by KaLyn Cooper
“Knowing how these C-levels operate,” Top jumped in, “I’ll bet Dunaway doesn’t stay away from home very long. He has two kids in elementary school from his second marriage and one in high school from the first wife. He’s very involved in their lives, so he’ll be making trips home.”
“We don’t need to protect him while he’s on U.S. soil,” Alex confirmed. As though he’d just thought of it, he added, “And did Top mention the hazardous duty pay?”
That peaked Remi’s interest. He’d been sending money home to help cover the costs of his mom’s co-pays since insurance didn’t cover anywhere near enough. That would really help his family.
“I’ll do it.” Remi felt excited and concerned all at the same time.
Beep. Beep. “Alex, this is the control room. General Lyon would like a teleconference.” It wasn’t until then that Remi realized there was a triangular speaker in the middle of the table.
Alex tapped a red button. “Certainly, when?”
“Right now, sir.”
Alex and Top exchanged another one of those looks that said everything without a spoken word. “Enter. Set it up.”
A second later, one of the men from the control room carried in a laptop. Remi couldn’t remember his name but since he was in the field most of the time and rarely at his desk, he didn’t know a lot of the men who worked round-the-clock. The man flipped up a brass plate in the table and plugged several wires into his computer. The huge flat screen on the wall at the other end of the table flicked to life with the symbol for United States Special Operations Command.
Holy fuck. Remi suddenly felt like he was back in the Navy preparing for a mission, especially since Commander Carson was sitting at the table. No. He was no longer his commanding officer. He was Dex.
On the screen an Army three-star general sat with his hands overlapped, elbows and forearms on the large desk in front of him. “Alex, I heard you took the Zon Petrol contract to protect Dunaway in Venezuela.”
Remi watched the owner of Guardian Security smile widely. “That’s right, general.” Alex spread his fingers and the camera shot of their board room, shown in the lower right-hand corner, widened to include everyone. “Matter of fact, we were just briefing the security team leader. Remington Steel was one of yours, East Coast SEAL.”
The general chuckled. “I believe he was on Dex’s team. Since they’ve already worked together, everything should proceed smoothly.” The head of all U.S. covert operations barely nodded as he shot a glance to his side. The highest-ranking officer in the SpecOps world would have a complete report on Remi’s entire military career before the end of the conversation.
“I just wanted to let you know you have friends in the country.” When the general settled back in his chair, a sharp squeal came through the surround sound speakers. Everyone else ignored it but it made Remi’s teeth ache. “I have a team of SEALs inside the embassy full-time. They were initially sent to help with the evacuation of nonessential Americans working inside the embassy.”
The uniformed man fought a smile. “This isn’t for public knowledge yet, but it seems Ambassador Vance was a little too chummy with the Mendoza administration for our President, so the former ambassador has become nonessential.” The man in his very late fifties laughed at his own joke.
“So, who’s going to take over? And how soon?” Dex asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. When a powerhouse country like the USA removed its ambassador, it was a sign of ending relations. In this case, that meant no more money in support to Venezuela. And if the ambassador wasn’t there to smooth the way for Zon Petrol, Remi’s job just became exponentially more dangerous.
“The President didn’t hesitate with the appointment of Mark Snyder.” A picture of a good-looking man in his late forties filled half the screen. “He has a lot of support from the Governor of Florida who has been very outspoken about the situation in Venezuela. His file is on the secure server. You can access it there.”
“Thank you. We appreciate the heads-up.” Alex looked pleased. “When is Snyder taking over?”
The general grinned as though he had a secret to tell them. “As soon as the SEALs hit the tarmac and turn former Ambassador Charles Vance over to a team of State Department inquisitors, they will walk across the concrete at Langley and board an airplane containing Ambassador Mark Snyder.”
Christ, those poor guys. They wouldn’t even get time to shower and a chance to put on a clean uniform. Remi didn’t miss those hot turn-and-burn missions.
“He’s not taking his family, is he?” Dex asked.
“Fuck, no. He was smart enough not to ask, but we would have put our foot down at that request.” General Lyon shook his head. “His kids would be nothing but human targets. There are a lot of people in Venezuela who were not happy about the U.S. government backing the newly elected President Juan Guerra.”
Heads nodded around the table. No one liked dealing with kidnapped children. Yet, in volatile countries, it happened far too often.
“Remi, good luck. Dex, if you need anything, let us know. We’ll do what we can to help you out.” The deafening squeal bounced off the walls of the conference room as the general leaned forward. “SOCOM out.”
The screen went black.
Alex turned his attention back to Remi. “Dunaway wants to leave tomorrow. The rest of your team will meet you at the Guardian Security Miami Center where Griffin Mitchell, the manager there, will outfit you.” He looked to his right where Dex was fervently typing.
“We’re working on it.” The retired Navy Commander gave their new boss a reassuring smile. “We’ll have everything in Miami to get them started. I’ve already arranged for a second supply plane.” He glanced over at Remi. “We’ve got you covered.” He then smiled. “And better-equipped than when we were SEALs.”
