Danger Beyond Intrigue: Volume One

by H. L. Valdez

  “I’ve got something in the car,” he encouraged, tightly cradling him.

  “Don’t pass out!” he yelled. “Keep your eyes open! Please stay awake!” he pleaded furiously, reaching the powerful and ultra fast BJ8 model Healey.

  “Listen to me! Look at me!” he screamed, placing Nick in the seat.

  “We can do it! We can do it! We can make it!” Mondo shouted, jumping into the racing car, and opening smelling salts. Inhaling the powerful ammonium carbonate, Nick coughed as the powerful stimulant snapped him back to his senses.

  “Here take this,” Mondo said, inserting a large dose of a cocaine-methamphetamine combination into his mouth, then began sprinkling the wound with the powder. “Swig this!” he said, handing Nick a half empty pint bottle of bourbon.

  “Let’s get to the Heights,” Armondo said frantically, starting the luxurious and powerful sports car with a vibrating roar.

  “We can make it, we can make it,” he said putting the competition ready car in overdrive, speeding toward Highway 101 and accelerating from 0-60 mph in under ten seconds.

  The Tunnel

  8 July 1964. Khe Sanh, Vietnam. Gina Leung was maneuvering a small sampan used for carrying raw opium along a tributary of the Bac Dong River in the Quang Ninh Province in Northeast Vietnam. Sasha Nakamura was arching over the bow, peering through night vision goggles, guiding the boat through the narrow waterway near the Ho Chi Minh trail. Under a star filled night sky, Sasha squinted to locate markers leading to a covered trail that was a series of dirt roads and crossings stretching southward 200-to-300 miles into Cambodia and South Vietnam. From the stern, Gina managed the wooden rudder, as her thoughts drifted back to her teenage years working as a street supplier in Hong Kong selling crystallized opium developed by her father’s chemists. Small pieces of opium she called Dime Smack cost between $10.00 and $15.00. Her one hundred plus customers consumed about two-dozen rocks of opium every week and spent about $250.00 each week for their habits. After being promoted from supplier to distributor, she paid $3,000 to swallowers and stuffers to smuggle her products, who coated their throats with olive oil, ingesting heroin filled condoms or forced the condoms into their rectums. Now, as chief of recruiting, she was responsible for planning a strategic narcotics blueprint for the future while experimentally promoting lollipops lightly coated with the super-charged synthetic based heroin---Fentanyl, which was 100 times more powerful than morphine with 100 micrograms of Fentanyl equivalent to 10mg of morphine.

  An adept manager, Gina had been groomed and promoted within the Triad organization. At each step within the Triad pyramid, from street seller, supplier, distributor, fixer, to chief of recruiting, Gina had excelled and matured. Tonight, however, something had to be fixed. She had to revert to her previous role…Fixer.

  "My father had a lot of friends in Vietnam," Sasha said, interrupting Gina's thoughts, while removing the goggles and rubbing her eyes. "He came here a lot."

  "Did he?" She asked, clearing her throat while gazing up at thousands of twinkling stars.

  "Yeah, we came here quite a few times. This is a beautiful country," Sasha said fondly.

  "Too much jungle for me," she replied, shaking her head, turning on a green-filtered flashlight, quickly looking at her map.

  “It's a silk screen painting come to life.”

  “I’m a city girl. I like concrete.”

  “I’ve been thinking about my future.”

  “You mean our future?”

  “When I start adding things up, the Colombian and Mexican drug barons are gaining strength in North America. They want global control of drug markets and could average $4 billion a year from cocaine being smuggled into America.

  “Yeah, and dealers in Asia are stealing our opium products and building alliances with distributors in the region. Let’s fix that first.”

  “Our families are losing money,” Sasha said, leaning forward of the bow, holding up her left hand to slow down and pointing with her right hand to turn as Gina gazed up at a shooting star. “Our amphetamine laboratories in Hong Kong are also selling meth-amphetamines at $3,000 an ounce,” Gina replied, looking down from the star studded sky, abruptly noticing Sasha’s hand signals to slow down and turn.

  “We need to ensure that secondary transshipment points in Tokyo, San Diego, the Philippines, and Los Angeles, will be safe havens for receiving our heroin,” Sasha said putting on her night vision goggles, and searching for the marker.

  “Stability fluctuates,” Gina continued. “On one hand our laboratories are selling meth to one market and on the other hand we’re shipping 500 kilos a month to the States, averaging seventy-five million per shipment.”

  “Where’s the limit?” Sasha asked, putting her hand in the water, staring at the dense jungle.

  “Death is the limit. You know that. That’s our business.”

  “We need tighter security for the next heroin shipment leaving the Triangle through Vietnam and being shipped to Long Beach, California. Maintaining strict security and integrity of our organization is essential,” Sasha replied. “Hey, more to the Port side, slow it down.” Sasha said, quickly gesturing with her hand.

  “I’m trying,” she replied, struggling to steer the boat.

