VENGEANCE REAWAKENED

by Fredrick L. Stafford

  A half-kilometer out of town, the lakeside road looped away from the lake widely to the north. Reason being, to make room for beautiful lakeside homes.

  The homes ranged in size from very large to huge, and all sat behind gated walls. And after driving for a few more minutes, Molka passed by something supplementing those walls: a curb-parked, white SUV with a private security decal on its door and with the interior light on to expose two-uniformed men.

  That’s a problem.

  The road looped even farther north at the lake’s far end to accommodate Cardoza’s massive estate behind a tall stone wall. The estate’s main house and guest house were barely visible in the distance on the other side of a gated driveway. And disturbingly, the gate itself was guarded by two, all-black dressed, AK-47 armed guards.

  That’s a problem too.

  He’s ready for trouble.

  It took a full 10-minutes to drive around Cardoza’s estate. The road then turned south and resumed its lakeside route and passed by tiny cottages, a little family restaurant, a small bar whose parking area was packed with vehicles, and a boat ramp and dock attached to a shack with a sign advertising bait, tackle, and boat rentals.

  The quaint humbleness in which Lake Tranquility’s southsiders lived as compared to their opulent audacious northside neighbors illustrated they both shared the same lake but viewed it from much different sides of the socioeconomic strata.

  Molka continued until a white sign on the left informed her that she had arrived at the Silva Jardim Hotel. She turned off the road onto a crushed gravel drive to find not a hotel building, rather a line of cute little log cabins with whitewash finishes, red peaked roofs, and black painted on unit numbers under little porch lights.

  She drove to cabin number six, where a dark green, windowless commercial-type van waited. She parked next to it, exited her vehicle, and knocked on the cabin’s wooden door.

  The door opened to Nathan’s playful smile. “Oh my! Are you the famous Project Molka I’ve heard so much about?”

  Molka grinned. “Cute.”

  Nathan moved aside for Molka to enter. He was dressed in a turquoise-colored, pressed polo shirt tucked into pressed orange shorts and orange sandals. And chose orange-framed glasses and orange earrings to accessorize.

  Molka stepped onto a wood floor accented with an oval-shaped red rug. A comfortable-looking brown cloth couch and two wood rocking chairs occupied the front of the open space, and a four-seat wood table fronting a kitchen occupied the rear. An open door beside the kitchen revealed a small back bedroom.

  “I was beginning to worry about you,” Nathan said. “I thought I might have to send the national guard out to search, or maybe the coast guard would have been better here.”

  “I took a drive around the lake to—” An olfactory sensation refocused Molka’s attention. “Wow. It smells wonderful in here.”

  “That’s because you’re just in time for expresso and my cranberry orange scones. Hungry for a snack?”

  “Yes. I missed dinner…you’ve been baking today?”

  Nathan cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “I bake every day. Or I die.”

  Molka viewed the kitchen counter. “These cabins came with an espresso maker?”

  “No, I picked one up when I bought some groceries in Rio with the expense money. But before you get upset, it will pay for itself just by how much easier it will make me to work with. Unfortunately, I replaced nicotine with caffeine.”

  “Well, I guess that’s…um….”

  Nathan smiled again. “Let’s sit and have a snack and start talking about finishing up this task.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language.” Molka moved to the table and sat. A closed black laptop rested atop the table.

  Nathan served the espresso in small china cups on saucers, also holding a small spoon and a sugar cube. The scones came on their own serving dish. “Help yourself.”

  Molka’s ravenous hunger didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed a scone and took a large bite.

  Nathan picked up his cup with two hands and sipped while watching Molka chew. “How is it? It’s a new recipe.”

  Molka rolled her eyes for effect and swallowed. “Mmm…really good.”

  Nathan cast a doubtful gaze on Molka. “Don’t be polite just to be polite.”

  Molka shook her head. “I mean it. I’ll admit, I haven’t had a lot of scones. This is actually my first. So, I can honestly say this is the best one I’ve ever had. And it’s delicious regardless.”