“You’ll be flying on one of Zon Petrol’s jets, so you don’t have to worry about taking guns and ammo. Their pilots are used to it,” Alex added. “Once you get the lay of the land, we’ll arrange regular resupplies.”
Top pointed to the SD drive. “You’ll be spending plenty of time in the air, so read. Treat that as classified information. Your room will be outfitted with a safe when you arrive.”
“There are personnel files on each of your team members. Read them before you get to Florida.” Alex nodded toward the end of the table where the operations center tech sat, his eyebrows pinched in concentration. “Clay will set you up with access to our secure site. Once you leave Miami, that’s the only way we’ll communicate.” Alex started to stand.
“That and encrypted satellite phones,” Dex added without looking up.
Remi stood as well. “Thank you, sir, for this opportunity.”
Alex chuckled. “You may not be thanking me after you’ve been in Venezuela for months. You might be cursing me by then.” He shook his head. “This business with the president, replacing the ambassador…it could get very ugly.”
A thought ran through Remi’s mind. “About that, what you think happened?”
Dex glanced up at the two of them. “One of two things. Either the ambassador got caught with his hand in the cash drawer, or down someone’s pants and that person wasn’t his wife.” He grinned. “Did you notice how PC that was? I wasn’t a gender specific. Don’t ask don’t tell was gone thirty years ago, but our government still frowns on certain behaviors. And if he got caught with the kid, which is very prevalent in that part of the world, don’t be surprised if he doesn’t die of a heart attack if it ever becomes public knowledge.”
“The world is filled with sick fucks.” Alex shook his head. “I worry about my nine-year-old daughter every day.” He looked up at Remi. “I think I’ll go to Miami with you. I need to see and hold my little girl.”
“Alex, can we get a third seat on that plane?” Dex stared at their boss. “I hate to micromanage, but this is my first loadout with this company. I want to be there.”
All eyes went to Top Cooper. “Headed right now to call
the executive jet service. Three hours enough time for everyone?” He glanced at Remi and grinned. “I’ll make it four. You and Dex need to go shopping downstairs in the secret arsenal. We have a few new goodies you might want to test for us.”
Dex rubbed his hands together and closed his laptop. “Working as a civilian certainly has its perks.”
As all four trotted down the steps to sub level II, the situation at the embassy bothered Remi. “So, who do you think outed the ambassador?”
“Whoever the hell it was, I hope to Christ they were evacuated with the nonessentials and put into protective custody here in the States.” Top unlocked the steel door, deep underground.
Remi hoped so, too, but completely forgot about it when he stepped into a special operatives wet dream.
Chapter 2
Willow Cardenas grabbed the next brown inter-agency envelope from her inbox and carefully unwound the red string that secured its contents. Her eyes skimmed past the black and white U.S. Department of State logo while she looked to see which department had sent it. No one had filled in that line.
She sighed. No matter how many times she had requested the department heads at the U.S. Embassy in Venezuela to complete the information, only about half of them did it, half the time.
She peeked in. This was weird. Normally she was the one taking the photographs and sending them to the various departments or individuals to keep as memories of an event after she had posted them online.
With the picture only halfway out, she dropped it as though it were covered in acid.
BITCH.
The word was scrawled in capital letters across the top half of the picture.
Her heart pounded.
She could hear her blood rushing through her ears.
Willow couldn’t breathe.
The world around her collapsed until all she could see was the envelope and the exposed portion of the photograph.
She stared at that vile word.
Get a grip, Willow. Whoever is doing this wants you to react this way. Don’t give them what they want. You control you.
Breathe.
She could do this. She forced air into her lungs. She wasn’t able to fill them, but that little bit of oxygen helped.
Exhale.
She huffed out a short breath. The next one was slower, longer, and deeper. So was its release.
It’s just a picture. No one is pointing a gun at your head and threatening you. This person is a coward hiding behind photographs and anonymous taunts.
Okay. She could admit she had been shocked. They had gotten that reaction from her. But they weren’t going to get anything else.
As she inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly for the next thirty seconds, her surprise slowly transformed into anger. She knew what she had to do…figure out who this person was and their endgame.
With the mindset of the investigative reporter she was to her core, she extracted the entire photograph from the envelope. Once again, she scanned every inch of the brown paper for a clue.
Everyone in the embassy had access to these interoffice envelopes. Empty ones were picked up three times a day by Felipe, the nineteen-year-old local boy who was the biggest gossip in the embassy and had his finger on the pulse of the people outside the walls. They had a Coke together every afternoon near the end of the day. She’d ask him about it but was relatively sure he wouldn’t remember a single envelope since she received dozens on each of his mail rounds, some with photographs.
The black and white picture was very grainy as though taken from a great distance or enlarged several times. They could have used a poor-quality camera such as those on the early versions of cell phones.
She immediately recognized the event as one a few months ago where the embassy had worked with one of the many Nongovernmental Organizations, which they fondly referred to as NGOs, to distribute T-shirts and shorts to children. Willow had worked hard to assure that Ambassador Vance would be there for the photo op. In the past few months, if the event didn’t involve a private meeting with President…no, make that former President Mendoza…Ambassador Vance was not interested in attending.
