by Navi' Robins
“Yes sir?”
“While I interrogate the prisoner, I need for you to go into Hector’s room of goodies and get us some hardware. We need all we can get so that we can get out of this place in one piece. We don’t have a lot of time, so make it quick.”
“Yes sir.”
Ramiro slowly lifted his leg from Hector’s chest and walked over to the far-right side of the room. Pushing in a portion of the wall until it gave way and slid to the side, revealing a small dimly lit room with blue neon lights, filled with a small armament of weapons and ammunition. Looking over at the other five agents, Ramiro gestured for them to join him inside the room, while Donald slowly walked over towards Rose, who was now hiding behind the large black leather sofa. The sofa was so large Donald couldn’t see her, but he knew she was behind it, hiding like a scared bunny.
“You can hide all you want, bitch, but Daddy Donald is gonna get what he wants.”
Looking over in Donald’s direction, Ramiro shook his head and rolled his eyes after hearing Donald’s threat to Rose. Once the agents reached the room, Ramiro stepped to one side and allowed them full access inside the chamber. As soon as their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they began to celebrate in awe at the unique weaponry displayed on every wall in the room. Ramiro looked over at Donald again as he reached the couch and began to look around it. He then looked up at a shelf full of high-powered grenades and took one for himself. Looking it over with cheerful admiration, Ramiro calmly pulled the pin and threw the live grenade towards the five agents. Too busy stocking up on weapons and ammo, they failed to notice what Ramiro had just tossed in their direction.
Ramiro rushed out the room, sliding the door closed behind him before yelling, “Take cover!”
The massive explosion rocked the entire west wing of the mansion, sending waves of fire, wood and metal in all directions. Hector, seeing the impending explosion roaring towards him attempted to roll over under his massive desk but didn’t move fast enough. A large piece of metal tore through his side, puncturing his liver and traveling upwards, and cracking two of his ribs. The force of the explosion then lifted his wounded body up and sent him flying through the air to the far-left side of the office. As the explosion traveled through the office like a fiery tidal wave, Donald was leaning over the side of the couch as the heat seared through his combat clothing, cooking the flesh on his back like ribs on a grill. Donald screamed in agony as the explosion threw his flaming body face first into the concrete wall, breaking his nose and tearing open a large gash on the side of his head.
Smoke and flames billowed out the massive hole that the explosion created, giving Ramiro a chance to push the burning debris off himself.
Ramiro stumbled through the blackened smoke and flames as he searched for Hector and within a few seconds, his eyes noticed Hector’s combat boots sticking out of a pile of debris. Rushing over to him, he worked frantically to pull him up from the burning debris. Noticing he was still alive, Ramiro smiled and exhaled forcefully as he reached down to lift Hector up. Hector immediately screamed in agony as he felt the metal shard moving and piercing into his lungs.
“No, my friend, I can’t,” Hector pleaded.
“I can get you out of here,” Ramiro said, while attempting to lift Hector again, who pushed his hands away.
“No, save Rosita. She’s all that matters, and you know that. You have to get her out of Mexico. Promise me…” Hector coughed and red-tinged foam frothed from his mouth. “Please, promise me you’ll get her out of Mexico.”
“I promise, Rey.”
“No, yo no soy tu rey. Nunca lo fui. Soy tu hermano.” (No, I’m not your king, I never was. I’m your brother.)
Looking down at his friend bleeding to death, Ramiro’s eyes began to sparkle in the sunlight and then suddenly his face erupted in flesh, bone, and blood as Donald’s point blank bullet ripped through the front of his head. Hector’s mouth flung open as he watched his friend’s lifeless body tumble to the floor, and Donald storm over towards him with a rage that rivaled the fire that was consuming everything. Donald reached down and grabbed Hector by his collar, and lifted him up in the air. As soon as the two men were eye-to-eye, Hector pulled back and flung his head forward, head butting Donald in his already broken nose. The pain caused Donald to scream and drop Hector back down to the floor. Donald stumbled backward as he held his face in his hands and moaned in agony. Then suddenly, the rage and hatred building inside of him caused the pain to subside as he thought about all the pain he wanted to cause Hector.
Donald slowly lowered his hands from his face and stormed towards Hector again. This time, he snatched him up by his hair and began to pound his face with his fist and the bottom handle of his handgun. Donald continued to pound Hector’s face, his violent rage fueled by all the pain, death, and failures Hector caused his mission. Soon Hector began to lose consciousness, but Donald wasn’t finished; he swung his knee forward crashing into Hector’s groin. Unable to scream, Hector just moaned as he coughed up blood.
“Where’s Ahmed? Where is he? Tell me now, or I’ll keep pounding your face until I reach your brain!”
Choking on his blood, Hector smiled at Donald and responded, “He’s gone. Once we got what we needed from him, we let him go. He’s probably halfway to wherever he’s going by now.”
“Where is the program? Where is the Trojan? I know you would never give it to anyone else. I know you have it close. Where is it?”
Hector’s body began to relax as a dark veil began to cover his eyesight. Accepting that death was embracing him, Hector forced himself to respond. “It’s in my inside jacket pocket.”
