by Margaret Kay
“Both the Undertaker and Lambchop know how and where to hit to cause a bruise but no real damage,” Garcia said.
“They hit you?” She demanded, outraged that would be the case.
Garcia smiled, even though it hurt his split lip to do so. “It’s fine. Had to make it real.”
“I’m glad you’re here. The four of us are all Juan Carlos have seen. Rotating the guards won’t hurt the charade,” Mother said.
“Hope you brought your desert camos,” Lambchop’s voice came from behind the group as he and the Undertaker entered the galley.
The men of Alpha Team greeted the two dressed in their desert camo fatigues.
“Madison, the Reverend Landon Johnson, Lambchop, and Gary Sloan, the Undertaker. Madison Miller, callsign, Xena,” Cooper introduced.
They both shook her hand in greeting. Lambchop, the black man she saw on the bodycam footage, was even bigger in person, muscular, solid. Beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his fatigues, his biceps swelled, stretching the fabric.
“The Warrior Princess, nice,” Sloan said. He was five feet nine inches of lean, sculpted muscle, solid looking, with pale green eyes that looked older than his years, peering out from grown-out, wind-blown dishwater blonde hair.
“The Undertaker has to be the best callsign I’ve ever heard,” Madison said.
“It was my profession before enlisting.”
“No way,” Madison remarked.
“Yep, Sloan and Sons Mortuary and Crematorium, Cleveland Ohio. Except this son didn’t like the job after I embalmed my own father.”
“I’d guess not,” Madison said.
“The schooling and experience helped me become a first-class medic though,” Sloan laughed. “And I much prefer tending the living.”
“Or sending the bad guys to meet their maker,” Garcia piped up. “He’s also a hell of a sniper.”
Madison remembered Cooper telling Jackson that the Undertaker made him look like a hack during her first week with Shepherd Security. She smiled and nodded.
“Sherman is guarding the hall outside the cells where we have Juan Carlos down on three,” Lambchop volunteered. “Let’s eat and then I’ll relieve him, so he can eat and grab a few hours of sleep.” He motioned to the hot plate filled with breakfast foods. Only then did Madison realize she was hungry.
“Brian Sherman is the last member of the team. He goes by the Birdman, mostly,” Mother added.
They filled their plates and joined Garcia at the table.
After a couple hours to sack out, Alpha Team, dressed in desert camo, descended in the elevator to level three, the detention level. They watched from a monitoring room as Lambchop and Mother dragged Garcia through the hall and into his cell.
“Amigo are you okay?” Juan Carlos asked after the door of the outer gate clanked closed.
Garcia moaned aloud, as though he was in pain. He sat at the edge of the solid wall, that divided the cells. “I’m sure they have this whole cellblock wired for sound but come over close.” He dropped his voice down quieter. “I’ve been out of the game for how many years? And the fuckers keep asking questions. What could I possibly know at this point? Certainly, a lot has changed since they got me.”
“What did they do to you, this time? You were gone a long time and you couldn’t walk. They dragged you back.”
Garcia laughed out. “This wasn’t as bad as past interrogation sessions. Has that blond chick interrogated you yet?”
“No.”
“It was a while ago, but I know that bitch is still here. I saw her in a different room as they dragged me back. I’m chained to the table, had the crap beaten out of me, waterboarded, you name it. I’m waiting for the fuckers to break out the cattle prods, but instead, in she walks, and I think, yeah, a beautiful chick. I can charm her. She’s like all over me, her hands get real friendly, you know what I mean. They’d made me shower right before I’d been brought into the room and I think she must like it clean. When she grabs my Johnson, I’m like, yeah, I’ll take good cop over bad cop. But then the bitch fucking practically rips my dick off me, the worse pain I ever felt in my fucking life, man.”
Juan Carlos flinched, almost feeling the pain of it himself. He was glad Razor couldn’t see his reaction.
“So, don’t let that pinche bitch anywhere near your verga,” Garcia said, intermingling Mexican slang with English.
“I think they drugged me,” Juan Carlos admitted. “But I don’t think I’ve given anything up. Jefe will kill me if I did.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Stay strong, esse.” Garcia paused. “Don’t give these fuckers anything!” He yelled loudly followed by a laugh.
The outer door opened and closed with its telltale clank echoing down the hall. Cooper and Lambchop came to Juan Carlos’ cell and opened it. They dragged him out. They brought him to the interrogation room he was familiar with. As the times before, his ankles were cuffed to the floor, his hands in shackles, secured to the table.
“Are you ready to be more cooperative, Juan Carlos?” Lambchop asked.
“I know nothing more than I’ve told you,” he said with a pleading voice. “You have the wrong guy, I’m not who you think I am.”
Without a word, Lambchop punched him, splitting his lip on the left, to match the wound on the other side. “I can do this all day.”
Madison, Doc and Jackson were in a room nearby, watching the interrogation on a monitor. Seeing Juan Carlos’ bruises and cuts, as well as this new wound being inflicted bothered Madison. She actually flinched when Lambchop punched him. She knew she wasn’t cut out for this kind of stuff.