  “More to the Port side. You’re fighting a steady current.”

  “I’m trying. I’m trying. Hey, I wasn’t raised in a forest; I was raised in a condominium.”

  “Okay, slow it down. Dig the oar in deeper. Slow it down.”

  “Where is this place?” She groaned.

  “Okay, turn the rudder; turn to the Port side, harder, harder.”

  “Which is the Port side?”

  “The left! Turn left!”

  “Okay, turn left, okay,” She grunted, fumbling with the oar, then the rudder, steering the boat around a small bend.

  "This special forces camp is in the heart of a complicated tunnel complex," Sasha said spotting the marker. "But, I know the area," she affirmed, lassoing the imbedded marker with her rope, guiding the boat to an abrupt stop on the muddy bank.

  "Dark tunnels -- that's my phobia," Gina replied, quivering, turning off the flashlight and neatly folding the map.

  "Well, these tunnels are special," she answered, jumping out of the boat, tying a rope to a tree trunk. Holding her weapon, Gina jumped off the boat following Sasha to an unmarked road overgrown with dense bush.

  "For one, my father helped dig the tunnels in this area," Sasha boasted. "He stored acetic anhydride, sodium acetate, and hydrochloric acid in those tunnels."

  "The chemicals for treating morphine base into heroin,” she replied. "Give me the full picture," Gina sighed, as tree branches slapped against her face.

  "For one, the earth along the Saigon River contains a huge natural environmental advantage for tunneling. The soil is predominately laterite clay. It's a ferric soil with a clay binder that allows some air penetration. That means the clay doesn't crumble," Sasha told her.

  "What's the connection?" Gina questioned, whacking hanging vegetation away from her face.

  "You'll see, you'll see," Sasha assured her, laughing while adjusting her goggles.

  "How far?" Gina asked, eyeing the desolation, listening to Red-collared woodpeckers and Black-crowned Night Herrons.

  "We’re close," Sasha replied, stepping into the deep recesses of the jungle. "This way," she said as moonlight and memories guided her along the sloping path.

  "Are you sure you have a plan?" Gina asked, clutching her M-2 carbine, after what seemed an eternity of walking in silence.

  "I have a strategy, I don't have a plan," Sasha whispered, quickly glancing at her.

  "Take off your goggles," she said as they approached the outpost.

  "Hold your fire!" Sasha yelled. "Friendlies here!"

  "Is that your strategy?" Gina gasped, amazed.

  "Halt! Who goes there?" shouted the sentry, aiming his M-14 rifle at the dirty and dusty women wearing military camouflaged utilities.

 
"American Officers here!" Sasha shouted back.

  "That's far enough! Keep your hands up!" he yelled, jittery and hyper vigilant. “Advance and be recognized!”

  "Steady, steady, boys," Gina suggested in a reassuring voice, holding her arms up high.

  "Who the hell are you?" another sentry drawled, appearing from the shadows, aiming his 10-gauge shotgun at the two drug lords.

  "We're nurses, here to see the Chief Medical Officer, Colonel Rose and Colonel Messner," Sasha replied.

  "Don't sound right," replied the second guard. "Why didn't you come during the day? Nobody comes at night," he observed in a cautious tone.

  "Vietcong do and they read maps too," Gina shouted.

  "Can you read rank?" Sasha queried, pointing to her Captain's insignia.

  "No rank in the bush," the sentry shot back with disrespect, aiming his weapon at her.

  "We need medical requisitions, next of kin information, and I.D. tags of the dead," Gina replied, annoyed with the conversation.

  "Does that sound right?" Sasha asked, trying to interrupt their fundamental flow of thinking.

  "Listen, we're not the bad guys," Gina said. "We're assessing casualties with all recon teams. This is a ball-busting job."

  "This is a man's war!" the young sentry blurted, staring at Sasha's striking looks and Gina's sensual Asian features.

  "I know that!" Gina stated humorously. "That's why we're nurses, dummy."

  "I guess?" the Corporal of the Guard replied, pondering the situation.

  "You ever met a woman with a penis?" Sasha asked, crossing her arms and gripping her automatic pistol.

  “In Bangkok one time, but I was drunk,” the sentry laughed, lowering the muzzle of his M-14.

  "I've never seen you two before?" the second guard said emphatically, mistrusting the situation, nervously gripping his shotgun. “Let me see your military I.D. cards,”

  “Sure,” Sasha replied, withdrawing a fake green I.D. card from her left breast pocket.

  “Maybe you need a short arm inspection with a happy ending. The kind only a nurse can provide. You choose the place.” Sasha suggested as Gina stared at her in disbelief.

  “Jeez, what a nurse! I don’t believe you,” she whispered in disbelief. “You’re gonna give him a blow job?”

  “I like happy endings,” the Marine replied grinning, lowering his shotgun. “It’s been a while. Come to my tent later,” he said, returning the I.D., then took Gina’s card, studying the information with his red filtered flashlight.

