by Rob Sinclair
‘Mainly. But not anymore, huh.’
‘Not anymore, it seems.’
The door opened and the private came out and ushered Ashford and Carter through.
‘Congressman Ashford,’ the man behind the rudimentary desk inside the office beamed.
‘Colonel Lincoln, I’m guessing,’ Ashford said.
Lincoln nodded and extended his hand and Ashford took it. The Colonel gave a bone-crushing shake as the two men eyed each other up. Lincoln was tall, maybe six-three, his obviously muscular physique made his military uniform look strained, and he had a hardened face – no sagging, despite his age – and a glint in his eye that Ashford saw in many senior officers. He’d never figured out if the look was simple genetics or because of the things they’d seen and done.
‘This is my assistant, Ed Carter,’ Ashford said.
‘And this is mine, Sergeant Bradshaw,’ Lincoln said, indicating the man stood to attention across the room. Bradshaw nodded but didn’t move forward to greet Ashford and Carter. He was shorter and thicker than the Colonel but had a similar look in his eyes. These were both war veterans, no doubt about it. Bradshaw wasn’t wearing an army uniform, just unbranded plain blue fatigues; a uniform of sorts, or just his casual attire, Ashford wasn’t sure.
‘Please, sit down,’ Lincoln said, and he, Ashford and Carter all took seats leaving just Bradshaw on his feet.
Ashford looked around the room. The wall behind Bradshaw was covered by two large maps: one of Louisiana, the other the world. There was also a large Stars and Stripes stretched across the adjacent wall behind Lincoln.
‘Your office explained the situation to me,’ Lincoln said. He wasn’t from the South, his accent was too straight. One of the North Eastern states, Ashford would guess. It made him distrust Lincoln all the more. Louisiana was his home, he didn’t need the likes of Lincoln turning up and trying to run things. ‘I thought the least I could do was extend this courtesy to you, show you around the place, show you what we do here.’
‘It’s very kind of you to do so,’ Ashford said. ‘I’m sure you’ve seen the stories in the papers. Not everyone’s thrilled to have an expanding military base on their doorstep. I thought it wise to come and get the Army’s side of the story too, to fully understand both positions.’
‘I don’t read the local press, Congressman. I like to see the bigger picture. But you’re seriously telling me that the good people of Louisiana don’t like the military now? Never did I think I’d see the day.’
Ashford half smiled at what he believed to be a jibe at his expense. ‘Oh, it’ll never come to that, Colonel. But that doesn’t mean the good people of Louisiana want such a gargantuan base so close to their homes, and without any say in the matter.’
‘And you, their Congressman, are the face and the mouth of these people.’
‘You could say that.’
‘You know it’s unusual to allow civilians onto an active military base, even if you are a Congressman.’
‘Civilian? You know Congressman Ashford is a decorated war veteran,’ Carter blurted. ‘He was a First Lieutenant.’
‘Yes. He was,’ Lincoln said. ‘Again, another reason why I allowed you both here. On this occasion.’
Ashford digested the words. It was clear to everyone in the room that Ashford and Carter were about as welcome as a shit on the bottom of a freshly polished shoe. And Ashford had clear knowledge of why that was the case. He also noted the lack of questions from Lincoln about Ashford’s military past – what unit he served in, where he’d toured. That was bad form.
‘I’m sure you’re a very busy man, Colonel,’ Ashford said. ‘We thought it courteous to come here today, to make sure we’re on the same page. I’m keen to understand all sides of this argument before I commit to a position publicly.’
‘Argument?’ Lincoln asked, agitation clear in his voice. ‘What argument? From what I understand there are a handful of whiny farmers unhappy that the government wants to pay over the odds for their next-to-useless land.’
Ashford said nothing. In fact, it was already becoming clear to him that his visit to Camp Joseph was likely to be one big waste of time. It was, nevertheless, an action that Ashford had committed to and he could at least go back to the people of the district now and tell them he was trying. He knew though the reality was that he was unlikely to have any influence in the plans for the base, even if he decided to oppose the plans publicly. One Congressman and a bunch of angry farmers had little chance against the might of the army and the government.