  Nathan chuckled. “You’re such a dear heart. Thank you. Now you may be wondering why I chose this cabin over a hotel in town. First, if you look out that window,” he pointed to a small window across from the table, “you can actually see Cardoza’s house right across the lake. But that’s not the reason. If you look across the road to the lakeshore on our side, you can see the boat rental dock, which means this location puts us much closer to our boat.”

  Molka sipped her expresso. “We have a boat?”

  “Yes, I rented it so I could do a little reconnaissance on Cardoza’s house from the lakeside. We can’t get near it on the landside. It’s like an armed installation.”

  “I know,” Molka said. “I just drove by there. And with those guards on his front gate, taking him as soon as he leaves his estate will be too risky. And then the road leading out through the other estates is patrolled by private security, which makes that very risky too. And after that, he would be cutting through town with too many witnesses. And after that, he would be on the highway moving too fast.”

  “I realized all that too,” Nathan said. “Which is why I wanted to see if there was any way we could sneak up behind his house from the lakeshore.” He opened the black laptop and spun it for Molka’s viewing. “But this is what I found out.” He started a video from a drone flying high over Cardoza’s house and estate.

  Molka flashed Nathan a surprised face. “Where did you get this?”

  “With our little camera drone.”

  “We have a drone too?”

  “Yes,” Nathan said. “I got it from Maximillian. I thought it might be useful for us.”

  Molka stared at the screen. “Yes. Obviously, very useful.”

  “As you can see,” Nathan said, “six armed guards are patrolling around the main house and guest house and at least six more around the perimeter wall. I’m not sure what these three buildings are off to the side of the houses. They look a little like barns, but I doubt that. Bottom line though, he’s basically living in a fortress.”

  “Yes.” Molka frowned as the video ended. “It looks like it.”

  “The rest of our equipment is in the bedroom. Want to inspect it now?”

  Molka sipped her expresso again. “Sure.”

  Nathan stood, and Molka followed him into the small bedroom featuring one double bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a door leading to a small bathroom.

  Two zipped closed, dark gray gear bags lay on the bed.

  “Maximillian gifted us those bags,” Nathan said.

  He unzipped one and removed two semi-automatic pistols secured in black carbon fiber small-of-the-back holsters and handed one to Molka. “Maximillian said the .45 caliber is yours.”

  Molka unholstered the pistol: same Ruger as before with the custom grips. She re-holstered the weapon and placed it on the bed.

  Nathan reached back into the bag and retrieved a loaded magazine and handed it to Molka, then he pulled out two sets of green military-grade binoculars and laid them aside on the bed, then two sets of night vision goggles and laid them aside, then two black tactical hoods and laid them aside, then he removed a 20-count box of flex-cuffs and set it aside, a roll of black duct tape and set it aside, handcuffs and laid them aside, a chrome belly chain and set it aside, and finally a set of chrome ankle shackles attached by a chrome chain.

  Molka nodded. “That’s everything. What’s in the other bag?”

  Nathan grinned. “A couple of little extr
as I hope you won’t hate me for.”

  Nathan unzipped the other gear bag and slid out two newer, black, 12-gauge, semi-automatic, tactical shotguns with pistol grips, collapsible buttstocks, and slings.

  “Benellis,” Nathan said. “Top of the line. You’re not mad, are you?”

  Molka picked one up. “No. But, let me guess, Maximillian upsold you. He tried to do the same with me.”

  “I actually asked for them because they look even meaner and scarier than a handgun when you point them in someone’s face, which discourages resistance. Just like you said with the hoods.”

  “Makes sense.” Molka placed the shotgun on the bed.

  “By the way,” Nathan said, “this is your room. I’ll sleep on the couch. Now, if you would like to go back to the table, I can discuss a plan I came up with to defeat Cardoza’s advantages.”

  Molka flashed another surprised face at Nathan. “You have a plan too?”

  Back in their kitchen table seats, Nathan began. “I was talking to the guy who runs the boat rental place—oh, I told him I rented the boat because my girlfriend and me wanted to go fishing.”

