Chapter 1

Citlalli, Michoacán

The village was like one of hundreds in the countryside of Mexico or out in the middle of nowhere near the highways. It gave a feeling of isolation at times but it was fairly close to the capital of the state, so people could get things that they couldn't readily produce on their own. It was quaint and small, and no one seemed to bother anyone there and it looked like you wouldn't expect anything to go wrong there considering there were occasionally tourists there.

Oscar Trujillo knew that it wasn't so.

Citlalli was a quaint and peaceful looking village, but it held dark secrets and Oscar knew about them. He knew what went on in that little village, the deaths, the violence, the bloodshed… he knew it all. He knew that it was one of the major centers of distribution and operations of Nicolás Castellano de Huerta, member of the La Familia Michoacán cartel. Well, he was until he broke away and formed his own.

Now it was even bigger than La Familia in the sense that de Huerta managed to quietly oust the parenting cartel. The usual methods worked like violence and killing those that wouldn't stand with him, but de Huerta was also cunning, using businesses, legitimate ones, to gain a foothold. It bolstered his reputation even more when he did more for the people in the local villages.

Most cartel members disregarded the smaller villages simply because they were small and not worth the effort. De Huerta took advantage of that and his drug empire grew. It was his primary business despite the fact that he had his hands in more legal enterprises. He didn't tolerate competition and shut down anyone who tried to shut down his business. The proof was in the news with the bodies reported and often swept under the rug.

Since 2006, there has been a war between the cartels and the Mexican government. Oscar knew that the federales had little to no power. Really, who could argue with the fact that the cartels did more for the average person like building schools, getting clean water… the basics that the government couldn't or wouldn't do because of politics. Unfortunately, it sealed the fate of children born into the villages and cities that serviced the cartels. They ended up becoming members and the cycle kept repeating. It really was no different than the gang lifestyle in the Unites States or extremists in other parts of the world. Rinse and repeat was the way of the world at times.

Oscar had been sent in to try and infiltrate the de Huerta cartel in an attempt to gather intel. It would then be used to send in the operators to take him out. It sounded easy on paper, but in reality, it was a careful tightrope act of gaining trust and sacrificing a piece of your soul to appear to be what they were. The trick was to remember who you were before it went too far. That was the hard part. The part that had him question who he was time and time again.

How do you do it?

It was a question he asked himself ever since he first asked it of the one who said he'd be the best one to do this job. He never thought he'd be able to do this job when he was picked out of a handful of qualified DEA agents. He was the most rookie and he was picked. That moment terrorized him, but he stepped up and for two years he had been doing this job, supplying intel.

Today he was to make his usual drop to his contact and pick up any instructions. It was a system that had worked well during this assignment, but lately Oscar had suspicions that things were changing. The atmosphere was changing; a shift was being made and it seemed that the Nicolás was becoming more suspicious of his men. And he had reason to be.

Part of the intel allowed the federales to step in and take out the smaller distributions. It was small fry compared to de Huerta. The little hits were like pinpricks but when you got enough of them, it would start to hurt. Oscar sensed that they had done enough, and it was going to really put the pressure on things. He didn't show it as he walked into the small restaurant that he frequented. He greeted the waitress in Spanish and took his usual seat.

As an undercover, you had to firmly believe in the life that you are assuming so that you are that person. The person existed on paper, but you had to make it believable. That meant establishing routines and habits that were unique to the cover. For him, it was eating regularly at this particular restaurant. It was always the same thing, but never the same time each week. It helped enforce the paranoia and he happened to build rapport with the owners and they catered to his whims. And it helped that he threw the whole being in the cartel to make him seem intimidating.

"The usual, señor."

Oscar walked to his usual table. It was in a place where he could surveillance the whole room and ease of access to the kitchen. He gave a nod and sat down. He didn't need a menu since it was always the same thing. He glanced around. The place was pretty empty for the time of day. It was most unusual, and it sent a feeling of unease down his spine.

Glancing around, he searched for the owners. He saw the old man that owned the place. Normally, he had a slight hint of fear because of his ties to the cartel. Seeing him now, Oscar was struck with the feeling that there was something more going on. He didn't see the owner's wife and she was usually out being hospitable despite the fact that the cartel ruled the place. He remembered her saying that she had something about maintaining good manners no matter what or something like that.