“Don’t worry,” Doc whispered. “Lambchop knows what he’s doing, knows where to hit and where not to. He won’t inflict any permanent damage, just cause him some pain for now.”
“He’s been worn down. Combined with the drugs and the threat you’ll present, this should be enough to crack him,” Jackson added.
“Are you ready?” Doc asked.
She still wasn’t completely convinced she was the right person for this. Why couldn’t Cooper or Jackson play the killer Captain? Why did they want it to be her? She nodded and made her way from the room. She drew in a deep breath at the door to the interrogation room. Then another, summoning her courage. She soundlessly opened it.
“One more time, Juan, this Diaz, how do we find him?”
“I don’t know,” Juan Carlos whined, spitting blood on the table.
Lambchop punched him again, this time making him see stars as Lambchop’s fist made contact with his left eye socket.
“Enough,” she ordered from the door.
Both men came to attention. “You’re here sooner than expected, Captain,” Cooper said.
“He passed out during questioning. I’ll get back to him later.” Madison stepped up beside Juan Carlos.
He saw her, and his eyes went wide, and a gasp lodged in his throat, realizing they had made him shower earlier. “La Capitana. I know nothing more than I’ve told them.”
She cracked an amused smile. “I’ve heard that before.” She pointed to the water bottle that sat on the table in front of him. “Take a drink. It’ll get you through the next session.”
He complied and immediately grabbed the bottle and downed a big gulp. She ran her hand over his shoulder and then down his arm.
He whimpered out as her hand traveled down his chest and down over his abs. “Please, no,” he pled.
Lambchop grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. He stared into Madison’s eyes with terror as her hand met his waistband.
“Does this Diaz even exist?” She asked.
“Si, Pedro Diaz. He has a place in El Paso, a stash house. He runs all kind of shit out of it and through a bar he owns that is a motorcycle gang hangout, bad dudes.”
Her hand paused where it was, but she pressed it more firmly against his abs to remind him it was there. He whimpered. “How do we find him?”
“I don’t know. He finds me.”
“So, here is what we’re going to do. Your boy Razor has not given anything up. He defines machismo. I’m going to put you in the same cell with him and let him know you were very cooperative. I may or may not let him beat the shit out of you,” Madison said as she’d rehearsed.
“He won’t believe you,” Juan Carlos argued.
“He’ll believe me when I recite all the information you have provided so far on Pedro Diaz and Ernesto Mendoza. I’ll make a few things up that sound plausible. He’s been on ice for a long time. He won’t know any better.”
“They’ll kill me if I give you anything,” Juan Carlos whined.
“I’ll let Razor kill you if you don’t.” She saw his eyes begin to roll back in his head. The cocktail of drugs in his water was taking effect. “Or maybe I’ll just slice your dick off.” She pulled a four-inch double-bladed knife and held it in front of his face. His eyes focused on the knife the best they could.
“Fuck! Not another one,” Cooper moaned. “Captain, at least do this one in the room with the drain.”
“One last time. Diaz, how do I find him? Razor needs you to tell me how to find Diaz.”
“He makes regular trips through the southern corridor to Chicago, to arrange the product delivery. There is a store in South Mesa where he get’s his orders and the info for the drops with the distributors in Chicago, which is the major distribution center for the Midwest, just like the Compton warehouse is for the west coast.”
She returned the knife to her boot. Then she patted his cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She nodded to Lambchop. He released Juan Carlos’ hair. His head drooped. “Now Mendoza? Tell me for Razor. Razor needs you to tell me where to find Mendoza.”
“He’s the other half of the drop. He’ll be in either New York or Atlanta and will meet Diaz in Chicago before a big shipment comes in. When they meet, you know the product is on its way. They’re the only ones who know the routes and the contacts.”
“How do we find him?”
“He comes into Chicago by Amtrak, always, afraid to fly. Was in a plane crash five years ago.” His eyes were barely open, his entire form relaxed into a drug induced stupor. “Got a bad scar on his face from it by his eye, right side.”
The information was passed to the DEA, who asked Shepherd Security to assist their team in Chicago to prepare for the arrival of the two suspects. Bravo Team brought a detainee of their own to the Silo later that day. They would also guard Juan Carlos, relieving Delta Team to return to home base with Alpha.
Bravo Team’s detainee was brought to the holding room on one, a hotel-like room less dangerous people were locked in. He was a white-collar criminal who had agreed to turn state’s evidence on someone higher on the food chain. This was the safest place for him to give his statement, which would be broadcast to the federal entity providing him the deal.
It was cramped quarters on the Lear with both teams on board. After takeoff, Madison grabbed a bottle of water and brought it to Anthony. She sat beside him. He had kept to himself since they were given the order to evac the silo. He was quiet since boarding the plane. He popped his earbuds out of his ears and turned his music off.
“What were you listening to?”