‘Surely you can understand the concerns of the local residents?’ Carter said, to Ashford’s surprise. So much for keeping his mouth shut. ‘This base is supposed to be a small facility for training reserve forces. It’s owned by the state, not the federal government. Now the army wants to come in, take over, and triple the size of the place, for exactly what, who knows? We’re talking about nearly two thousand acres of land – land that creates jobs and generates income – that the government is planning to take from the people of our district.’
‘Are you a tree-hugger?’ Lincoln asked Carter, almost spitting the words.
‘What?’
‘Are you one o’ them tree-hugging pansy pacifist hippies?’ The words hung uncomfortably in the air for a couple of seconds. ‘Or are you a realist?’
‘I’m a realist,’ Carter said, clearly glad for the get out. ‘And a proud Louisianan. I have the utmost respect for the army, but that doesn’t mean they can just do whatever the hell they want because they’re propped up by the federal government, and our farmers aren’t.’
‘Sorry, Colonel,’ Ashford said, holding up his hand. ‘Carter is just playing devil’s advocate here. Isn’t that right?’
Ashford turned to Carter and gave him a look that told him to back down.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Carter said, slumping in his seat.
‘We have to listen to the voices of our people,’ Ashford said. ‘And what Carter said is what’s coming back to us. Like I said, I’m open to hearing all sides of this argument before I take a position.’
‘I couldn’t care less what position you take,’ Lincoln said. ‘This is federal government business, by order of someone way up in the food chain who can do whatever the hell they want. It’s not something that someone in your position – or in mine for that matter – can influence.’
Ashford glared at Lincoln, but when he spoke again he kept his voice calm. ‘Why don’t we get this back on track. You said you’d be kind enough to show us around, to give us a better idea of what happens here, and what the facility will be used for in the future.’
‘I did say that, didn’t I,’ Lincoln said, then he paused as though weighing up whether he was going to stick to that. ‘I have a few minutes. So come on then.’
Lincoln got to his feet and led his visitors out of the building to open ground. Bradshaw brought up the rear as the four men went for a walk around Camp Joseph. Lincoln, speaking with some pride, gave a brief potted history of the base from its beginnings as an army training camp during World War One, to its importance in helping to mobilise hundreds of thousands of soldiers across the state to meet the demands of World War Two. Camp Joseph had subsequently seen use as a core training facility during the Vietnam war, with the often oppressively hot and humid local weather considered useful conditioning for the soldiers heading to the Far East. Since then, for the last nearly forty years, the base and the land upon which it sat had been owned and operated by the State of Louisiana, and used exclusively for training of the Louisiana National Guard.
Until Colonel Lincoln had showed up some twelve months earlier, that is – his presence in Louisiana official, but not all of his actions quite so. Now the federal government was looking to not only take control of the land once again, but to significantly increase the footprint of the base at the same time, which Ashford knew was at least partly in order to expand Lincoln’s secretive operations. Not that the residents of the district knew an
ything about that.
Ashford, on the other hand...
Lincoln continued to walk Ashford and Carter around the small base, showing them the barracks and mess halls for the Louisiana National Guard, the training yard, assault courses, firing ranges. Everything was neat and tidy and ordered and just what you’d expect for basic training of a reserve force.
Then, as Lincoln rounded a corner to head back toward his office, Ashford stopped and looked at a large fenced off area at the far edge of the base. Part of the chain-link fence that surrounded the area – barbed wire all along its top – was covered in large plastic tarpaulins that shielded much of what lay beyond. Ashford could still make out enough from a set of gates that were partly open: several small corrugated iron structures that looked like air raid shelters or bunkers, numerous wooden pallets, flatbed trucks, and several men scurrying about the place, dressed similarly to Bradshaw in plain-looking combat clothes – certainly not army issue. Some were armed with automatic weapons, others weren’t.
