La Mexicana

by Navi' Robins

  “How so?”

  “After our agencies retired the original owners and their siblings, we found out that their family was much larger than we expected. Once they caught on to what we were doing, they started hiding their identities, but we were able to flush them out eventually and retire all remaining beneficiaries. But then came Hector and Rose Ayala. Somehow, they were able to hide them by having them live in Chalco for most of their childhood, with no knowledge of their inheritance, until they were old enough to maintain themselves.”

  “Wait a fucking minute! Are you telling me that drug peddling psychopath and his sister were the rightful heirs of Optec Oil?”

  “Yes, Mister President. But to be transparent, Hector moved more than eight hundred million dollars of narcotics a year, so he was much more than a peddler. Hector and Rose Ayala were in fact born, Hector and Rose Mendoza. Their uncle hid them once we retired their parents, when they were babies. We thought we’d closed the loop, but it seems we weren’t as efficient as we expected.”

  “I’m still confused as to how two dead siblings have anything to do with these murders. How are you certain this failed ‘joint venture’ and these murders are related?”

  “Mister President, we’ve cross-referenced the manner in which the officials were murdered, against how the Mendoza family was retired, and these murders have been carried out in the same fashion. So we are almost certain these are revenge killings for the Mendoza family. We know that Rose and Hector died during the explosion at their mansion, so we are suspecting someone still loyal to their family is carrying out these murders.”

  “So why don’t we tag people we know are still loyal to them and end this?” We are trying, Mister President, but it’s becoming difficult, to say the least.” “And why is that?”

  “The Mendozas and the Martillo de Dioses cartel has a vast network of operatives all over the world, some of them happen to be very powerful with considerable resources.”

  “Well, I would guess they would have to align themselves with some pretty unsavory characters, seeing that we were killing them off faster than they could make more Mendozas. So, what agency was involved in that fiasco down there?”

  “That sir is something we have deemed to be a black op. Strictly off the books and beyond the CIA’s line of sight.”

  Slamming his hands down on the table, the president yelled back, “Get better-fucking glasses then! Anyone else? Which one of you sanctioned and carried out that mission?”

  The room remained silent, which enraged the POTUS until he almost ordered the armed guards to open fire on all of them. But knowing he wasn’t the Emperor of Rome, he decided against it and inhaled deeply before saying, “Let me spell this out for all of you. As long as you keep this to yourselves, these killers will not be stopped. Now I’m sure all of you know what’s going on, but for some strange reason, you’re keeping your mouths shut. Well, remember this, any of you could be next. Think about the person who murders you and your entire family, getting away with it. Think about them sipping tequila on a beach with your blood on their hands. Think about how brave they will be the next time. Reflect on all of that, and the fact I will fire each and every one of you motherfuckers if I don’t get an answer immediately!”

  Concluding that there was no possible way around it, the director of one of the more covert agencies spoke up. “Um, Mister President, I believe I can answer your inquiry.”

  Smacking his hand on the table while leaning back in his chair, the president responded, “You see? That’s what I’m talking about! Give it to me. Give it all to me!”

  “Yes, Mister President. We have an agency that operates completely off the books. All of their missions are classified black ops and deemed under the radar at all costs. They are so off the reservation there isn’t a real name for them. We just call them “The Agency.” Their missions are considered highly irregular and illegal, according to the Geneva Accords, but a necessary evil to keep our borders and international interests safe. Their group is the one responsible for the mission in Mexico City. The strange thing is that mission wasn’t approved or financed through the usual ‘blind’ channels.”

  “So how did they acquire the funding?”

  “Only Senator Kingsley can answer that, and he’s dead, sir.”

  “Why would the senator be involved with ‘The Agency’?”

  “Last year, he deposited forty million dollars of his personal funds into the agency’s offshore accounts. But he wasn’t the only one who financed that mission. We found out that each of the assassinated contributed funding, which totaled over five hundred million dollars. The most expensive mission ever funded by The Agency. One of their lead agents, Donald Hamlin, headed the mission, and his remains were also found in Hector’s compound after the explosion. And it was Donald’s family who got slaughtered during their family reunion in Florida last week. We know Agent Hamlin was one of the assets who killed Hector and Rose’s parents years ago, so the massacre of his family was in retaliation for his involvement in their parent's death.”

  “Jesus Christ! Can you tell me the particulars of this mission?”

  “We have limited information, but documents we were able to retain detail a mission to stop Hector Ayala from selling a nuclear device to a Syrian extremist named Ahmed Basara. But when we did our due diligence, we found out Mr. Basara was no extremist. He was a software engineer who worked for Switzerland’s financial sectors, creating software to safeguard their banking systems.”

  Once the president heard about Ahmed’s connection with Switzerland, his eyes widened as he began to understand what the mission and the primary goal were. Noticing the president’s expression, the C.I.A.’s director asked; “Are you okay, Mister President?”

