Family Matters

by Robert Ullrich

  General Fischer broke the silence. “Your man is in El Paso with the 130. One of my men said it was good to see Puff the Magic Dragon again. I assume that would indicate the Hercules is a fully functional version of the CH, not just a stripped-down transport.”

  “Puff the Magic Dragon,” said Lazarus. “I hadn’t thought of that term in years. Your man must be a ‘Nam veteran.”

  “You could say that. He piloted one for two tours.”

  “No shit,” replied Lazarus. “I might just have to give him some stick time – that is if it’s okay with you, of course.”

  “Would that make a difference? My permission, that is.”

  “Sure, it would, General. If you don’t give me permission, then I’m going to have to sneak him onboard. With your permission, I can walk him right up the ramp, into the cockpit with the whole base looking on.”

  “I figured as much,” said the General with a snort. “Permission granted. I can’t have the Army thinking you can run roughshod over me, now can I.”

  Lazarus laughed. “Copy that, General, and thank you, sir. You may not believe it, but when I thank you or call you sir, I mean it. I respect you, General Fischer. You’re putting yourself, your job and possibly your freedom on the line by helping me, a well-known international fugitive, wanted in at least 13 countries, not to mention by every law-enforcement entity on Earth with three or more initials in their acronyms.

  “General,” said Lazarus as his tone hardened, “I believe you know my plans, and nothing short of death will deter me. Thank you for all you’ve done. I’m no idealist, I’m not doing this for God and Country. I’m going to fill the streets of Chihuahua with blood and bring down a mountaintop in the Sierra Madres. That is my plan in a nutshell. I have no delusions of life and death. I am almost as likely to die as Camacho is – almost being the operative word there. Regardless of whether I live or die, Camacho and Los Zapatos will not survive. I want you to know I am grateful, General Fischer, and am honored to know you.”

  General Fisher felt goose bumps traveling up and down his arms and neck. He finally understood something at the core of the Chameleon. He smiled and said, “You would have made one hell of a Marine, son.”

  Lazarus listened a few seconds before breaking off contact. He cradled the mic back in place, his face expressionless. LJ, sitting in the co-pilot seat didn’t know what the General had said. He could, however, tell it made one hell of an impression on his boss. There-in lay the reason Lazarus trusted LJ more than anyone. LJ sees him as he is, not as he projects himself to be. Lazarus didn’t understand it. Lazarus didn’t care as to the why. He knew that LJ would stop at nothing for his boss – for him. Whether he knew it or not, either of them really, LJ was the first to become part of the family of a killer.

  November 14

  8:47 AM – EST

  His personal assistant entered the office without knocking. The distinguished looking Hispanic man behind the desk looked up, pen in hand from signing documents. At 6’1”, he was tall for a Mexican. He was a trim 180 with a runner’s build. The only things that indicated his age were the deep lines in his weathered face, and hair as white as snow.

  “What is it, Bernardo?” he asked his assistant, a small man; deceivingly so. Bernardo Banderas was ex-Mexican special forces, 32-years old with a degree from Stanford in Political Sciences, and a master’s degree in psychology from the University of Chicago.

  “Mr. President,” began Bernardo, “there is a man on your private line asking to speak to you.”

  “My private line? Do I know him?” asked Ferdinand Villa; the recently inaugurated President of Mexico. He defeated the incumbent with hardline rhetoric aimed at the drug and human trafficking, as well as the ever-rising murder rate in many of the northern states.

  “I don’t believe so, Mr. President. To be honest, I am hoping you don’t.”

  President Villa lay down his pen and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “What an odd statement, Bernardo. Why would you say such a thing?”

  Bernardo hesitated, looking the President in the eyes before answering, “Because the man on the phone claims to be the one called the Chameleon.”

  If the President knew Lazarus, he didn’t react. He rubbed his fingers together, watching Bernardo as closely as he was being watched. “I have heard of this name, of course, Bernardo. As to how he got my number, I have no idea. What does he want?”

