by Ron Smoak
“Sounds like a plan, Manolo,” Randall agreed. “Get everybody together and let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Si, Senhor,” Manolo answered as he turned to tell his men what was planned. After a few seconds of part Portuguese and part of some Amazon native tongue, Manolo turned to Randall. “We are ready to go now.”
It was dark as hell. No better way to put it. One would think that sitting in the dark jungle for this long would enable their eyes to acclimate to the lack of light somewhat, but the blackness was so complete; they could barely make out large shapes much less a trail. They crept away nonetheless.
Tula led the line of people through the jungle. They crawled on their hands and knees under as much brush as they could and around what they could not. Now that the rain had stopped, the condensation of the thick jungle humidity further soaked everything. The good thing was the heavy moisture dampened the sounds of the group moving through the foliage. Dana was almost glad it was dark. She had put on gloves for the crawl through the jungle floor but still seemed to encounter many soft, slimy objects as she moved along on her hands and knees. Thank God she couldn’t see what the objects were.
The group was crawling through the jungle looking like a giant millipede. Tula was leading, Manolo second followed by Randall and Dana. The remainder of Manolo’s men followed with the two men behind Dana carrying the radio equipment. They left everything else behind except water. No food. They needed the extra speed, not the creature comforts of a full-fledged encampment. They slugged along making surprisingly little additional noise over the jungle cacophony of the animals of the night.
They moved very slowly for nearly an hour when Tula stopped the group.
“What’s wrong?” questioned Manolo quietly. “Did you hear something?”
Tula whispered something to Manolo. Randall bit his lip. Even he knew that they should be using some sort of silent hand signals instead of talking. He knew that much from the war movies he had seen. But it was still dark. He nudged Manolo, hoping he would get the message. Manolo turned to Randall.
“He thinks we can now move over to the trail,” whispered Manolo as Dana crawled up beside Randall to hear what was going on. Manolo turned back to Tula and patted his back and motioned him to move on to the trail.
Dana whispered to Randall, “Are we out of danger?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe we are. I will feel much better when we get way on down the trail and farther away from those men.”
“Me too,” sighed Dana.
It was now 6:00 a.m. There was a slight brightness in the east as a new day began. To the group in the jungle it seemed like someone had turned on a light bulb. The strain was getting everyone. After hours of moving at a snail’s pace through the jungle, their escape seemed successful. Tula turned the caravan of crawlers to the right, hoping to intercept the trail. After going on all fours for another twenty minutes, they stopped again. Tula got to one knee and listened. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. He stood looking around in the dim light. He turned to Manolo, who was kneeling behind him.
“The trail should be just ahead,” said Tula. “It looks safe to me.”
Manolo stood gingerly, his eyes wide trying to gather as much light as he could to see in the ebbing darkness. Following Manolo’s lead, Randall and the rest stood slowly. Dana massaged her lower back trying to stretch out her muscles. They all stood quietly, not wanting to move but at the same time wanting to run as fast as they could over to the trail and away. After hours of the steady drone of jungle sounds, Randall’s and Dana’s ears felt numb. The screeching never let up.
Tula went ahead through the underbrush and found the trail about fifteen yards ahead. He returned and led the group ahead.
“Great. At least we can now walk and make some time before morning,” a relieved Randall said to Manolo as they stepped quickly. “Let’s get moving.”
Manolo turned to the group to see a red pinhead light hit Tula’s forehead a split second before Tula’s head popped like a grape. There was a soft thud as Tula’s brains seemed to turn to a red and gray mist, pieces hitting Manolo and the Finleys. Four more of Manolo’s men jerked violently as the same red pinprick lit on the men and several bullets ripped through them, blood spattering in all directions.
“Oh, God!” cried Dana as she stepped back after being spattered with blood and brains from both Tula and the man carrying the radio. Randall looked at her and froze. His mind was electrified. Had Dana been shot? She was covered with blood! He instinctively grabbed her and fell to the ground. She was screaming like a banshee. Manolo had fallen as well but seemed to be all right. The chaos of the moment surrounded the survivors, Randall, Dana and, Manolo.
Randall tried to quiet Dana. As quickly as the chaos erupted, order was restored. However, two very large men dressed in black and wearing helmets and night vision gear stood over them. Four other black-dressed men stood around them encircling the group.
“You will stand up, now!” barked one of the men, “Schnell!” Two others came out of the darkness, reporting to the man that seemed to be the leader.
The Finley group stood, scared for their lives. Randall held Dana tightly to his chest and glanced over to Tula’s lifeless body. The bullet had literally carved a crevasse through Tula’s head, with both sides of his skull peeling back like a flower opening. Tula’s eyes were open and bulging as if he had seen a ghost. Randall quickly looked around and saw the other four bodies lying sprawled where they fell. Thank God none of them knew what hit them.
Two of the men dressed in black began chattering quietly. Randall could not see who they were talking to but did find it strange they were speaking German. One of them stepped closer and Randall could see the small boom microphone near his lips. The leader barked another undistinguishable order and within seconds black hoods were placed over the group’s heads.
