Consent To Kill

52

Anibal Castillo looked down at a map of Loudoun County and traced his finger along a road. He nodded to himself and then stepped out into the garage to check on the progress. Three identical black Chevy Suburbans were parked in the stalls. His men were busy getting them ready. For an illiterate thug who had not a single year of formal education and had been raised in the harsh poverty of a war-torn Third World country, Anibal Castillo was anything but stupid. At thirty-four he had never known peace. The first seven years of his life were spent with his parents and four siblings in the unforgiving ghettos of San Salvador where they were often forced to beg for food. In 1979 his native El Salvador was plunged into a brutal civil war and Anibal's father did his best to keep the family out of the fray. The next year Archbishop Romero was assassinated. The Catholic priest was idolized by both of Anibal's parents. Romero had been an advocate for the poor against a corrupt government and his brutal murder motivated many silent peasants to join the leftist guerrilla forces of the Farabundo Martн National Liberation Front or FMNL. Anibal's father moved the family to the central highlands and he joined the fight against the forces of the Duarte regime.

Anibal started off as a courier for the rebel forces and then when he was big enough to handle a rifle he became a soldier. Like most civil wars there were atrocities committed by both sides. Anibal's mother and two sisters were raped, one of his brothers had been captured, tortured, and shot by the government, and his father had been blown in half by a land mine. By the end of the war Anibal knew only violence. In 1995 he immigrated to America with his mother and two sisters. His surviving brother stayed behind and got involved in the drug trade. Anibal's family was sponsored by a group of Christian missionaries and ended up in the Washington area. Anibal never tried to find a job. Through his service with the FMNL rebels he was almost a de facto member of MS-13. Those first seven years in Washington had been easy. MS-13 was still under the radar of the FBI, and the DEA hadn't quite figured out how pervasive the gang was. The local cops thought they were just another Hispanic gang involved in drugs and car theft.

With fellow gang members either being killed or sent to jail, Anibal moved up the ranks quickly. At thirty-four he was now in charge of all of Prince William County and the majority of Fairfax County. Like Cosa Nostra before them, MS-13 expanded its operations into gambling and prostitution. If they had stopped there, they may have been able to continue unnoticed for quite some time, but they made two crucial mistakes. The first was that they got into extortion and kidnapping-two activities that tended to get the attention of the FBI. Their second mistake was to allow their gang-on-gang violence to spill onto the evening news and the morning papers. Law-abiding citizens, the ones who vote, didn't care too much when thugs killed one another, but when innocent people started getting caught in the cross fire they became incensed. Their outrage was then directed at the politicians, and the politicians, who tend to have acute survival instincts, came down hard on law enforcement.

The end result was that MS-13 was being squeezed by the local cops and the feds. Drugs became harder to move, and extortion and kidnappings were a good way to end up behind bars. Castillo was forced to focus on stolen cars, which was chump change compared to the other stuff. This mysterious man who he had dealt with only once before had shown up at the perfect time. His posse was getting restless. They needed some real action. Stealing cars was fine for the teenagers, but many of his men considered it beneath them. They needed to spill some blood and this was the perfect opportunity.

Castillo approached the first black truck and asked one of his men, "How much longer?"

The man peeked out from under the hood, a wiring harness in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. "Ten minutes."

Castillo checked his digital watch. It was 6:23. The man with the strange accent should be here any minute. "How are the other two trucks?"

"They're ready."

Castillo walked over to the next Suburban. All three had been stolen in the last five hours. The license plates were switched out, and police emergency flashers added to the front grilles and back windows.

"Hey, boss." One of Castillo's men walked up holding a pair of blue coveralls and a baseball cap. "Do we really have to wear these?"

Castillo didn't bother to speak. He just looked at the man sideways like he was thinking about killing him right then and there.

The guy was wearing a white wife-beater T-shirt and a pair of super-baggy shorts. He looked down at the blue FBI hat and shook his head.

"You want to go to jail, you fucking moron?" Castillo stared at the man, half hoping he would give him an excuse to beat him to death. It might be a good lesson for the others.

"No, boss." The man was smart enough to keep from looking Castillo in the eyes.

"Well, how the fuck do you think we're gonna drive all the way out to Leesburg, kill a bunch of feds, and then get all the way the fuck back here without getting stopped? Huh?" Castillo slapped the man across the side of his head and then yelled, "Maybe you want to drive your pimped-out ghetto ride and see how far you get, you stupid bastard?"

The other gang members had stopped what they were doing to see what would happen next. Castillo did a half circle and yelled, "Does anyone else have any stupid questions?"

The gang members scrambled like cockroaches. Castillo was about to walk back into his office when his new friend entered the garage-this time with an even larger briefcase. Castillo jerked his head toward the office and the man followed. The Salvadoran closed the door so they could have some privacy.

Tayyib stood stiffly with the briefcase clutched firmly in his hand. In a cautious voice he asked, "Is everything all right?"

Castillo rolled his eyes. "That was nothing. My men will be ready."

Tayyib remained frozen for a moment, thinking of his options, which were extremely limited. "The trucks?"

Castillo nodded.

"Are they part of your plan?"

"Yes. I figure even with your diversion it might be difficult to get back into the city."

The Saudi agreed. He took it as a good sign that the man could be creative. "The car I asked for?"

"It's ready."

"I will have no problem with the law?"

"As long as you don't get pulled over you should be fine."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Castillo said sharply. "It's a stolen car. We changed the plates but if you get pulled over and they ask for the registration and proof of insurance you're in trouble."

Tayyib supposed it was the best they could do on such short notice. He hoisted the briefcase onto the Salvadoran's desk. "Four hundred thousand dollars." He was tempted to add that he would find him and kill him if he didn't finish the job, but considering his limited resources, and the fact that the comment might get him shot right here and now, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Castillo opened the case and looked inside. He smiled and asked, "Your diversion you told me about?"

"I need to borrow a few things from you."

"Like what?"

"Can you spare an RPG and a few grenades?"

Castillo thought about it and then nodded.

"Good." Tayyib checked his watch. "Be in position by nine-thirty and I'll make sure the police have their hands full." The Saudi started for the door and then stopped. Looking over his shoulder he added, "Just make sure you kill everyone."

Castillo smiled and said, "Absolutely."