  “No, I am not. Listen gentlemen, this situation has become more complicated than any of us could ever imagine and we need to close the door on this immediately. This mission was a heist, nothing more! If the Mexican government discovers what this was, we could find ourselves at war with our neighbors. So, does ‘The Agency’ have a closer available?”

  “Sir?”

  “This needs to be completely off the books and since ‘The Agency’ is responsible for this fuck up, they need to be the ones to clean it up. So, we need an experienced and discreet closer who leaves no loose ends or witnesses. Does ‘The Agency’ have such a player?”

  “Yes, Mister President.”

  “Good, get them down to Mexico City and clean this shit up. But there is just one more glaring question that’s eating at me; where’s Ahmed Basara?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Waste Management

  The security guard looked over his shoulder before he moved further up the stairs, where the former executive’s office used to be. It was too late for any of the Mexican intelligence officers to be here and it definitely wasn’t his imagination. The entire building was shut down after the disaster in Chalco, and no one was allowed in this building until further notice. Someone had forced open the elevator doors on the top floor, causing a loud dragging sound to echo through the entire building. Beads of sweat ran down his face as he slowly took one step at a time, cautious not to allow his shoes to make any noise along the ceramic tile. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he raised his sidearm and pointed it in the direction of a man standing in the elevator’s doorway. The man leaned dangerously forward into the elevator shaft as he looked up and down, as if he was looking for something.

  The strange man’s casual attire of gym shoes, a white t-shirt and blue jeans caused the security guard to gain more confidence in subduing this trespasser. When the guard was less than ten paces from him, the strange man spoke in a deep and commanding voice, momentarily startling the security guard and stopping him in his tracks.

  “I knew you were coming up the stairs as soon as you took the first step from the first floor. You breathe like a fat pig and that cologne reeks. Do us both a favor and jump over the railing and kill yourself to save me the trouble of
having to do it myself.”

  “Que?” (What?)

  Sighing, the man responded with his back to the guard, “Oh, no habla any English?”

  “Sal del ascensor y pon tus manos sobre tu cabeza!” (Get back from the elevator and put your hands above your head!)

  The man quickly spun around; throwing the hammer he held in his hand at the security guard’s head. Too slow to react, the hammer struck the security guard directly between his eyes, sending the gun flying out of his hands. In one quick motion, the strange man rushed over to the security guard and before the guard could regain his composure, he was lifted up and over the railing. The stranger let the large security guard go, allowing his body to freefall and land onto the marble floor in the building’s lobby with a loud sickening pop. Without even taking a second look, the stranger returned to his investigation of the elevator as casually as if he’d just taken a water break.

  48 HOURS LATER CHALCO, MEXICO CITY

  The sharp pain of an open hand strike across his face awakened Jesus Ortega and caused a large amount of saliva to escape his mouth. His eyes shot open and his head jerked backward, when he noticed he was looking at the business end of a black Beretta, equipped with a silencer and a man dressed in black leaning over him. The humidity of the night and fear caused his face to be covered in sweat as he continued to look at the gun’s nozzle in his face. Raising his hands up, Jesus waited to hear the pop of the gun going off in his face, but instead, the man began to speak.

  “I’m going to ask you a series of questions and I pray for your sake, you speak English.” “I sp-sp-speak En...en…English,” Jesus stuttered.

  “That’s great!” the man responded gleefully. “Let’s get started, shall we? What was your relationship with Donald Hamlin and the other eight agents that accompanied him?”

  Swallowing hard, Jesus shook his head and the man placed the gun between Jesus’s legs.

  “He contracted us to help him kidnap an Arab named Ahmed!” he responded immediately. “How much where you paid?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Now you wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Jesus? You know I’ll blow each nut off, one at a time.”

  “Si, I know this, but I’m not lying to you. He promised me two billion dollars.”

  “Two billion dollars? Agent Hamlin didn’t have that kind of money.”

  “No, but Ahmed did. But no one was paid because Agent Hamlin died before we could retrieve Ahmed.”

  “Where is Ahmed Basara?”

  “I don’t know, no one knows.”

  “What about Agent Brian Turner? What do you know about him?”

  “El era el diablo! (He was the devil.) Sorry, he was a very dangerous man and Agent Hamlin was very afraid of him.”

  Nodding, the man responded, “He should’ve been. Where is Agent Turner?”

  “Agent Hamlin killed him right after the landslides. I heard his body fell down the hill on the east side of the valley.”

  “Did you retrieve the body?”

  “No, why would we?” Jesus chuckled. “No one wanted anything to do with that valley after that day.”

  “Okay, one last question and then we are done here. Do you know how Ahmed was going to retrieve all that money?”

  “Yes.”

  “How unfortunate.”

  The assassin immediately pulled the trigger, releasing multiple bullets in Jesus’s groin and then two more into the middle of his forehead. The assassin tilted his head slightly as he watched the life leave Jesus’s eyes, and then calmly strolled out of the bedroom of the leader of the Escorpiones cartel.