Being suspicious, Oscar asked in Spanish, "Where is your wife, old man?"

The owner gave a polite smile and replied, "She had to go to the market. We ran out of chilis."

Oscar wasn't fooled for a moment. He noted the way how the owner behaved. He was jittery, like he was being forced to do something and if he didn't comply… Oscar cleared his throat and pushed away from the table saying, "You know I just remembered that I have some urgent business. Thank you and I apologize."

The owner didn't say anything, but he was still jittery. Oscar knew he was in trouble if he left himself in a place of vulnerability. He anticipated the owner trying to keep him there by insisting on him boxing up his food. Oscar shook his head and said that it wasn't necessary while keeping an eye on the front window. Sure enough, the two trucks came up and the men that spilled out weren't the type to be friendly.

Oscar took the chance that he might be ambushed and decided to take the back exit. He turned swiftly and headed for the kitchen while pulling out the gun he always carried on his person. He held it in his right and dangled it downward, but ready to bring it up to shoot if necessary. He kept it down since he didn't want to alarm the kitchen staff more than necessary and moved like he belonged there even though it was clear that he didn't.

There was a loud thump in the dining room followed by angry Spanish demanding where he was. Oscar picked up the pace and exited the kitchen and started down the back alleyway, tempted to run but didn't since that would alert people. There was no shortage of people waiting to sell out a person if a member of the cartel was looking for them. He had used that system before in order to gain his position with the ranks. It was low and dirty, but it was how de Huerta maintained the loyalty of the people. It was through fear and rewarding those who did his bidding.

Oscar managed to make it to the marketplace but was well aware that de Huerta's men would be looking for him. He slowed his pace to blend into the crowd like he was looking for something in particular from the market. He had been there plenty of times, so he didn't necessarily stand out, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't give him up. He did have a few people he could trust, but it was a matter of getting to them without bringing too much trouble to them.

There was a sort of safe bet, but it wasn't a guarantee. That was the church. It was kind of ironic or… he wasn't sure of what he thought about it… but it was contradictory that the cartel members were devoted to the church. They funded, they went to mass, and said confession. They even got their last rites when they were dying. It was a kind of thing to make someone angry about it since the cartel members dealt in drugs and killed. Then again was it any different when soldiers or law enforcement did the same?

Oscar thought about the church as a possibility and the padre there was a no nonsense type. If he asked for sanctuary, the padre would give it and tell it to de Huerta's men. Oscar thought the padre had a pair on him since he had seen de Huerta's men shoot those that said no to the cartel. Sinaloa was brutal with their dissidents. It was brutal here and he was stuck in the middle of it and could be one of those statistics.

Oscar made his way to where the flowers where being sold and was about to maneuver to disappear when someone he knew very well appeared in front of him. He was tempted to raise his weapon and fire, but there was the possibility of retaliation against the crowd and most of them were innocents. So, he didn't raise his weapon.

"I had a feeling you would be here, Oscar."

Oscar was behind a stand, so his weapon couldn't be seen. He wasn't going to chance it though. He replied, "I decided to bring some flowers to the church. The padre mentioned it and I decided today would be a good day for confession. I didn't expect you to be here, Nikolás."

Nikolás de Huerta looked at Oscar with a bemused expression that often meant a deadly outcome. "And I didn't expect to come down here, Oscar. I wanted to speak with you, but you were not in your usual place."

Oscar moved slightly to hide his weapon. He couldn't afford to put himself in a worse position. He moved slowly to examine a set of flowers. "I sometimes change my mind. We are allowed to do so."

"Agreed, but I need you to change it again and come with me."

Oscar looked at Nikolás and heard the commanding tone. He knew that there was no escape. If he did, it would only confirm that he wasn't who he had said he was, and he would be executed. If he didn't, he might be at the end of a rope and disemboweled or something worse. One was certain, and the other wasn't. He was screwed either way. He swallowed slightly and gave a nod of acquiescence and moved slowly to what his fate was going to be.

