but what could he do? I promised him additional aid in fighting the remaining Cartels. The Gulf, Los Zetas, and Jalisco New Generation Cartels were already gobbling up Sinaloa territory like a pack of hyenas on an injured zebra. Fifteen of the top eighteen Cartel leaders died in the week since I declared war, and we’d only killed ten of them. The other Cartels were more than happy to give up locations and names of Sinaloa leadership for us to eliminate. We’d also used drones and undercover agents, taking out production and distribution facilities throughout the countryside.

Would it make any difference in the drug war? Not in the long run. The other Cartels would take over the smuggling routes, surviving soldiers would sign on with new leadership, and the drugs would continue to flow. It wasn’t about the drug war, though. It was personal.

I looked at my watch; it was seven-forty in the morning, and I’d been up since one. “Clear my schedule until noon,” I told my Chief of Staff. “I want a briefing then about what remains of Sinaloa and how we are going to eliminate it.”

The team around the table stood as I did and stayed standing until I was out the door. Three Secret Service agents and one large wolf escorted me back to the elevator, then to my residence. Exhausted, I took a shower and crawled into bed.

The wakeup came all too soon. I had enough time to dress, and lunch was waiting for me in the Oval Office. I ate quickly as my Chief of Staff updated me on my schedule.

At noon, my ‘war’ staff gathered in the Oval Office. My Director of National Intelligence, General Curtis Ripley, summed up the problem. “The remaining leadership has gone to ground, taking their loyal troops with them. I think they know they can’t keep their entire territory, but they are trying to retain their base around Culiacan. We’ll keep looking.”

I looked over at my Attorney General. “How are we doing on freezing their assets?”

“Not as well as I hoped,” she said. “Accounts with Banco Mexico are cleaned out. We’re having no luck with some of the offshore banks and their secrecy laws. They aren’t cooperating.”

“You can’t just take the money from the accounts as Spider Monkey did?”

“If it ever came out that the United States Government hacked foreign bank accounts and stole assets, the blowback would be bad,” my Treasury Secretary said. “It would shake confidence in the banking system and open us up to retaliatory hacking.”

“So we don’t do it directly,” I said. “There has to be a better way. As long as they have money and people, there is a chance they can make a comeback. I need them destroyed.” I looked over to my left, where a pregnant Colletta was resting in a chair. “Is there anything your people can do?”

“The pardon letter doesn’t cover future acts,” Colletta replied. “Even if you gave me another one, Spider Monkey is in hiding for good reasons. It’s not just Sinaloa Cartel retaliation she is facing; the other Cartels and Organized Crime figures know she was able to take a billion dollars away from the Cartel in minutes. How much would they be willing to sacrifice to get that kind of person working for them?”

I shuddered; Spider had taken one for the team. The theft and the pardon letter had come out two days after the declaration of war. Naturally, I was shocked that I’d signed a blanket pardon without knowing the full scope of her crimes (heh heh) and would look into any alternatives to bring her to justice. Signing another would be taking a huge political risk. “She’s an important asset, and I need her help. The question is how to make it politically palatable.”

“It’s not like she hasn’t done it before,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs replied. “We are at war with the Cartel. We shouldn’t apologize for using any means, legal or not, to destroy the enemy.”

“You’re opening a huge can of worms if you knowingly sanction international banking theft,” the Treasury Secretary said.

“I need to stop this conversation right now,” Colletta stated. “Spider Monkey has sacrificed so much already. She is about to give birth to her first child while hiding from people who would torture and kill her to get the money back. She’s gone and may never be able to return home again. She won’t even use a computer because it could give her location away. I won’t accept anything that endangers her life and that of her family. She’s already got the billion dollars; what can you offer her that she can’t get on her own?”

I could see her point. “So, what would you suggest?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Keep doing what you are doing. The Sinaloa Cartel is circling the drain. We’ve taken their money, destroyed their assets, and decimated their leadership. Their time is running out even if you do nothing more! Another Cartel, probably Jalisco, will move into their territory and wipe out the last of them. It’s inevitable.”

I could see others nodding. “Fine. Colletta, please return in two weeks with any other ideas you may have.”

“Of course, Madam President.”

The meeting ended, and it was back to a packed schedule. No one can prepare you for how physically demanding this job is before you take it. The pressure is intense, and wakeups are common. It is no wonder a two-term president looks like they have aged two decades.

I had a plan for that, though. After being sworn in for another term, I would find myself a mate and become a werewolf.

I’d have another century to live after leaving office.