  Once outside, the Escorpiones cartel’s compound, the assassin placed a phone call while strolling through a dark alleyway in Chalco.

  “This is a secure line, so speak freely, sir.”

  “Report.”

  “All major and minor players have been cleaned or retired, sir.”

  “And the evidence?”

  “There are some strange connections, but I am sure I will be able to connect the dots and give you a full spectrum of what happened here. My last place to secure is the Ayala compound.”

  “That may be a problem, Agent. That area is under extensive government surveillance. Not even a man of your skill set will be able to infiltrate that compound.”

  “Sir, I need to get into that compound before I can assure that this place has been closed out completely.”

  A fifteen-second silence followed, before the man on the other end responded, “I’ll arrange a meeting with the president of Mexico. Insure you make a great first impression. Make sure it’s perfectly clear how important your access to that compound is to the continuity of his current regime and national security.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And what of Agent Turner’s status?”

  “Retired sir.”

  Sighing heavily, the man on the other end responded, “He was the best we had. What a waste of a great agent. I wish I could resurrect Hamlin and kill him myself.”

  “Likewise, sir.”

  “You have seventy-two hours to complete your assessment and report back to me.”

  “I’ll have my assessment in forty-eight, sir.”

  “Good man.”

  TWELVE HOURS LATER

  The Mexican president stared at the mocha-colored man sitting across from him with a fearful curiosity. The president’s curiosity seemed to amuse his guest, who smiled gingerly at the president like they were old friends. The president hated being forced to meet people he didn’t know or cared to know, but his country was in crisis and he was assured this man could divert the coming disaster.

  “How can I help you…Mister?”

  “I need access to the Ayala compound to complete my assessment.”

  Staring at the man with an annoyed expression, the president remained silent while he pondered if the man didn’t hear him asking for his name, or if he purposely ignored the question. The man stared back at the president with a “Colgate smile”, while stirring the spoon in the teacup in front of him. Deciding that if the man refused to give him his name, it was probably better if he didn’t know it, the president decided to move things along so he could get this man as far away from him as possible.

  “Why would you need access to the Ayala compound? Whom are you representing from the U.S.? The White House? Langley? The Pentagon, or is it some other covert agency that’s constantly infringing on the sovereignty of other countries?”

  The man continued to smile and stir his tea without saying a word, which made the president’s skin crawl and caused him to adjust himself in his chair, waiting for the man to respond.

  Blinking and looking down at his cup, the man stopped smiling and began to speak. “The most important thing right now is averting an international incident; that’s my only concern and I will do whatever is necessary to accomplish that goal. That site is my last stop before I leave your country, and you with peace of mind that you’ll have all the answers you need to quell the coming uprising of the inhabitants of Chalco.”

  “So, I guess you murdering Jesus Ortega was in my best interest?”

  The man immediately took a long sip of his tea and closed his eyes in a moment of discovery as he savored its exquisite flavor. Shaking his head, the president looked at his watch and then back at the nameless man.

  “Fine…I will allow you access to the compound but under one condition; one of our intelligence officers will accompany you. You know…to make sure nothing happens to you.”

  The smile immediately disappeared from the man’s face and he stared into the Mexican president’s eyes with a threatening gaze that chilled his entire body.

  “How thoughtful of you, Mister President. Thank you for your hospitality. Please offer my condolences to the officer’s family that will be accompanying me,” the man responded as he began to get up from the table.

  “Excuse me?”

  The man looked out over the breathtaking grounds that surrounded the president
’s mansion and inhaled the fresh tropical air. It was like being on vacation every day, with a massive pool in the middle of a vast spectrum of colored flowers, and fruit trees that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Impressive.

  Refastening the buttons on his grey blazer, the man looked at the president and responded calmly, “You heard exactly what I said. If you are going to send an intelligence officer along with a man that refuses to give you his name, you of all people, know what that means. I didn’t ask you to send anyone with me. You offered it as some weak display of power, when we both know in the grand scheme of things; you have none in this situation. So, relay that message to the officer’s family…or don’t, it’s entirely up to you…Mister President. I will be heading over there within the next few hours, so please have the area cleared or you may be offering condolences to multiple families on my behalf.”

  He then turned and nodded at the two awaiting armed guards and they quickly escorted him out, as an overly stressed president watched him leave.

  “Chinga mi vida.” (Fuck my life.)

  THREE HOURS LATER THE AYALA COMPOUND

  The air was thick with the smell of burning wood and the foul odor of death, as the Mexican intelligence officer followed the man his superior described as “extremely dangerous”, with an uncomfortable vibration in his stomach. The man appeared in a trance as he walked through the ruined compound. It’d been several months and they still hadn’t been able to retrieve all the body parts that were scattered all over the hillside. To make matters worse, the smell of rot was strangling. A few wild dogs ran across their paths, startling the officer, but the man ahead of him seemed unbothered as he continued to study the ruins with the attention of a scientist. After three long hours, they made their way into the crumbling structure of what used to be Hector’s mansion.