‘What’s that?’ Carter asked, pointing over to the area.
Ashford had been about to ask the same question. Even though he was already fully aware of the answer, he was interested to hear what bullshit Lincoln would say.
Lincoln stopped walking and turned to glare at Carter and Ashford. ‘That’s none of your goddamn business.’
Ashford didn’t outwardly react to Lincoln’s words but on the inside he was faintly amused. He turned to see Bradshaw was giving him the evil eye. Ashford held the gaze but finally looked away when he decided it didn’t bother him if Bradshaw wanted the power trip.
Lincoln moved off without entertaining any more questions and the others followed – Carter moving tentatively as though unsatisfied with what he’d just seen and the limited explanation he’d been given.
‘So I guess that completes the grand tour,’ Lincoln said as they approached the outer door to his office building. ‘You can come in for a coffee if you like, but there’s nothing else to see here. And I’m sure, Congressman Ashford, that a man as busy as you are probably has another appointment.’
‘You’re right.’ Ashford said. ‘It would have been nice but I’m a very busy man. No rest for the wicked, as they say.’
‘Yes. That is what they say.’
‘Perhaps next time,’ Ashford said.
‘Next time?’ Lincoln shrugged. ‘I’m not sure why there’d be a next time. This is an issue out of both of our hands. But it was nice to meet you, Congressman.’
‘You too, Colonel.’
Two minutes later, Carter and Ashford were back on the road heading to Ashford’s Mandeville office, the divider between them and the driver up once again.
‘We drove all the way out here for that?’ Carter asked, annoyed. ‘What a waste of time.’
‘Maybe,’ Ashford said. ‘Maybe not. At least we can say we’ve done it now.’
‘Fat lot of good it’s done though. Like that prick of a Colonel said, this is something that’s just too far out of our hands already.’
‘It probably is. We can but try.’
‘That Bradshaw, now there’s one creepy guy. What was he anyway? He didn’t have an army uniform. In fact a lot of those guys didn’t.’
‘You’re a perceptive man, Ed,’ Ashford said.
‘So what were they?’
‘Contractors, I think.’
‘Contracted for what?’
‘You know something?’ Ashford asked, looking at his assistant. ‘Maybe this time we should just take the advice of the Colonel. It’s none of our goddamn business. Sometimes, when dealing with organisations as powerful as our good ol’ army, it’s best to just put on our blinkers and carry on.’
And for Carter’s own sake, Ashford hoped the young man would take his advice on that. Ashford knew full well what was happening at Camp Joseph, what Lincoln really was, and of the murky world that lay beyond those chain-link fences. It was a world that would tear a man like Carter into tiny pieces before it spat him back out again, and all without the batting of a single eyelid.
For Ashford, however, it was already too late. That murky world was now his, he’d been sucked right in, and there was no way out.
22
Mexico City, Mexico
Vasquez was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, when his phone vibrated on the bedside table. He was deep in thought. Maria, asleep in the bed next to him, groaned at the sound, her nap disturbed. The young woman, one of Vasquez’s favourites, had managed to settle his mind for a while, but now his brain was buzzing again with a thousand thoughts. Maybe he’d need two more hours of Maria’s time before he got back to the grind – she was certainly worth the extra expense.
Vasquez leaned over and picked up the phone. He looked at the screen. The incoming call was from a withheld number. Vasquez thought about just ignoring the call and getting back on top of Maria, but in the end he frowned and answered.
‘Si,’ Vasquez said, sounding as irritated as he felt.
‘It’s me.’
It took Vasquez a couple of seconds to place the voice, the blandly cryptic words only adding to his growing annoyance. What the hell was Nava doing calling Vasquez’s regular phone? The Santa Martha guard better have a good explanation for this.
‘What do you want?’