“Stones,” he replied and then downed a large swallow of the water. “Thanks.” He tipped the bottle to her.
“Are you okay?” She asked so quietly he barely heard her.
He shook his head. “Juan Carlos wouldn’t have become what he is if I hadn’t used him as I did, or if I would have taken him with me when I pulled out. He’s still not that bad of a dude.”
“He made his own choices.”
Garcia shook his head. “He never had a chance.” Garcia noticeably shifted gears in his mind. “How are you doing? Is the field growing on you any?”
Madison smiled. “I’m not sure. I am looking forward to you training me for the Ops Center. We’ll see.”
Tango
With the information Juan Carlos provided and with the combined efforts of the DEA and Shepherd Security, it didn’t take long to identify and track their two suspects. They both arrived in Chicago later that week.
Three members of Delta Team followed Mendoza from his arrival at Union Station on the Amtrak. He got into an Uber. Danny ‘Mother’ Trio led them from Ops as they tailed the Uber to O’Hare. The Uber dropped him off at the entrance to the long-term parking.
They watched as he waited, observing passengers park their cars and hustle to the shuttle bus. One man parked a Chevy Equinox and wrestled with two large suitcases. After he boarded a shuttle bus to the main terminal and was out of sight, their target stole his car, paid the small parking fare and drove away. Delta Team in their three vehicles, followed.
Pedro Diaz was surveilled by the DEA from the store identified by Juan Carlos in South Mesa. They tailed him through the airport where he checked in, travelling under the name Hector Sanchez. Several of the DEA agents booked themselves on the same flight to Chicago.
For three days, the two men were watched around the clock by teams of DEA agents and Shepherd Security. Both visited known crack houses and several bars known to be frequented by the roughest biker gangs in various bad neighborhoods, Riverdale, Fuller Park, Englewood. If there was a shit hole, one of them visited it. Only Hispanic and black members of the teams followed on foot. A Caucasian would stick out in those neighborhoods. Despite their attempts to plant trackers directly on their suspects, they never were able to get close enough.
Finally, both men left their motel rooms with backpacks and with what appeared to be a mission. They converged on Grant Park, Diaz entering from the north, Mendoza the south. Two teams of Shepherd Security and three DEA teams were dispatched into the park. Cooper and Madison entered from the north together, from Balboa, with Doc following a good distance behind. The pair were a good three hundred yards behind Diaz.
Jackson and the Birdman followed Mendoza into the park from Lakeshore Drive and the Roosevelt Road underpass from the south. The Undertaker entered from Columbus to the west. In Shepherd Security’s white panel van, Garcia stayed in contact with their ground units, the Ops Center, and the DEA. He was running point because Shepherd Security had better equipment than the DEA. All the camera feeds into the park and on the nearby streets were turned over to him and the Shepherd Security Ops Center to monitor.
“Pretty-boy is approaching head on,” Garcia alerted the team. That was the name given to Ernesto Mendoza by the Birdman early in their surveillance. Juan Carlos hadn’t been kidding. The scar on his face by his right eye from the plane crash was severe. “Looks like they are getting ready for a handoff, both men have removed their backpacks and are holding them at their sides.”
Cooper caught sight of Mendoza a block up the busy sidewalk, approaching Diaz. It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm in Chicago and the park was crowded. He and Madison were in the open. There was no place to take cover in sight, not even a tree. A black wrought-iron fence ran the length of the path to their left, an open grassy area to the right. He was sure any man would notice Madison and remember her. That could interfere with future surveillance.
“Play along,” he whispered to her.
He grabbed her and pressed her against the fence. He covered the sides of her head with his hands to cover her hair and he pressed his entire body against hers in an attempt to conceal her. And then, he pressed his lips to hers too. It was all he could think of to try to hide her.
Madison’s hands grabbed hold of his shoulders, shocked by the kiss, shocked by his body firmly against hers, shocked by the incredible sensations that shot through her. She kissed him back just as enthusiastically as he kissed her. Their tongues intertwined, not battling for dominance but rather in unison and in harmony, both hungry in exploration and in passion.
In that moment, they were no longer in a public park. This kiss wasn’t a distraction to hide their presence from the men they tailed. In that moment, their bodies reacted with primal urges, with the single focus
of savoring and escalating the desire that flowed between them.
“Holy fuck,” Garcia spoke as he watched the kiss playout over the screen. Cooper and Madison were right near a camera.
“The drop just went down, repeat, the drop went down,” Jax advised. As the two subjects passed, they exchanged backpacks.
“Jesus, get a room,” BT scolded. “The target passed you already.”
Cooper pulled his lips from hers, his mouth still open, panting breaths he couldn’t catch. His dilated eyes gazed into hers, which were wide and searching his.
“Roger, Control,” he spoke. His eyes gazed right. The Birdman passed them, his eyes showing his shock at the kiss he just witnessed. Shifting left he saw Mendoza, who was up the path at least two hundred yards ahead. Diaz was no longer in sight. “Get me a twenty on target number one.”