  “Nice use of legend,” Molka said.

  Nathan continued. “He tells me one of the best places to fish is a spot about 200-meters off Cardoza’s place. He stood there and pointed it out to me. Do you know much about fishing?”

  “Not really,” Molka said.

  “Neither do I. And then the guy tells me the best time to fish that ‘hole’ is at night when it cools off and the fish come up to feed. But he said if we do fish that spot at night, to watch out because that rich guy who lives in the ridiculously big house across the lake—Cardoza’s house—has been taking his big speed boat out with two other guys every night after 10 PM, when the lake is mostly empty and tears a few laps around it.”

  “Then I thought, if that’s true, it could be a great opportunity for us to catch Cardoza away from his fortress and with only two guys with him. What do you think?”

  “I’m definitely captivated, so far,” Molka said.

  “Then at 10 PM, I went down to the closed boat rental dock and put the drone back over the lake.” Nathan pulled up another drone camera video on the laptop, which showed the nighttime footage. “This is an edited version of 41 minutes of total footage. As you can see, Cardoza is backing the boat out of his boathouse at 10:12 PM. So that checks out with the rental guy’s time frame. Now he whips the boat around in a fast 180—you see just two other guys are with him—and then takes off very fast across the lake. I edited out the first four high-speed lake laps he did, but now watch what happens after he finishes lap five and heads back toward his boathouse.”

  Molka pointed at the screen. “He brings the boat off the plane and quickly slows to idling speed.”

  Nathan paused the video and offered an impressed face. “Listen to you with the real legit boating lingo. Where did you learn that?”

  “I got my captain’s Master license for another task.”

  “And what’s a captain’s Master license?” Nathan said.

  “It means I’m qualified captaining for inspected vessels carrying seven or more passengers, or uninspected vessels up to 100 gross tons, up to 200 miles offshore or on inland waters.”

  Nathan sat up straight and play-saluted Molka. “Well, aye, aye then, Captain Molka.”

  Molka chuckled.

  Nathan pressed play. “Cardoza makes that slow down you pointed out over 300 meters from the boathouse. Is that normal?”

  Molka leaned her head closer to the screen. “Well, that’s a good-sized boat to handle. And that slip in his boathouse looks to be pretty tight for it. I would say he’s being very cautious in the nighttime setting to make sure he has the vessel lined up properly and that he’s not coming in too fast.”

  They watched the rest of the video as Cardoza slowly brought the boat in the slip.

  When the video ended, Nathan said, “And now I want to tell you about the little snatch and go op I came up with to take Cardoza, if that’s alright?”

  “Snatch and go op?” Molka sat back with raised eyebrows. “Ok. Please tell me. I’m all amazed ears.”

  Nathan pulled up a still shot from the daytime drone footage showing Cardoza’s boathouse and the lake beyond it. “I thought that before Cardoza leaves for his ride, we could pose as nighttime fishers and anchor ourselves perpendicular to his boathouse here.” He pointed to a spot on the screen. “About 200 meters away.”

  Molka leaned forward to better view the screen. “To position us to intercept him?”

  “Yes, but after he finishes his last lap and makes that drastic slow down well away from his boathouse. I think that’s when he’s the most vulnerable.”

  “I agree,” Molka said. “While he’s backing out of the boathouse, his guards can cover him from the shore. And right after that, he goes to full power.”

  Nathan nodded. “Right. So, while he’s doing his laps, we’ll pull up the anchor and move in about 100 meters away and wait. And the next part is tricky, but since you have boating experience, I feel much better about it. And that is, when he makes that big slow down at about 300 meters out, we just keep easing closer and closer—like we’re absent-mindedly fishing—to his line of travel into the boathouse. Hopefully, he won’t even see us coming in the dark. Then as he passes in front of us—maybe 10 meters off our bow and 100 meters out from the boat house—you punch the engine, cut it hard, and come alongside them. I’ll already have the shotgun pointed at Cardoza, and we’ll order him to shut off the boat and for everyone to lay face down.”