“Stay quiet and you will not be hurt,” said one of the black-dressed men sharply.
“We are researchers,” said Randall, finally regaining his voice. “We are not soldiers. Please don’t harm us.”
“QUIET,” came a shout as Randall felt something hit him in the stomach. He doubled over in pain and hit the ground.
“No!” screamed Dana as one of the men grabbed her roughly and whirled her around. A second man quickly clamped handcuffs on her as another man did the same to Manolo.
Another order was barked out in German and two of the men pulled Randall up and cuffed his hands in front of him. Immediately all three were chained together by their handcuffs and pushed toward the trail.
“Walk and keep quiet or I will kill you right here,” threatened the leader. The group of eight men dressed in black dispersed with one man on point, three more men, the Finleys and Manolo and four men bringing up the rear. Randall realized they were in a world of trouble as they were marched away. But he also realized Ben would know their last whereabouts and have help coming soon. At least he hoped help would be coming.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Downtown Miami, Florida; 6:00 p.m.
Albert Jackson opened the door of International Investments, LLC and stepped into the lobby area. It was empty as usual. He stepped through the back door into the hall. Dieter Blocher was coming down the hall to greet him.
Blocher had seen Jackson as he approached the door to the business. The very well hidden high definition color security cameras enabled anyone in the building to not only see but hear everything going on in front of the building. Jackson and his cohorts had demanded the utmost security measures although there was normally nothing of real value in the office at any time.
Jackson did not even confirm Blocher’s presence. He just walked into his office and sat down.
“Dieter, have we received confirmation yet?”
Blocher stepped into Jackson’s office and closed the door.
“Yes; we have confirmed the deposit of five million euros in the secondary business account at UB
S AG. I have prepared the cross deposits to Credit Suisse and our operating accounts here in Miami.”
“Very good, Dieter. The arrangement with Mr. Nader and his organization is working out very well. Please get me the numbers for the transactions with Nader. I think we are getting close to our limit with them.”
Blocher opened a folder he had brought with him. He flipped through a few papers, finding the one he wanted and pulled it out.
“We will reach the limit with Mr. Nader’s group within a few weeks. At that time we will be increasing our involvement with Mr. Le Sang’s group in Singapore. I have already contacted them and arranged representation here in Miami,” explained Blocher.
“Excellent work, Dieter,” Jackson said, opening his right-hand desk drawer. “Our clearing of the Brazilian deposits are going very well thanks to your detailed guidance.”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Blocher, curtly bowing his head slightly. “It is my pleasure to serve the future Reich.”
“Yes, we have a wonderful future ahead of us, Dieter, a wonderful future indeed. By the way, I was in contact with the Führer last evening. Everything is proceeding as planned.”
Blocher sat in the chair as straight as if he were at attention. Good things were happening to him. His excellent work was being noticed at the highest levels. This bode very well for opportunities in the organization. He felt fortunate to be included in this endeavor. He was proud of his German heritage and proud of the ultimate commitments many in his family had made in order for him to be a part of the rebirth of the Fourth Reich, the rebirth of Germany as a world power.
Jackson and Blocher were only the tiniest tip of the iceberg. They handled operations in the southeastern U.S. out of Miami. In America alone there were six other groups equating to six geographical regions. International groups were headquartered in major cities around the world, Paris, Singapore, Mumbai, and Tokyo to name just a few. All of these groups funneled back to the new German nation being formed - slowly but very meticulously. A nation formed to avoid the eyes of the population until they were ready to unleash the new Reich that would bring the world to their knees. But first there was much work to do both here and abroad.
“Dieter, you have a great future. I think it is time you met the Führer,” said Jackson. Blocher was elated but made no show of it externally. “Very soon I will be moving on to serve at another level. My recommendation that you take over here in Miami has been approved. We are in the process of selecting someone to replace you as you replace me. This all should be put in place within a month. Congratulations, Dieter.”
Blocher was surprised. He had been working with Jackson for nearly ten years, first in Paris and Milan and now Miami.
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Thank you very much. I am honored that you have such confidence in me. I shall serve you and the Reich to the best of my abilities!”
“Yes, yes, I am absolutely certain you will, Dieter,” said Jackson. “But first you must take care of an important issue, one that must be taken care of immediately and very discreetly. As always, there is no room for failure.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” answered Dieter.
“Please eliminate Mr. Nader. I have information he has become careless and is talking too much. We cannot afford any leaks of our intentions whatsoever.”
“Consider it done,” answered Blocher without any emotion.
“Also, Dieter, please call and ready the jet. We are leaving for Rio de Janeiro tomorrow morning at seven sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Blocher, suddenly noticing that Jackson used the word we. “Sir, am I to understand I will be accompanying you?”
“Yes, Dieter. Very soon you meet the Führer.”
Dieter swelled with pride. Imagine… he was to meet the Führer of the Fourth Reich!
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Miami Beach, Florida; 9:30 a.m.
Even though it was only 9:30 a.m., the Miami Beach stretch around the patrol headquarters was beginning to get crowded. The Fourth of July holidays were behind them but some of the crowd still lingered, trying to squeeze out those last hours.