‘We need to speak. It’s urgent. It’s about–’
‘Don’t say another word!’ Vasquez shouted. He had no idea where Nava was calling from and he could never trust that his own phone was clean. Whatever Nava had to say it wasn’t worth the risk of doing it on a potentially unsecured line. That was the reason why the two men – and many of Vasquez’s other acquaintances – utilised carefully thought-out methods of communication via messaging on the Dark Web – a network of untraceable online activity and hidden websites that existed in the murky depths of the World Wide Web. Nava was breaking protocol, and that not only worried Vasquez but also made him fume at the man’s apparent incompetence. Whatever the reason, it had better be important.
‘I’ll call you back,’ Vasquez said. He could hear Nava’s protests as he took the phone away from his ear and pressed the red button.
Vasquez looked over at Maria. Her eyes were open and she was looking back at Vasquez with a sultry pout. The bed sheets were down by her waist, her perfect breasts perky and inviting.
Damn you, Nava, Vasquez thought, clenching his fists.
He got up from the bed.
Two hours later, Vasquez was waiting on the same bench in Chapultepec Park as the last time he’d met with the prison guard. His mood hadn’t yet calmed, his anger peaked not just by having missed out on more time with Maria, but at the rigmarole that Vasquez had been forced to endure in getting Nava to the impromptu rendezvous.
When Nava finally turned up, Vasquez was already plotting ways to punish the prison guard if the meeting turned out to be anything other than of the utmost urgency and importance.
‘This had better be good,’ Vasquez said as Nava approached him.
‘I called you as soon as I could.’ Nava took a seat next to Vasquez.
‘But that’s not how we do this.’
‘I know, but I was on a pay phone, no one was listening.’
‘That’s not the point.’
Nava turned away and hung his head. ‘Okay. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’
‘Just tell me what this is about.’
‘I tried to get Ryker away from the Santos block. Just like you asked.’
‘I know. You told me that two days ago when it happened. Though slinging him into solitary confinement wasn’t exactly what I meant.’
‘It was the only way to get him away from them.’
‘Nava, I’m guessing you’ve got some more bad news for me. So rather than making excuses, just tell me.’
‘We’ve lost him. I can’t get him back now.’
‘Lost him. How the fuck can you lose a prisoner from solitary confinement?’
‘I mean we’ve lost control of
him.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. Someone else is controlling the shots on the inside. I’ve tried, but I just can’t stop it.’
‘This is not making me happy, Nava. Please, could you just try to say something that doesn’t make my blood boil?’
‘He had another visitor.’
‘Who?’
‘A man. An American.’
Vasquez had watched the tapes of the meetings between Ryker and the mystery woman calling herself Eleanor Willoughby. He’d had Hector dig further into her using a contact at the Centro de Investigación y Seguridad Nacional – also known as CISEN, Mexico’s state intelligence agency. He was yet to hear back the official response as to who or what she really was. The revelation that Ryker had been visited by an American was potentially a big problem indeed.
‘And?’ Vasquez asked, his impatience with Nava still growing.
‘There’s the thing. We don’t have a name for him. I don’t even know what he looks like – other than descriptions from some of the other guards – because there’re no videos of him meeting Ryker, no CCTV shots of him inside the prison at all. In fact there’s no paperwork, no records of him coming or going from the prison. It’s like it didn’t even happen.’
Vasquez waited for Nava to add to his news, hoping there was some good somewhere among the shit. After several increasingly uncomfortable seconds of silence, it appeared that wasn’t the case.
‘I can only think that this man is connected,’ Nava said, ‘maybe to the Santos cartel. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I tried to get Ryker moved away from them, but this man, he took control again, and now Ryker is going right back where he started.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Vasquez said, holding his hand up before Nava blathered on any more. ‘I think I understand what you’re trying to tell me here. That you have no control over what is now happening in that prison. And, if that’s the case, you have no further use to me.’
The look on Nava’s face suddenly changed to one of outright fear. He’d understood Vasquez’s words one hundred percent. ‘No, I...’