  “You would have to do the yelling,” Molka said. “They might not respond to my limited Portuguese.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll board them and keep them covered while you tie our boat to his. Then you come aboard and cuff and gag all three. The boat’s ignition keys and any weapons or phones they have go into the lake.”

  “Then we’ll get Cardoza onboard, cut his boat loose to drift with his guys, head straight to the boat rental dock—where we’ll have our vehicles waiting—get Cardoza into the van, and get out of town and on our way to Brasilia. Hopefully, we’ll have at least half an hour head start before his people in the house wonder why he hasn’t returned. So, do you like my plan?”

  Molka cast a serious gaze at Nathan. “First, allow me to clarify something.” She time-checked her phone. “In just the eight and a half hours since you arrived here, you obtained a boat and created a cover story to go with it, gathered highly actionable intelligence, conducted outstanding daylight visual and drone surveillance, followed by outstanding nighttime drone surveillance, edited surveillance video for this briefing, conceived and planned a bold night op, AND baked?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Well, I didn’t feel like just sitting around until you got here.”

  Molka sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m guessing during your time in the elite 38th Paratroopers Brigade as a combat videographer, you did more than shoot training videos and the occasional ceremonial military parade.”

  Nathan presented a humble face. “To be honest, I also spent a little time serving with one of the brigades covert ops teams.”

  A sly smile creased Molka’s lips. “Uh-huh.”

  “So, do you like my plan?”

  Molka stood, walked to the window, and stared across the lake at Cardoza’s gorgeous, radiating house. “No. I don’t like your plan.” She turned back to Nathan, smiling, excited. “I LOVE it. And tomorrow night, we’ll implement it.”

  PROJECT MOLKA: TASK 6

  SATURDAY

  APRIL 24TH

  CHAPTER 35

  Lake Tranquility

  9:15 PM

  A well-moonlit, balmy, breezeless night settled in with an accompanying chorus of frogs singing from the lakeside vegetation when Molka and Nathan arrived and dropped their anchor at a position about 200 meters offshore from Cardoza’s estate and also about 200 meters away from his boathouse.

  Their 10-year-old, 1
8-foot, red fiberglass, center console, open fisherman boat with an 80HP was the biggest, newest, and most expensive boat the dealer had available when Nathan showed up. Unfortunately, he said, his truly biggest, newest, and most expensive boat—a 25-foot, open fisherman powered by a new 200HP outboard—had been rented by three Russian tourists several days prior.

  Molka occupied the center control console’s pilot seat behind a plexiglass windshield. She outfitted in her black mock turtleneck, black jeans, and tac boots. Her hair was styled in a high ponytail, her contacts were in, and her old pilot’s watch strapped to her left wrist.

  Nathan—manning the padded seat in the bow—sported tight, skinny black pants, black sneakers, and a tight, black, long-sleeved tee shirt that revealed his small build to be comprised of well-defined muscle. He re-accessorized with black-framed glasses and black earrings.

  They each wore their black tactical hood atop their head fashioned into a cap ready for a quick pull-down and face concealment. And their holstered sidearms were tucked inside their waistbands behind their backs.

  On each side of the boat, fishing rods—which Nathan rented—stood in rod holders as props.

  And on the boat’s rear deck sat their two large, dark gray gear bags containing their weapons and equipment.

  They spent the day re-watching the surveillance video and going over each aspect of the plan several times. Late in the afternoon, Molka took their boat from its berth at the boat rental shop’s dock for an hour ride around the lake to familiarize herself with the controls and the handling.

  When she returned, the cabin smelled incredible again. Nathan had prepared a delicious Tuscan chicken in creamy sun-dried tomato sauce served with parmesan roasted potatoes for their dinner/pre-mission meal.

  After they ate, they both took a two-hour nap to prepare for the all-night drive ahead. And when they woke, they geared up, loaded their vehicles with all their possessions—including Nathan’s espresso maker—checked out of the cabin, drove to the dock, and departed in their boat.