  “He said he wishes to speak to you about Los Zapatos del la Muerte Cartel.”

  “Interesting,” mused President Villa. “I’ll take the call. You stay, please, and record the entire conversation.”

  Bernardo nodded, activated the recording equipment and picked up the receiver. “The President will speak with you now; one moment, please.” He put the call back on hold to maintain the appearance he was in another office. President Villa picked up the phone, punching the blinking line. “This is President Villa. May I ask with whom I am speaking?”

  “Mr. President,” said Lazarus, “I am certain beyond doubt Bernardo informed you already.”

  “Yes, Bernardo said there was a man on the phone, claiming to be the so-called Chameleon. I was intrigued enough to pick up the call, but that doesn’t mean I will listen long.”

  “Fair enough, President Villa,” said Lazarus. “Yes, I am referred to as the Chameleon in certain circles, shall we say. That is, of course, not factual. I am just a man.”

  “And I am just a regular Mexican,” replied President Villa with a chuckle, “and I am only sitting in the President’s chair because he is out to lunch while I clean his office.”

  “Touché, President Villa,” answered Lazarus. “I will show you the respect of getting to the point, sir.”

  “Bernardo said it has to do with Los Zapatos.”

  “Yes, sir, it does,” said Lazarus. “More accurately, it has to do with the demise of Los Zapatos. That is my intention, Mr. President.”

  Bernardo, listening through a head-set, looked up, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “What do you mean by that?” asked the President.

  “I mean, I am going to put Los Zapatos out of business and Andres Camacho in the ground…sir.” Lazarus spoke with a quiet assurance that it was as good as done. The President heard no questioning or doubt in the words, nor any stress.

  “You seem fairly certain of that,” the President replied.

  “Bernardo, you are there and listening. I know this, because I know you. We met in Chicago years ago when you were acquiring your masters. Yes, I know you are there, you are far too good at what you do to not be. That is a compliment.”

  The look from the President made Bernardo so nervous, he answered. “Yes, I am here, and I am certain I have never met you.,” he added with a defiant edge.

  “You did, Bernardo, at the presentation of your master’s degree by Dr, Helen Hudson, the department head. I earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology from the good Doctor. I was at the reception, though you wouldn’t remember, I wasn’t quite myself that evening.” Lazarus smiled at the recollection of the simple disguise he broke in at the gathering. Black, horn-rimmed glasses, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a suit one size too large for him and a 3-Stooges tie to cap off the ensemble.

  “So, Mr. Chameleon,” injected the President, taking back the conversation, “why are you telling me this?”

  “Two reasons, Mr. President. The first reason is to see if you are serious about your campaign promises to go after the Cartels, the second is to see if you are in their pocket.” Lazarus spoke bluntly, almost accusatory.

  President Villa drummed the fingers of his left hand on his desk as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t angry, yet he wasn’t pleased. This criminal was challenging his moral fiber. “How will you know which I am?” he asked after a five-minute silence.

  “It’s simple. If you truly want Los Zapatos gone, then advise your armed forces there will be a raid in Northern Mexico, but you aren’t certain where. If yo
u don’t, tell them the truth.”

  “What is the truth?”

  “Tell them the Chameleon is going to Chihuahua; he will be there in two days. From there, he is going south to the Sierra Madres. He will destroy the mountain stronghold of Los Zapatos and kill Andres Camacho and anyone else still in the compound three days from now.”

  The President’s anger came out fully in his voice. “You are going to mount an attack, in my country, and you want me to assist you? Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are talking to?”

  Lazarus responded almost in a whisper, forcing the President to focus on every word. “First, I am speaking with President Ferdinand Villa, not-so-distant relative of one Poncho Villa. I am speaking with a man of honor and integrity – or so I have been told by many close to you.

  “As for who I am? I am just a man. Yes, a criminal by many standards, but not all. I am a man who is calling the President of Mexico as a courtesy. I will destroy Los Zapatos, Mr. President, with or without your permission. I have already advised the United States Government the same.”