"Man, Crumpets. That looks fucking nasty."

Jackson turned from where he was studying his blackened eye. It was swollen, but nothing like what boxers could get. Still it was nasty as Harper said and Jackson felt he was going to be put under the ringer when they got home. He replied, "Yeah and whose fault is that?"

Harper chuckled and held up his hands in mock surrender, "Hey, I'm not the one that mouthed off to a terrorist. That's on you, buddy."

"Screw you, wanker," Jackson retorted as he grabbed an ice pack. He cracked it and shook it to get the stuff working before putting it on his eye. "You bastards were fucking late."

"Price for putting the tracker on an unconventional place," Crosby said, joining in on the ribbing.

It was often a source of entertainment, picking on and poking fun on the British special forces soldier that had been attached to their team since the whole thing with Raul Menendez. Jackson, for his part, took it in good humor since he had peculiar phrases and mannerisms that elicited raised brows. It was a sign of liking him and he had proven his worth watching the team leader's back and helping nab Menendez.

Jackson narrowed his good eye at Crosby since the other one was covered. He couldn't argue that. It was part of their plan, but… "And who the hell thought it was a good idea for me to be captured?"

"Don't you know?" Harper wrapped his arm around Jackson's shoulders while giving a good natured punch to him. "You always have the short straw, Crumpets. You're the FNG on this team."

"Limey bastard," Jackson muttered. He wasn't pissed. Annoyed, yes, but it was all part and parcel of being a part of the team. "Next time I vote someone else. I don't need two black eyes. Because I'm not going to try and explain it to her."

Everyone froze slightly at Jackson's emphasis. They knew who he was referring to and the team grew unusually quiet before they started murmuring and started settling down while their flight made its way back to the states. Jackson walked over and took his usual seat and leaned back against the bulkhead with the pack on his eye.

"That was low, Jacks."

Jackson didn't turn to look but replied in his soft Manchester accent, "Aye, and you know that it's true, Section."

David looked at his British friend and nodded in agreement. He really couldn't disagree since he knew what she was like when something happened to the team and stupidity was the cause. Or she was quick to call it stupidity even if it was a legitimate move. "She's worse than Spectre was when she was expecting."

"Spectre is scary no matter what," Jackson corrected with a slight tinge of fear in his voice. "I once saw her make the director of MI6 go speechless and to stop swearing."

"She did that with Briggs you know," David bumped Jackson on his shoulder. He grinned in good humor when Jackson moaned and let his friend relax. They were going to have plenty to hear about when they got in.

Thinking about it, David turned his attention to his wrist console. He tapped a few keys and pulled up the last couple of photos that had been taken. One was of his daughters playing with a very familiar looking dog panting happily. He remembered when that was taken and resisted giving a slight eye roll since he was always at odds with the dog.

Things had been good the past few months. He was happy, happier than he had been in a long time. He flipped the image to the next one and his lip twitched again, and he rolled his eyes slightly. The damn dog was licking him in the face and the girls were laughing their heads off. He shook his head at the fact that she messed with his wrist console again and uploaded the photos. He wasn't upset about it really since he did carry pictures of his girls in his console that he brought out when on long deployments. It certainly helped when trying to catch rack time.

"Got a new pet?"

David glanced at Jackson. He wasn't looking at him since he had his eye covered with an ice pack, but he seemed to know what was going on. He replied, "Shut up, Jacks. You know that it's JSOC."

Jackson chuckled and lowered the hand with the ice pack. He grinned as he looked at David. It actually didn't look too bad since he had been icing it since getting checked out after rescuing their HVP. The cuts from getting punched and being manhandled weren't bad either. He certainly got a few licks in on this one. He glanced at the current picture that David had been looking at. "Still can't believe that the mutt's name is named after your counterterrorism unit," he chuckled.

David made a sound at that and replied, "She named him by accident."

"Right."

"It was an accident," David countered, trying not to laugh. The whole thing was funny really. It still baffled people how a trained MWD who had a different designation responded to a new one like it was nothing. "It is kind of funny since sometimes you can't be sure if it's the dog or HQ being talked about."