Donald’s eyes closed to two snake-like slits as he grinned and ripped open Hector’s combat jacket. Donald’s eyes popped open as they looked over Hector’s chest covered in multiple bricks of C4 explosives. Donald attempted to drop Hector, but using the remaining strength in his dying body, Hector held onto Donald. Pulling himself up to his ear, he whispered; “I beat you cabron and this is only the beginning. Brian promised you would never leave Mexico alive, and since he’s not here, I guess I’m the one to make sure that promise is kept.”
“But ho—”
The entire hilltop erupted into flames as an explosion that could be seen for miles, consumed everything in its path…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Dish Best Served Cold
TWO WEEKS LATER WASHINGTON D.C.
“Mister President, Mexico on line one,” the blond bombshell informed the president of the United States. Looking up from his desk, he forced a smile that looked out of place on a face that displayed sunken eyes, with darkened discoloration underneath them. A clear indication that he hadn’t slept in days and he prepared himself to have even more sleepless nights.
“Thank you, Brenda, and make sure no one disturbs me for the next hour, okay?”
“Yes, Mister President. But what if it’s the first lady or one of the girls?”
“Listen, Brenda; I don’t care if it’s Jesus calling on the mainline. I can’t tell him what I want until I’m done with this call. Unless Russia and China are fueling up their nukes, no one should come through that door. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Mister President.” “Thank you, Brenda.”
“You’re welcome, Mister President.”
As soon as Brenda closed the door behind her, the president lifted the phone’s receiver to his ear and when he said hello, the Mexican president’s voice boomed into his ear.
“Let’s skip the formalities and get straight down to business. I need to know what agency you had in my country that caused the death of thousands and billions of dollars in property and land damage.”
“Mister President, I can assure you I have no agencies working within your borders and if memory serves me correctly, those artillery strikes came from your military.”
“Don’t give me shit! I have the remains of several bodies in my possession that clearly aren’t Mexican. I have tech and communication devices that
aren’t Mexican intelligence standard issue. I have properties in my possession that appear to be safe houses…that are again…not standard Mexican military issue. So if it quacks like a duck, then Mister President, it seems it just may be a duck.”
Chuckling, the president of the U.S. responded, “Are we to assume all ducks are American?” “Do you think I’m stupid?”
The fact you had to ask me that question causes my answer to lean in favor of an astounding “yes”.
“No, I do not think you are stupid,” the president lied. “But you have to understand this situation isn’t as cut and dry as either of us would like it to be. We have an ongoing investigation into the matter, to see if any of our intelligence agencies were involved in any capacity in those unfortunate events. If we find out we had any official involvement, we will do all we can to compensate your country.”
“I don’t care about your formal investigations or money. I care about justice and restitution!” “Which would involve money, correct?” the president asked sarcastically.
My God, how did this man get elected?
“Find out who’s responsible and I want the names of the motherfuckers who came down here and fucked up my country!”
Before the president could respond, the call ended. Sighing, the president was about to put the phone back on the hook until a name popped into his head, and he decided to call the one person that could and should have answers. Answers that he needed to appease the Mexican president, before harsh words turns into aggressive military action.
“Get me Senator Kingsley, now.”
He’d spent two hours. Two hours of lying to the president’s face. Two hours of sweating down to his undies as he answered question after question, concerning the disaster in Mexico and each time the president asked a question, the Senator lied. As he walked out of the White House, he considered the reality that he may have lied the entire time. In fact, the only real thing he said was his name. Some of the questions asked were so classified that the Senator feared the president might be on to him, so he decided it was time to cover his tracks and tie up all loose ends…no exceptions.
Getting into his car, he instructed his driver to head straight to Virginia. Once they were off the White House grounds, the Senator began to relax, and he allowed his body to slump into the subtle leather of the luxury sedan. Closing his eyes, he began to doze off until a sudden turn woke him up and when he looked around, he noticed he was riding through the East of the River neighborhood. Alarmed, he leaned forward to ask the driver why he would take him through such a dangerous neighborhood. The driver turned abruptly, displaying a handgun equipped with a silencer. The driver fired one shot through the Senator’s mouth, causing his body to fall backward onto the backseat.
The driver pulled into the dark parking lot of an abandoned warehouse and quickly jumped out of the car. Opening the back door, the driver emptied the Senator’s pockets, making sure the lining hung out of them. He then took a black leather carry case filled with classified documents and tossed it on the floor of the car.
Looking around, the driver then casually walked out of the parking lot, heading east until an unmarked car pulled alongside him. The car barely stopped before he climbed inside and the car pulled off. Once the driver was sure he was clear, he placed a phone call and said two words, “Esta hecho.” (It’s done.)
24 HOURS LATER THE PENTAGON
ARLINGTON COUNTY, VIRGINIA
“Have a great weekend, Director Townsley!” the ridiculously attractive British intern called behind the director of foreign affairs, Robert Townsley. Smiling, he waved back to her while secretly wishing he was spending the weekend with her, instead of his prude of a wife, Margaret. The director and the intern had gotten close during her six-month tenure at The Pentagon, and she shared some very personal experiences she’d had in college. The type of experiences top-heavy and unattractive men like him could only dream of. Once downstairs, the director could see his wife waiting outside in the Mercedes GL600, with that goofy looking smile she always had when she was excited about something. Probably to tell him she was pregnant yet again, which would add one more rug-rat to their already “bursting through the seams” brood of five.
