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successful?” the president demanded.
    “Well, this changes everything. The stakes have been raised, and there are likely many who want no part of kidnapping the president’s daughter. Our hope is that they will roll on Aranas to distance themselves, and that we will be able to leverage that to our advantage.”
    “Fine, but I need a plan B if our first approach fails.”
    The chief of staff hesitated. “What were the demands, sir? Specifically? Perhaps there’s a solution in the details that could be arranged?”
    “There is nothing to be achieved by negotiating with this scum. The details are unimportant. Don’t waste any more time worrying about them. There is no way in hell I’ll ever give in to this sort of terrorism. Because that’s what it is. Plain and simple. Blackmail. The great nation of Mexico will not be blackmailed by criminals. That’s my final word on the subject,” the president declared.
    The chief of staff didn’t press it, but he suspected there was something more, something that hadn’t been said. When the call had come through, it had been put directly to the president after some jockeying and uncertainty – nobody knew exactly how to handle a call on his private cell number at six in the morning, and there had been no interest in being the person who handled it incorrectly.
    The president had spoken with the kidnappers for sixty seconds, and then the call had been terminated. He had been uninterested in sharing much of the discussion, but had been agitated ever since.
    “Sir, we’ve known each other a long time. Is there anything, no matter what it is, that you can tell me that will further shed some light on their motives? Why this, why now? Anything at all you can think of?”
    The president slowed, and appeared to fight an internal battle before shaking his head and picking up the pace again. “You know everything you need to in order to deal with the situation. Find Aranas and you’ll find my daughter.”
    The chief of staff frowned, but quickly hid his reaction. He knew when his boss was leaving out information. Why he was doing so was an unknown, and he was the president, after all, but it didn’t bode well. Operating in a vacuum was dangerous even at the best of times, and with his daughter’s life on the line, he was playing a deadly game.
    Still, he was el jefe , and it was his call.
    He just hoped that the president hadn’t misjudged the situation.
    For everyone’s sake.
     
    ~
     
    The Culiacán airport had been closed early, and roadblocks erected on the access road to keep the curious away. Huge military transport planes landed in the still of night, as did several private jets, all taxiing to a far section off the main runway. Army trucks waited as men deplaned and were handed weapons and ammunition before loading into the vehicles, and at least forty federal police assault squad members emptied out of a Boeing 727 with the federal police insignia on the side.
    Dark blue Ford Lobo trucks sat expectantly near the army vehicles, and a grim captain handed each officer a Kevlar vest and an M16 assault rifle, along with three magazines of ammunition, a pack with flash bangs and fragmentation grenades, as well as night vision goggles. These were the elite of the federal police force, men whose sole job was to go into armed conflicts and do maximum damage. All had seen dozens, if not hundreds of battles with the cartels, and none was over thirty years old.
    The strike force had been briefed on its target – a group of buildings on a ranch an hour east of town, in the hills near the Durango border – a desolate spot with little other than vegetation and the odd burro to intrude on the tranquility. It was an area where locals didn’t venture, certainly not after dark. There was a suspicious trend of disappearances for those showing too much interest in the goings-on of the very private residents of the massive ranches in the region, and nobody wanted to tempt fate. In