She was glad the old blowhard was gone. After his wife and family went back to the states for a holiday, then didn’t return, the ambassador had become a bear to deal with. Rumor had it that his wife had left him and taken the children with her. Willow couldn’t find anyone to substantiate the accusation and he certainly had never admitted to it. Officially, Mrs. Vance and the children left Venezuela so their oldest son could finish high school in the United States.
Although the ambassador had tolerated several photographs that day, this was not one of the many posed pictures. Even though the sender had scribbled over her face, Willow was sure it was her standing off to the side next to the ambassador while representatives from the NGO distributed the clothing.
Bitch.
The word had been written in English with a sharpie across the top of the picture. It didn’t have any kind of a slant that may indicate the person was left-handed. As part of her public relations training, she had taken a course in handwriting analysis, but she couldn’t remember much of it. The letters just looked angry.
In the photograph, her face was quite small, less than one square inch. The zigzag lines had completely covered her face and part of the pant suit she had worn that day.
She was pissed. That had been an event for the children. She hated the idea of evil so close to innocent children. Who the hell would send this to her? Had they been watching her from afar? Why did they keep blacking out her face? Who hated her that much? And why were all the pictures of her with Ambassador Vance?
Boop.
Willow almost jumped out of her skin, dropping the photograph onto her desk.
Before her secretary could buzz again, Willow pressed the speaker button. “Yes, Valentina?”
“Miss Cardenas, this is your five-minute warning for your appointment with the new ambassador.” Sometimes the woman’s accent was so thick Willow barely understood her clipped words. She had considered requesting her relatively new secretary speak in Spanish, but embassy policy stated that everyone speak English.
At least Valentina’s language skills were better than the new girl down in the economic department. She looked to be about twelve years old and acted like a teenager around the Marine Corps guards. Willow just hoped that none of the Marines ever took that young woman up on her overt flirting. What a public relations disaster that would be, and of course, Willow would be left to clean up the mess.
“Thank you, Valentina. Is my briefing file ready?” Willow looked around her desk, then the credenza behind her, and finally riffled through her inbox. She promised herself to get organized. Soon. Sometimes she even amazed herself that she could keep the ambassador on a tight schedule from breakfast meetings through late night cocktail parties, meeting and greeting the correct people while posing for appropriate photographs, yet her desk was literally piled six inches deep.
Fortunately, she knew exactly where she had put every single piece of paper, in which pile, and its approximate priority. But if someone else added to the confusion, Willow was totally lost.
The very pregnant woman in her mid-twenties waddled through the doorway and lifted a file off the corner of her desk. Willow swore she’d already looked there.
With a sweet smile, her secretary handed it to her. “You should leave now. You don’t want to be late.” She stepped in close and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I hear the new ambassador is personally ‘viewing everyone. If he don’t like you, you gone…ship back to United States.” She pointed her thumb northward, then added, “but if you live here, like me, they just can your butt. Fired.” She ran a hand over her distended belly. “You no let them do that to me. That mean you have to keep you job so I can keep mine. Don’t let my babies starve.”
Well, hell. Now was not the time for Valentina to lay that load of guilt on Willow’s shoulders. She wasn’t sure how many babies her s
ecretary was referring to, but she knew the twenty-three-year-old woman already had four children and was about to hatch number five.
Willow had heard the same rumor, but she didn’t have time to worry about those consequences. If they tried to send her back to the United States, she would just find an opening in another embassy. She had honed her skills in the past five years in Venezuela, but she’d always wanted to see China and she was becoming quite fluent in the language.
Patting Valentina on the arm, Willow tried to reassure the woman, “Don’t believe everything you hear. If you haven’t learned anything in this office in the past eight weeks, then learn this now—every claim has to be traced to its origin and confirmed by two unrelated sources. That’s just good journalism.” Under her breath she added, “A rule no one else seems to follow.” In her life, unsubstantiated rumors flowed as fast and deep as the Orinoco River.
“You better hurry, Miss Willow.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the picture. A shudder ran through her deep inside. “On my way. Just one more thing to do first.”
As the woman turned her huge belly, she called over her shoulder, “You ask I give you warning. I started telling you an hour ago. Not my fault if you make him angry. Not my fault you get sent back to States.”
Sliding the picture into the bottom drawer, on top of the other three, Willow locked her desk and dashed out of the office. She’d deal with that later.
As she approached the outer office of the U.S. Ambassador to Venezuela, she was ready to say a few kind words to the woman who had been seated at that desk for nearly a decade. Then she’d dash through the open door as she had a dozen times a day with Ambassador Vance.
Her eyes immediately shot to the empty desk.
Damn. She’d forgotten that Mrs. Weaver had been evacuated last week.
She glanced toward the ambassador’s door, but it was blocked. Two armed men stood in front of the entrance, completely filling the space. These guys weren’t just big, they were huge.