  President Villa was almost mesmerized by the soft calming voice of Lazarus, as was Bernardo. “Why?” was all he could manage to ask.

  “Camacho kidnapped a man close to me. After I rescued him from the Lacandon, they ambushed him on the streets of Key West. They killed one man who trusted me with his life. They shot the man I had taken from them in the jungle; leaving him paralyzed from the neck down. He is one of the few who truly knows who and what I am yet accepts me. He is my friend.”

  “No offense intended, Mr. Chameleon, but I have lots of friends. Why would you go to such great lengths for this one of yours?”

  Bernardo answered, “Because this man doesn’t have a lot of friends, Mr. President. In fact, knowing who he is, the total number could be counted on the fingers of less than one hand.”

  Lazarus smiled to himself. “Thank you, Bernardo. You said it more eloquently than I would have.”

  “So, Mr. President, what is your answer?”

  “You want an answer now?” asked the President, knowing he was expected to, and knowing how he would answer.

  “Yes, sir,” said Lazarus. “I don’t want to kill innocent people and I have no desire to take on the Mexican military. I would lose; badly.

  “Having said that, sir, I am coming to Chihuahua in two days. I know Los Zapatos like the back of my hand. I know many of them on sight and can identify almost all of them by their insipid tattoo. Seriously, a shoe tattooed on your earlobe? Might as well just hang a damn sign on your back. I can spot that tattoo at 500 yards with a cheap rifle scope.” Lazarus laughed softly at his comment.

  President Villa looked at Bernardo and raised his hands in a shrug, the universal ‘You got any ideas here?’ gesture. Bernardo returned the shrug with downward pull on his lips, as if to say, ‘What have we got to lose?’

  “Mr. Chameleon, my people will not interfere with you provided you don’t deviate from your course of action. I will give you 5 miles on either side of the approach to the compound.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Lazarus. “I will not deviate. Please advise your air traffic controllers and military radar installations there will be one 4-engine turbo-prop and two helicopters involved. The plane and one helicopter will be coming from the north and the other chopper from the east. It is coming from 10 miles out of your five-mile clearance, but it is not hostile and contains no weapons. It is a Vietnam era Huey.”

  “I know them well,” said President Villa. “My Uncle flew one in the war. He was from Encino, California. He died on his 150th mission.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. President,” said Lazarus from his heart.

  “Thank you. Now, I have calls to make, and you have a Cartel to deal with. Mine, I believe is the easier task of the two,” said President Villa with no humor in his voice.

  “We will see about that, Mr. President. This will make headlines.” Lazarus waited a moment. “However, when this is finished, if you have the proper resources within range, it would be a major boost for your government and one hell of a warning to the other Cartels if they believe it was you.”

  “You want no credit?” asked President Villa.

  “No, sir,” answered Lazarus coldly. “I want blood.” The line went dead in the President’s hand.

  ~22~

  NOVEMBER 14

  10:10 AM – CST

  Lazarus was over Mississippi, heading into Houston. LJ was in the co-pilot’s seat and had been unusually quiet for the last hour.

  “What’s on your mind,” asked Lazarus.

  LJ looked at his boss, who was eyes straight ahead. He decided to try and take the direct approach. “I’ve been thinking about Houston, boss, and the wisdom of going there.”

  Lazarus cast a glance LJ’s way. He saw concern in the man’s eyes and posture. “Tell me why you think I shouldn’t.”

  LJ collected his thoughts for a moment. Typically, he would just lay it out there. Now, he wasn’t sure how to approach his boss for the first time in years. Lazarus was focused on only one thing; Camacho. He took a deep breath and spoke; looking straight ahead.

  “I know you want to destroy Camacho. I agree, whole-heartedly.” LJ paused before continuing. “I believe you are taking too many risks. You’re so focused on Camacho you aren’t taking any of your usual precautions. Precautions that have kept you not only alive, but free all these years.”

  Lazarus glanced at LJ who was staring out the front of the cockpit. “Go on.”

  “You’ve been flying under your own name for too long. From Miami to Costa Rica and back again via Key West. Then today, you fly through Miami on your way to Houston.” LJ looked down at his hands. “I understand the odds, boss. The chance of linking you to the rescue in Costa Rica, the slaughter in Key West or the assassination in Miami are minimal. That’s the problem as I see it. There’s never been even a minimal chance of connecting the dots to you. Now, there is.”

  Lazarus didn’t answer. He looked at LJ again, finally making eye-contact. LJ returned his look without fear or even signs of nervousness. He’d just told the Chameleon he was basically screwing up, and he wasn’t concerned about blow-back. Lazarus smiled; a miniscule movement that only LJ or Katsumi would have caught.

  “So, you think I’m being reckless?”

  “No, sir, not reckless – just taking too may risks.”

  Lazarus nodded, “There is a difference, but it’s just semantics. You’d never tell me straight out I was fucking up, even if your life depended on it. However, what you’re saying carries a lot of weight with me. You make a good point. So, what do you suggest?”

  LJ didn’t hesitate. “Skip Houston, boss. Get out of this jet somewhere and become someone else. Lazarus Solaris needs to be in Florida, or at least nowhere near Mexico when the shit-storm hits Los Zapatos.

  “I’m not telling you what you should do, you know that. Whatever you decide, I’m with you all the way to the end – reckless or not.”

  “I know that,” replied Lazarus. “Relax, you’re so far from telling me what to do it’s not even in the same zip-code.” He glanced at LJ and saw the tension draining away as the man relaxed.

  “Who do you think needs to head up this operation? Which one of my alter-egos is best suited for the task?”

  LJ grinned. “Like you don’t know, boss.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Cooper Johnson was ‘born’ for this,” said LJ with a laugh. “That Marine sniper and Vietnam Vet would shit himself for a shot like this.”

  It was Lazarus’ turn to laugh. “Jesus, LJ, you know the man isn’t real, don’t you? Or have you been out in the sun too damn much?”

  LJ just grinned. “You know exactly what I mean. That get-up of his is more bullet-proof than anything else you could strap on. You just have to make sure your hair stays put.” LJ ducked a swing that never materialized.

  “Cooper, huh,” mulled Lazarus. “That old codger? You know
, if I do this he might be done. I’d really hate to have to kill him off.”

  “I doubt it, boss, Cooper’s as cool as the other side of the pillow,” said LJ. “You have to face the facts, boss. If anyone of your characters is ready to go, it’s either him or Mark Chambers. I just don’t see Mr. Vespa leading the charge up the Sierra Madres.”

  That time, Lazarus did connect. A straight right into LJ’s left shoulder, bouncing him off the cabin wall.

  “Damn! That stung, boss. I swear, your sense of humor is getting about as bad as old man Chambers, too.”

  Lazarus faked another jab then settled back. He picked up the mic and contacted Houston Air Traffic Control.

  “Houston, SCF-2009,” said Lazarus, using the phonetics of aircraft descriptions; “Sierra Charlie Foxtrot Two-Zero-Zero-Niner.”

  “Go SCF-2009.”

  “Requesting authorization for change in flight plans, Houston.”

  “Copy that, SCF-2009. What is your new destination?”

  “Houston, new destination is Lubbock, two souls on board, departed Miami-Opa-lacka Executive at 10:30 EST.”

  “Copy that SCF-2009; stand by one.”

  “Roger that,” replied Lazarus.

  Two minutes later the ATC came back on. “SCF-2009, Houston Tower. You are authorized to change your heading to 260 degrees, maintain twenty-six thousand feet. Lubbock has been advised you are inbound at 450 knots. Austin will pick you up next.”

  “Copy that, Houston, much obliged.”

  “10-4 Mr. Solaris, have a safe flight.” The fact the ATC called him by name confirmed LJ was right. He needed to get ‘Lazarus Solaris’ out of the equation.

  “Thanks, Houston – SCF-2009 out.” Lazarus had already banked to the new heading and leveled back out at twenty-six thousand feet.