  "Trust us, we're new!" Gina replied, irritated. "We're from Saigon. Come on now, work with us," she suggested, as Sasha pondered killing them. The four stood in uncomfortable silence. Anxious and uncertain, the wary guards had to make a decision. Gina's right hand was in her pocket, gripping her .45. Both women stood their ground.

  "Guys, I'm dead tired. No happy ending until we finish our job, come on," Sasha reasoned with the sentry.

  “The medium is the message. I’ll be waiting,” the Marine said, returning Gina’s card, holding his shotgun at his side, making the peace sign with his fingers.

  “Well, you know Doc Messner and Doc Rose,” the sentry said abruptly. "Just follow the perimeter. They’re at the isolated end of the camp. The tent has a small red cross on the side," he said, pointing toward the general direction.

  "You made the right decision," Gina said in a calm voice, walking past the guards. Sasha, annoyed with the encounter, remained silent.

  "Stay alert. We've had nightly attacks," the Corporal said, gazing into the darkness.

  "Don't worry, we're ready," Sasha smiled, looking back at the guard.

  "How the hell did they get here?" the sentry wondered out loud.

  "They walked, like everybody else," the Corporal answered.

  Sasha and Gina maneuvered between crates of ammunition, a mess kitchen, bunk areas, and field toilets, approaching the men responsible for ambushing and killing their trusted Meo Tribesmen.

  "You know Sasha, if these guys ambushed the mule run, there had to be an inside leak," Gina mentioned. "Unless you think it was an accident?"

  "It's a funny business isn't it? But there are no accidents. Everything in life has a purpose," she replied, as her psychological paradigm began disengaging from reality, transforming her into her pathological second self.

  "But they left one of my Meo for dead, and that was a very big mistake. He told his tribesmen that he was robbed by American military guys."

  "Everyone is split into fundamental cells in the organization," Gina said, walking past sand bagged bunkers.

  "We'll find the leak, don’t worry."

  “What the?” Gina cringed, startled. “Man!” she cringed, as mortar shells began exploding nearby.

  "Couriers only know their immediate controller. So the snitch is in that chain," Sasha surmised ignoring the explosions, as warm air rustled through the sleeping camp.

  "We'll find him," Gina said confidently, approaching the tent while mentally preparing to meet the two men.

  "Here's the tent," Sasha whispered. "Our time is now. Just do what's next."

  "Check your weapon," Gina directed, adjusting the silencer on her M-2 carbine that folded up to 22-inches.

  "I'm ready," Sasha replied, taking a series of deep breaths and knee bends.

  "Me too," Gina answered, peering through a slit in the thick canvass flap door. In pregnant silence she scrutinized the dimly lit room, then stepped backwards.

  "Two men sitting at a table," Gina whispered seriously.

  "Great. I'll go first," Sasha stated eagerly, drawing her pistol, and snugly twisting the silencer to the barrel.

  "Go!" Gina ordered sternly, placing the rifle against her shoulder, preparing to fire. With her pistol drawn, Sasha slowly pushed the canvass door aside and entered.

  "Gentlemen!" She announced, standing in the dusty, musty smelling entrance. Startled and confused, both men jumped to their feet. Sasha stared at the money, opium, and morphine bricks on the small wooden table.

  "Who the hell are you?" Dr. Richard Rose shouted, feeling exposed and conspicuous.

  “I’m a very unhappy home maker,” Sasha smiled.

  “And I’m a Playboy Bunny in disguise,” Gina answered.

  "You guys having a party?" Sasha asked, pointing her pistol at the table. "That's a lot of drugs for a small party."

  "What hole did you two come from?" Dr. Karl Messner questioned with contempt, as mortar shells hit the outside toilets, blasting clumps of fecal matter on the tent and over the camp.

  "You two aren't officers," Colonel Rose blurted, drawing his pistol from his shoulder holster. Gina instantly fired her rifle, sending a hot piece of lead plunging into his right thigh, making a small opening but lodging itself deeply into the underlying tissue. Falling to the floor in agony, it was as though Colonel Rose were watching a series of still frames in a slowed-up reel of film. Hypnotically, Karl stood frozen, watching Richard drop jerkily to the dusty wooden pallets.

  "Settle down, men," Gina ordered, aiming her rifle at their faces, easing past Sasha, and grimacing at the smell of decomposing fecal matter seeping into the tent.

  "You're in trouble!" Colonel Rose murmured furiously, dropping his weapon and gripping his thigh in pain.

  "Boys, I see introductions are in order," Sasha replied, calmly pointing her weapon at Colonel Rose.

  "You pagan bitches will pay for this," the vulnerable Colonel threatened.

  "Karl. Karl. Talk to me. Talk to me," Sasha said gently.

  “You can talk with her Karl,” Gina repeated, nodding her head. “Don’t worry, you can trust her.”

  "You can talk to me," Sasha said, walking closer to him with her fist extended. