Lilac and Old Gold

by Jeff Siebold

  She noted the orders, nodded and turned away.

  “Sally set it up with Kimmy,” Clive continued. “She’s former Mossad, you know, Israeli Secret Service. They’re a competent lot.”

  “So Kimmy was supposed to be my backup in case of trouble,” said Zeke. He was sipping a black and tan, and was seated facing the bar and the front entrance of the pub. Clive had an excellent view of the rear of the place.

  “I figured it out, actually,” said Zeke. “That’s why I let Mary stay with her.”

  “How did you know?” asked Clive.

  “A number of little things,” said Zeke. “And the way she carried herself, her attitude, her confidence. Plus her Star of David tattoo and the fact that she was Israeli…things like that.”

  “Well, we set that up through The Agency,” said Clive. “She’s an operator with wet work experience and she came with a hearty recommendation from a personal friend of mine, a fellow still in the business. Thing is, she changed her name to ‘Kimmy’ and I never saw her at your apartment, so we weren’t aware that she’d moved in next door to you.”

  “Across the hall,” said Zeke. “She must have learned where I was moving from Sally and then rented an apartment a day before I got there. And she was slick, always around keeping watch on me, getting involved in my situations. It was very well done.”

  “I’m told that all Israelis are required to spend two or three years in the military when they turn 18,” said Clive, “three years for men and two for women. I’d think she spent more than two years, and they were probably spent in Israel’s version of MI-6.”

  “In the end, I was glad she was there,” said Zeke.

  “Actually, her name means ‘guardian’,” Clive said. “As you’ve probably figured, I’ve offered her a permanent position with The Agency,” said Clive.

  “I’d expect no less,” said Zeke. “She certainly earned it.”

  “My offer to you still stands, too, Zeke. Will you consider coming aboard full time?”

  “I’m flattered, Clive. But I think I’d rather come in when you really need me. I think I’m getting too independent to be available all of the time. I’m enjoying the in-between times more and more.”

  “And that defines you, my friend. The one I call for only the most dangerous situations. The specialist.”

  There was a pause in the conversation. “Well, what about the elephant, then?” asked Zeke.

  “Ah, yes,” said Clive. “Jefe. He’s still out there and dangerous, you know.”

  “How about the Secret Service?” asked Zeke. “Are they still in pursuit?”

  “They’re not authorized to operate outside of this country,” said Clive. “Nor is the FBI. They have to work through the Mexican government, and that’s not going very well.”

  “Simple corruption,” said Zeke. “At least enough to tip Jefe off when someone gets close.

  “And, as strange as it seems, Jefe’s operation is too small to draw the kind of attention that would interest your CIA. So, that leaves…us.”

  “Right.

  “We’re already halfway into it,” said Clive. “I can’t see any reason for us to stop now.”

  “I know,” said Zeke. “Seems a shame to leave it unfinished. And I’m not one who favors watching my back all the time.”

  “Right. So, to the larger mission,” said Clive, as he lifted his glass.

  Chapter 45

  “Colonel David Finester speaking,” said the voice.

  “Commander of Task Force Leatherneck?” asked Zeke. “Have you been back to Afghanistan since that operation?”

  “I’m afraid that’s classified,” said Finester with a smile. “You can read about it in the newspapers. ‘Operation Enduring Freedom- Afghanistan’, they called it.”

  “Great to hear your voice again, Dave,” said Zeke.

  “And yours, Zeke. What have you been up to?”

  “Well, I retired from MICECP a couple years ago…”

  “Yes, I remember hearing something about that.”

  “…and went private contract. I’ve done a few jobs with Clive Greene. You remember Clive, I’d guess,” said Zeke.

  “Can’t forget Mad Jack,” said Finester.

  “Right,” said Zeke. Clive Greene was often compared with Mad Jack Churchill, a British officer in World War II who once took a group of twenty-six German soldiers prisoner with only his sword and a single fellow officer. His bravado as well as his eccentricities were legendary.

  “The counterintelligence you guys supplied in Afghanistan made the Battle of Marjah a cakewalk for our guys.”

  “Yeah, that worked out pretty well,” said Zeke.

  “You have a knack for that, as I recall. Sorry to hear that you’re out of it now.”

  “Well, not totally out of it. I’m just able to pick and choose my operations now. With the terrorists so prevalent, none of us can afford to retire.”

  “So if you’re not working for the Army, does that mean you’re no longer active in our Marine Corps Martial Arts Program training? Or the Invitationals?” said Dave.

  “No longer,” said Zeke. “But those were good times. I always enjoyed the Corps Judo tournaments.”

  “You always enjoyed winning the Corps Judo tournaments, you mean,” said Finester wryly.

  “Listen, we’ve come across a little something that I think may interest you, Dave. It’s a parallel track to an investigation we’ve just wrapped up.”

  “OK,” said Finester.

  “There was a Gunny in your command named Lopez. He was a standout. Manny Lopez. I seem to recall that he won the Navy Cross.”

  “I remember Gunny Lopez. He’s been out for a while.”

  “Yes, sir. After he left the Corps, he became a cop. He worked in Phoenix for about three years, and then he moved back home to Mexico. Apparently, his mother was living in San Luis Rio Colorado. The locals call it Sonora Rio.”

  “Where’s that?” asked Finester.

  “Just south of Yuma, Arizona,” said Zeke. “Just over the border.”

  “OK,” said Finester.

  “He moved back and took the Chief of Police position. You remember Lopez. He was always sticking up for the innocent, trying to make things right. I think the situation in San Luis Rio Colorado ground on his sense of right and wrong. He was hearing about it from his mother all the time. So, he moved back to try to set things right.”

  “That’s Mexican Cartel territory, isn’t it? Illegal immigrants and drugs and counterfeiting and such?”

  “Some of the worst,” said Zeke. “So Manny went back home to clean it up. Like a Mexican ‘Walking Tall’ story.”

  Finester let a low whistle escape his lips. “Shit,” he said.

  “Yeah, it didn’t take long. They shot him about 30 times with AK-47’s. He was off duty and at home. Got in his car to go to the store and they followed him and killed him. I’m sorry.”

  “I am, too,” said Finester. What a waste.”

  * * *

  The rain was pouring down, and the wind was blowing it almost sideways into Zeke’s picture window. Visibility was limited to about two gray yards. Occasionally, lightning bolts would light up the downtown sky, revealing high-rise buildings and interstates in the distance.

  “I spoke with one of my FBI contacts,” said Clive. “They liaise with the Mexican law enforcement on joint projects. Since Guzman escaped from jail, the Mexican government has been under a lot of pressure to cooperate with the FBI and the DEA.”

  “No doubt,” said Zeke. They were sitting in the living area of Zeke’s apartment, Clive on the couch and Zeke in a chair across from him, and Kimmy on a stool at the island in the kitchen. Both Kimmy and Zeke were drinking coffee, Clive was sipping tea, and the coffee table was spread with notes and papers and notebooks and Pads. They were in their planning mode.

  “So, the FBI has agreed to instigate a joint raid on Jefe’s compound in San Luis Rio Colorado,” said Clive. “They’ll have to run it through t
he right channels and coordinate it with the right agencies, but my guy says that the Mexican government is desperate to show that they’re proactive in fighting the drug cartels. So, with a bit of a push, they’ll set it up. Our guys will be ‘advisors’.”

  “They’ve raided Jefe’s compound before,” said Kimmy. “What happened those times?”

  “He’s always escaped,” said Clive. “The popular theory is that he’s usually been tipped off by someone in the police or government and has been able to escape before the federal police can contain him. His resources are pretty vast, and he’s not afraid to run away and come back to play another day.”

  “So, how will this be different?” asked Kimmy.

  Chapter 46

  “Jefe,” he said, announcing himself on his cell phone.

  “They’ll be coming pretty soon, Jefe,” said the deep voice in Spanish. “The agents from the United States FBI and DEA are already here, in Mexico City. They are planning the raid.”

  “When?” asked Jefe.

  “No more than three days, Jefe. They all talk about their budgets and resources and the need to move quickly, and to get results.”

  It had been more than three weeks since Carlos had been dispatched to Atlanta and Jefe’s informants in the Mexican Federal Police had been giving him status reports every other day. This was the culmination of several weeks worth of advanced effort, and it sounded like a raid was eminent. Too much pressure by the US government, he thought.

  The blazing heat of the summer in Sonora Rio had eased a bit over the past few weeks, and the blistering temperatures were more bearable during the autumn days. Still, Sonora Rio was dusty and hot and dry and unpleasant. Jefe thought about his island home for a moment.

  “How many are involved?” asked Jefe to the man on the phone.

  “There are about 75 people in total, including the agents and the technicians and the soldiers.” By “soldiers” he meant those with guns, those who would lead the raid on Jefe’s home.

  “Very well, then, thank you,” he said quietly, and hung up. This calls for a quick and decisive action, Jefe said to himself. There is no time to waste.

  The loss of George was an inconvenience, but the loss of George and Carlos at the same time had a somewhat crippling effect on his organization. It took away options that he needed right now.

  Carlos had been Jefe’s personal guard and a ranking lieutenant in the organization. But also, he was an enforcer, and he was a pilot, usually the co-pilot on Jefe’s Learjet. He was trustworthy. He had been with Jefe for many, many years. Their children played together, and their wives shopped together. He was as close to a friend as Jefe had.

  Consequently, things had slowed some over the past few weeks, and Jefe was still looking for the right replacements for Carlos in his various capacities.

  When Jefe bought his Learjet, he paid extra to have Carlos trained to fly it. The peace of mind that came with knowing that Carlos was double-checking the pilot’s every move and was in a position to stop anything that might not be in Jefe’s best interest made the investment in those lessons worthwhile. Carlos had had a commercial pilot’s license, and the additional Learjet training added a layer of security to an unsecure situation.

  Several years ago, on the Caribbean Island of Grand Cayman, Jefe had purchased a home. It was a large and sprawling mansion with views from every room, a private beach and security on all sides. The house was located not far from the airport, on South Sound Road in George Town, and had cost Jefe about twenty million dollars at the time he bought it.

  It was built on two oversized lots, which allowed for a four-car garage, a full-size tennis court and a large pool. Views of the Caribbean Ocean were visible from virtually everywhere in the house and from all of the outdoor space. The living area was built of dark wood and marble, with 24-foot trey ceilings that allowed for floor to ceiling windows on the south, oceanfront wall. Jefe quickly had the windows replaced with bulletproof glass.

  There were automatic window shutters on each window, which would protect the home in case of an errant storm. There was an enclosed widow’s walk on the roof, accessible from interior stairs. It doubled as a guard’s tower. The staff Jefe hired consisted of fifteen people, half locals, who took care of the kitchen, yard, pool, tennis court, house maintenance and housekeeping. Jefe relocated the other half of the staff, taking with him trusted family members and a part of his security team, some of whom moved into the servant’s quarters, and a couple of whom travelled between this house and Sonora Rio with Jefe.

  The entire compound was retrofitted with armor-plated protection, all the locks were updated to the current state-of-the-art, and the security system was replaced with the best protection that money could buy. Jefe had a lot of money.

  The home was secure electronically as well as physically, and its location along a populated strip of beachfront acted to prevent more serious military action against Jefe. An armed force that approached, either from the sea or the road, would have to consider collateral damage to his neighbors and their families, as would those who might launch a drone attack on the villa. Early warning systems were in place, and in addition to the multiple safe rooms, there were two escape tunnels secreted in the compound.

  The famous Seven Mile Beach was located just on the other side of George Town, where various cruise ships came and went several times each week. And Jefe kept his yacht moored at the tony George Town Yacht Club.

  The government was perfect. The Cayman Islands actively encourages high net worth individuals to obtain residency, in a tax neutral environment. The Cayman Islands have no local taxes at all. And the Caymans have no extradition agreement with any other country. Jefe smiled when he thought about that.

  “It is probably time for a trip to the Caribbean,” Jefe said to no one in particular.

  * * *

  The Learjet 75 sat proudly on the tarmac, glistening in the Sonora sun. With a cruising speed of just over 500 miles per hour, and a range of just over 2,000 miles, the aircraft could easily get to Grand Cayman with one stop to refuel. Typically, that stop was at the Monterrey Airport. The Corpus Christi International Airport was actually a shorter route, but Jefe felt that the extra time was worth it, in order to stay in Mexican territory for the entire trip over land. After the planned stop in Monterrey, the journey to Grand Cayman was 1,300 miles, well within the range of his jet. It was usually a smooth, comfortable ride east to his oceanfront home. He thought of it as his vacation home.

  At the airport, the pilot approached Jefe. “Carlos isn’t flying with us?” he asked in Spanish. It was a polite question. He had heard the rumors of Carlos’ death in Atlanta.

  “Not today, Raul,” said Jefe. “Did you find a replacement co-pilot?”

  “Si,” said the pilot. “It was short notice, but I was able to call the Learjet people, and they were able to recommend a pilot who was in the area…he flew in from Phoenix yesterday.”

  “And he’s checked out on the Model 75?” asked Jefe.

  “He is, he was given a good recommendation by the aviation people at Learjet. He’s been licensed commercially for fifteen years, and they said he worked as a substitute on Air Force One for George Bush, Jr.,” said the pilot. He felt that was an excellent recommendation. “He told me that his mother was Cuban, and he speaks fluent Spanish.”

  Jefe smiled at the irony. “OK, good,” he said. “Keep an eye on him and be sure he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Si, Jefe,” said the pilot.

  “We’ll leave this morning, as soon as my staff arrives,” said Jefe. “Maybe an hour.”

  “Si, Jefe,” said the pilot. “We’ll be ready.”

  Chapter 47

  “How long do you think we’ll be staying in the islands, Antonio?” asked Gabriela, Jefe’s wife. She used his given name.

  “I’m not sure. A couple of months, probably,” he said.

  “Oh, good,” said Gabriela. “Its so nice there, so peaceful and beautiful.”
<
br />   “I think I’ll take the boys fishing,” said Jefe. “We should go out for Blue Marlin or Tarpon.”

  Gabriela was sitting next to Jefe in one of the four seats closest to the rear of the plane. The seats in the next row forward were reversed, two of them looking through the plane to the tail area. The front row faced forward. All of the seats were occupied.

  Between the second row and the third row were tables, allowing passengers to talk in small groups and to spread out their possessions. The airplane was designed for a comfortable ride, with luxury detailing to enhance the experience. The refueling in Monterrey was uneventful, and after stretching their legs, the party boarded the plane again, took their same seats and buckled their seatbelts.

  The copilot’s voice came over the Bose speakers in quiet Spanish. “We’re on course and should be arriving at the Owen Roberts International Airport in Grand Cayman in two hours and twenty-five minutes. The weather is clear on our route and we expect an uneventful flight.”

  The best kind, thought Jefe.

  * * *

  Exactly three hours later, the copilot’s voice came over the speakers again. “We’ve been cleared to land. Please take your seat and be sure that your seatbelt is buckled. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

  Jefe took his seat while Gabriela helped their two children get seated and buckled in. His two bodyguards also buckled in. Out the starboard window, the Caribbean Sea was bright blue and the sun was shining overhead.

  Jefe glanced at his Patek Philippe watch and noted that they had made poor time to Grand Cayman, arriving behind schedule. He chalked it up to the new co-pilot.

  Shortly thereafter the plane touched down gently and rolled to the end of the tarmac. Jefe looked out the window at the buildings as they rolled past the runway.

  “Wait, what is this? Where are we?” Jefe asked one of his men. The man looked puzzled.

  Jefe picked up his microphone and toggled the switch. “Raul, where are we?” he asked the pilot.