Walking outside, he forced himself to smile as he climbed into the passenger seat. The SUV was blasting with the loud noise of his five children screaming and crying with excitement. Eagerly anticipating heading out on their weekend road trip to their cabin up north. As he closed the door behind him, he felt his head would explode, and he decided to turn around and tell everyone to shut up. As he turned, he noticed the intern standing about sixty feet behind them, smoking a cigarette and staring directly at his car. His heart fluttered as he looked her over hungrily and at that moment, he decided that when he returned he would make every effort to find a way in between her thighs. He then noticed the sharp and dizzying smell of gasoline, right before the intern dropped her cigarette on the ground, covered in the fuel of his ruptured gas tank.
The explosion caused the glass in front of the Pentagon to shatter and the car elevated twenty feet into the air, before crashing down in a ball of flames and twisted metal.
As the intern quickly walked away from the scene, she placed a phone call and whispered two words,
“Esta hecho.” (It’s done.)
24 HOURS LATER MANHATTAN, NY
Tink...tink...tink...tink... The sound kept echoing in his dream as his nightmare about a village of children infected by a flesh-eating virus continued. The children’s faces were half-eaten and distorted as they ran and skipped around, singing the nursery rhyme, “London Bridge.” He kept chasing them around with a syringe filled with the vaccine that would stop the spread of the virus, but the children moved at superhuman speeds, preventing him from saving their lives.
Tink...tink...tink...tink... Looking around in his dream, he tried to follow the tapping sound, but it appeared to be moving away faster than his six foot five frame could keep up. Running his hands through his coarse black hair, Devon continued to chase the fast-moving children and the snapping sound until he felt his lungs swell in his chest.
Tink...tink...tink...tink... Devon’s eyes immediately shot open in horror as he found himself sinking to the bottom of the Bay of Manhattan, with a manhole cover tied around his neck. The last thing he remembered was taking shots with a good-looking man in a local bar, hoping to get lucky. As his lungs continued to fill up with water, he realized what that sound was in his dream. Whomever it was that just murdered him, was using a hammer to tighten the chain around his neck. Looking above his head, all he could see was darkness as the night sky covered the water with a thick blackness that penetrated all the way through his dying body.
Three men stood on the docks about fifteen minutes longer to make sure the director of the CDC, Devon Glass, didn’t reemerge from the depths below. Once they were satisfied, one of them made a phone call and said, “Esta hecho.” (It’s done.)
THREE WEEKS LATER WASHINGTON D.C.
The president strolled into the war room with an appearance that seemed he’d aged ten years over the last couple of months. He’d called a meeting with present and former intelligence officials to get to the bottom of the recent murders of high-ranking government officials and personnel. The media had been spreading speculation that these were terrorist attacks by Islamic extremists, but everyone in the room knew better, and now it was time for the president to know as well.
Before calling this meeting, the president made sure these murders weren’t a message from the president of Mexico. Because if they were, the president made a mental note to send him a gift package via a squadron of drones and several tons of exploding candy. Once confirmed that the Mexican president had nothing to do with the rash of recent murders, the president called a meeting with the country’s keepers of her dirtiest secrets. He had hopes they would stop lying and tell the truth. He felt quite optimistic at this point because he knew they all feared they would be next and with the most recent
budget cuts; there was no money for private security for non-executive personnel.
Looking around the room, the president didn’t have the patience to play games so as he sat down, his facial expression made it clear that anyone deciding to play games, would get an extended vacation to Guantanamo Bay—complete with water sports.
“Okay, now that we are all here. Let’s get right into it. What intel do we have on these murders?”
Clearing his throat, the head of the CIA began to speak. “First, I would like to speak on behalf of everyone here and apologize for not being forthcoming to you, Mister President, concerning what we knew about the situation in Mexico City that led to the most recent crisis.”
“Yeah…yeah…yeah. Give me what you got. We’ll deal with the apologies once we catch these animals.”
“As you wish, Mister President. We are certain these assassinations are tied to Optec Oil.”
“Optec Oil? Why would Optec Oil be involved in this kind of brutality?”
“Well, Mister President as you are aware, certain branches of our intelligence agencies periodically embark on joint ventures with the private sector. Well, we have an ongoing investment with Optec Oil.”
“Why the fuck does the U.S. government own a publicly traded company?” the president asked, while leaning forward in his chair.
Clearing his throat, the head of the CIA responded; “Assets, Mr. President. The purpose of our venture with Optec Oil is to yield a highly profitable outcome. That would benefit federal and private sectors, while strengthening our foothold in certain regions in the Middle East.”
“And how did we acquire Optec Oil?”
“Unfortunately, we had to retire the owners and their successors without prejudice, which proved to be much harder than we initially anticipated.”