Dane Skoglund and Wayne Johnson were holding down the fort as Sherrie and Hugo ran the first morning patrol up and down the beach. It was a beautiful Wednesday morning. Dane could see several sixteen-foot Hobie Cats sailing southward, both flying hulls, trying to impress everyone watching from the beach no doubt with their sailing prowess. He watched as they screamed past, pushed by the morning ocean breezes, standing out with their brightly colored sails contrasting against the aqua waters. A blue and white Prindle 18 and a pair of Nacra racing catamarans followed the two Hobies. This was why he loved Miami Beach. Frankly, it beat the devil out of murky, rainy Seattle.
Dane loved his catamaran, an older Prindle 18 that he bought off of someone who put tons of cash into it, sailed it twice and decided it was not big enough. The guy wanted a bigger sailboat. This seemed to happen a lot down here. There was so much money floating around even in these hard economic times. Generally people were hurting due to the housing implosion but those that had cash spent it lavishly. His loss was Dane’s gain. Dane loved to spend his downtime on his Prindle sailing up and down the beach. Hugo loved it too. With both Dane and Hugo being single, Hugo used the sailboat as a tool for trolling for the beautiful ladies on the beach. And 99 percent of the time it worked. They would sail down the beach and watch for the girls waving at them. They would turn the boat to the beach and offer rides. Nearly all of the girls took them up on the offer. They got more dates that way.
“Another quiet day in paradise,” Dane said quietly. “Wish I was out there.”
“What was that?” asked Wayne, walking into the room from the outside balcony.
“Oh, nothing, just wishing I were on one of those cats out there. How are things looking outside?”
“Same-o, same-o,” Wayne replied. “Oh, by the way, I invested some money in gold yesterday.”
“Ahh, so you went through with it, huh?”
“Yeah. My dad doesn’t think it’s such a great idea but this friend I know is in the business. His father is a big-time gold dealer and investor. He gave me a good deal. You should look into it as well, Dane.”
“Not me,” Dane replied. “I’m doing fine with those mutual funds you suggested last year. You remember those?”
“Sure. That is a great investment, but you need to diversify. That’s the name of the game these days. With the stock and bond markets doing flip-flops and the world’s economy turning to crap, gold is the one investment that does not lose its value.”
“Whoa, J.C. Godrocks, you sound like one of those gold salesmen all over the TV and radio these days.”
“Yeah, they do sound a bit like a used car salesman. No, seriously, gold is a great investment and should be a small part of your portfolio,” explained Wayne. “Everything I read and study bears this out, especially these days. You can buy gold bullion but most people buy gold shares or gold coins, you know, Krugerrands or Gold Eagles. I have several Krugerrands and I plan to buy more.”
“Well, maybe so,” said Dane, listening but thinking about the daily report he still had to get out by 10:00 a.m.
“If you want, I can hook you up with my buddy, Nathan Nader. His father can handle small investors like us that are friends of the family. And they are right here in Miami.”
“But I’m no friend of the family,” countered Dane. “I don’t even know this guy.”
“I can take care of that!” Wayne said getting excited. “Let me hook you up with my buddy Nathan and he can handle the investments.”
“We’ll see,” said Dane. “How much are we talking about? I might be interested in a small amount but it will be small; maybe just a thousand bucks at the most.”
“Not a problem. I’ll call Nathan and see what we can do.”
“Oh, have you checked the attendance today? Sherrie said someone called in sick, but I didn’t get a name,” said
Dane.
“Yeah; that was the guy up at Collins Park. Ahh, I believe his name is Jacobs, yeah, Steve Jacobs. He’s one of our first-year guys. He’s been pretty dependable and does a great job. Good kid.”
“Okay,” said Dane. He walked over to the window. One of the perks of this job was the view was spectacular. Miami Beach meant a lot of nice looking ladies, white sand beaches and aqua blue water. Dane thought Miami Beach was heaven.
Wayne saw Sherrie and Hugo drive up in the Beach Patrol pickup.
“They’re back…” Wayne sang like a little child.
Dane laughed and shook his head, smiling. What a great group of folks he worked with, he thought. He had worked with Wayne and Sherrie for nearly five years. Both Wayne and Sherrie had started together as lifeguards right out of college. Neither had wanted a nine-to-five desk job so they signed up with the Miami Beach Patrol. After five years, they had both worked their way up to supervisors.
Being a Beach Patrol lifeguard was a calling in a way. Most folks fresh out of college wanted the big bucks, to make a big splash in the business world. Wayne had always loved the beach and was a lifelong resident of Miami. Doing this was a natural progression. He always said he had no urge to be in the real world.
Sherrie, on the other hand, had studied law in college but became disillusioned with the law profession after her brother was killed by a Miami drug lord seven years ago. The subsequent trial was a farce in her eyes and the perpetrators got off scot-free. The whole situation turned her against the law profession. Her second love, the ocean, took over and here she was.
The door flew open and Sherrie and Hugo entered in the middle of a conversation.