Posing as recreational birders, a group of former U.S. Special Forces enter Mexico to capture and extract six Mexican fugitives who murdered six innocent citizens in Santa Barbara then fled to Mexico with impunity, untouchable . . . until now. Highly experienced in reconnaissance and stealth the undercover operatives rely on spy craft and cunning to track the FTM fugitives into the most unforgiving locations for challenging extractions, defying all odds of detection. Their modus operandi mantra: If no one knows they were there, then it didn't happen. A conspiracy is uncovered between the Vatican and the Mexican government which threatens U.S. border security resulting in a familial Federal Police Investigator's brutal murder coldly avenged at the highest level of legal authority. Amazing assortments of birds play more than a fly on role in this original, topical, action packed adventure. (This story was inspired by true events.)

FLED TO MEXICO

If No One Knows They Were There Then It Didn't HappenBy Stephen M. Ringler

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Stephen M. Ringler
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-3822-2

Contents

1. Professional Chutzpah................................12. Justice on Our Side..................................113. Figment of Your Imagination..........................304. The Mexican Eye of God...............................365. Vatican City Spook...................................466. Wonder Women Action Figures..........................547. Vegas and the Virgin.................................788. Watch the Birdie.....................................1019. Mission Caracara.....................................11310. Mini G I Joe.......................................12511. Caught On Video.....................................13612. Operation Double Snatch.............................16113. Joe Crow is an Amigo of Mine........................18814. The Devil His Due...................................21815. Mask Maker–Mask Maker.........................23216. Spellbound..........................................25417. Cacca Happens.......................................26318. Padre Madre.........................................27819. A Tu Madre..........................................32620. Santa Barbara Bound.................................34621. Confession Meltdown.................................36222. Learn Justice from This Warning.....................381

Chapter One

Professional Chutzpah Santa Barbara, California

The pretty, young woman stepped inside Kings Liquor on South Central Avenue in the Nuestro Barrio area of south Phoenix with her boyfriend two strides behind her. There entry surprised Pedro Luis Sanchez whose attention was on the two store clerks behind the checkout counter three aisles away. He saw the moment of opportunity to exit with a free carton of canned beer when the young couple had entered. He continued for the door when the girl bravely questioned him about shoplifting. A black pistol suddenly appeared from behind the beer held waist high. As the boyfriend leaped in front of the girl with his back to Pedro a .45 caliber bullet penetrated his body and hit the heart with mortal impact. He dropped to the floor pulling the girl down with him, her survivor, him a victim and new Phoenix homicide statistic. The surveillance camera would clock the elapsed time of the tragic incident as 7 seconds.

Unencumbered without the six cans of beer Pedro made it safely to his parent's apartment on the run in under a minute. Taking his father's 2004 Dodge pickup he entered the Maricopa Freeway eastbound in a minute, 30 seconds, to the southbound Interstate-10 in four minutes, arriving in Tucson on Interstate-19 in two hours where he continued to its southern terminus, Nogales in one hour and 15 minutes. Arizona's largest border town, Nogales was known for its ease of crossing the border. Pedro Luis Sanchez certainly thought so 6 minutes later as he stepped into his native Mexico a free man, untouchable from the reach of United States laws and neutered enforcers. He had fled to Mexico in a total elapsed time from Kings Liquor to the border in an easy three hours, 27 minutes and 30 seconds. Pedro looked skyward to thank God and the Mexican government for protecting him from U.S. justice.

Across the northern U.S. border with Canada a private Citation-X jet touched down at the Vancouver International Airport with the towers permission to proceed directly to the private aircraft hangar. The pilot's flight plan requested a stop-over only for refueling and crew change following a 6,500 mile flight from Hong Kong. No passengers were scheduled to depart the plane; scheduled being the operative word.

One special Chinese passenger on the flight was, however, scheduled 14 hours earlier to be picked up by a private limo from The Peninsula Hong Kong Hotel following a deluxe Cantonese meal in the Shanghainese Spring Moon five-star dining room. His dining guest was his travel planner, a tall, young, beautiful American brunette lady responsible for Li Deng's timely departure and above all, his safe delivery to his special unknown hosts. He thought his destination to be Las Vegas, U.S.A.; she knew it to be Vancouver, Canada.

Accompanying Mr. Li Deng was a fellow deep pocket gambler at the Macau casinos, known as the Monte Carlo of the Orient neighboring Hong Kong. He was a mid-forties American who employed the pretty brunette and flight crew and was known to all only as Taylor. His large athletic physique was casually wrapped in a high-end custom tailored, all white linen suit with a high-roller gold Swiss watch. Li had been invited to Las Vegas by Taylor for the high stakes gaming and purported business opportunity to become a partner with one of the biggest American gaming companies with operations in Macau and Nevada. Li had made his sizable fortune in Canadian real estate neglecting to pay millions in commercial debt, partner shares, and Canadian taxes before fleeing to his native Hong Kong.

The last on-board beverage served to Li by the accommodating young lady caused him to slumber well after touchdown in Vancouver, spoiling his much anticipated night time aerial view of the spectacular Vegas Strip, so the planner had promised. He was instead awoken to an intense flashlight beam shining on his face. The hanger lights were off and the ground crew gone for the night. The plane had been refueled and the new crew now in the cabin readying their bird for flight. Taylor and his travel assistant delivered their special passenger to three agents of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service on the ground. One of them pressed a key on his laptop producing a beeping sound on Taylor's smart phone indicating the successful transfer of funds to his Bahamian account. He and the pretty brunette boarded the Citation-X for a fast flight south to sunny Santa Barbara, California. This destination would be for real, to prepare their most elaborate travel plan ever.

Taylor was the last of seven to board the Conch II, a luxury yacht moored in the Santa Barbara harbor. The face-to-face meeting was a make or break contract concession his new six co-employers had given into. It was a condition of employment he called freedom insurance, a get out of jail free, card. He would accept the risks of arrest, imprisonment, heavy fines, and possible death, but he would not accept the possibility of being hung out to dry or double-crossed by his employers. Their shared risk was his knowing their identities as his financial backers. The days of rich people hiring surrogates to do their dirty work at the risk of death and not being responsible for their own deal gone wrong was long gone. No one in his line of business would do otherwise and they knew it. It's their mission, their money, their responsibility. If not, do it yourself, was now the reply to those asking for absolute anonymity. Taylor's contract Delta team would be no one's fool or fall guy.

The military style black rubber banded watch he wore went with the cut of the man, ramrod straight posture, Popeye forearms, black hair cropped in a West Point crew cut, sculpted jaw and linear nose with a small scare across the bridge. A wireless radio fob was inserted in his right ear. Beneath his Navy blue shirt a radio/cell phone was holstered on a brown canvas belt. At six feet, four inches tall, zero body fat on a pro-athletes physique, the 44-year old Taylor had already convinced his...