"No doubt. Can't imagine a bloody dog being called SAS or Credenhill or something like that," Jackson replied chuckling. "We'd definitely be in trouble."

David laughed with him as he adjusted his position to catch some shut eye. "It's not so bad."

Jackson hummed at that. He watched as David settled in for the flight back to the states. He gave a slight smile, happy that his friend, not to mention CO, was happy. Ever since the whole thing with Menendez, things had been looking up. Even with all the rioting that started and protests… Things were looking good and Jackson was happy that some people were catching a break.

David slouched, trying to get comfortable in his seat. They had a long flight and he needed to catch a few hours. Ops didn't always go as smoothly as this one. An operator grabbed rack time when they could. Sometimes they functioned on as little as three hours of sleep. Once David went without sleep for a couple of days. It wasn't the best thing but when you were faced with a constant threat… sleep was evasive. The flights to and from op locations were the times to grab what you could. It gave a whole new meaning to the word power nap.

David adjusted his position to view his wrist console to allow himself to drop off. He scrolled through his pictures. He was surprised that a few of him and his dad were on it. He wondered how she managed to find them and put them on since some of them were when he was seven. He hummed to himself as he continued to scroll through them until he got to one that had him pause. It had him stare at it for a few minutes as he recalled the circumstances behind it and he smiled. He couldn't wait to get home.

A beeping sound caught his attention followed by, Section, you have an incoming call.

David muttered, "No shit, Hickam."

Only letting you know. I am well aware that you value your rack time.

"Considering we grab it when we can," David retorted, well aware that he looked like he was talking to himself, but the team was used to it. They knew that he was talking to the AI that was attached to the team through their lifeline in terms of intel.

David tried not to roll his eyes at the persistent beeping while he moved to find a semi private area on the transport to talk. He had a pretty good idea who it was and it was someone who never failed to remind him that he was the team leader. They were the first to show up and the last to leave pretty much. He figured it was timed so he would have to strain to be polite.

Once he found a spot, he clicked the accept button, "I suppose I can't complain about needing beauty sleep. What do you need, Spectre?"

Not a matter of what I need, but just checking up on you. I read the AARs.

"You fucking got those already?"

We're in the digital age, David. And you know people that are good with computers.

David made a slight face, glad that it was on audio only. Then he would have gotten a scolding about the face he was making. "You being one of them and the other… I don't want her pissed off at me that she messes with my bank account."

As long as things are fine.

"They're working out," David allowed. He cleared his throat and turned the conversation back to why his old friend was calling. "Is there a reason why you called, Ryan?"

Like I said. I read the AARs and I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Apart from Jacks, there were notations of injuries.

David made a slight noise and moved his sleeve to look at the bandage that had been put on his forearm. He had been lucky with that one and it was a scratch. A deep one but nothing like cut muscle or torn tendons kind of thing. "I'm okay. Training came in handy and… I let the bastards have it. The HVP made it out fine."

I know. It's what you frogmen do best. What any spec ops groups does.

"You're just saying that because you married a Brit."

He's Scottish, David. And you looked south of the border. Way down south.

David felt the blush rise on the back of his neck. His friend knew the score and was clever in rubbing it in. Rather, she took it in a stride and only said that if things went FUBAR there would be hell to pay. He took that seriously and tried his best and then some. What his training as a SEAL and their credo carried, he adapted it to his personal life as well. He replied, "It's been nice. Warm sea breezes and hints of typhoons."

You're getting better, David. I'm glad you guys are okay.

"It's what we do."

I know. How are things going at the home fires? Last I heard involved a dog, a trip to London and an adventure of some sort.

David made a slight face at that. "Something like that. Like I said, warm sea breeze with an occasional typhoon warning. Learning to read the sea."

And the water is a SEALs' home.

David chuckled along with his friend. It was just a welfare call and he didn't mind at all. It put into perspective that family wasn't just about blood. Hell, he could go into that since Woods raised him and in the military, it was about the man next you watching your back and you watched his. His team was a family and it had a chance to grow. It made him appreciate what he was coming home to.

A/N: And here we go with a UC looking like he's getting into trouble and downtime on the ride back to stateside for Section and his team. More next time on Unfailing Precision...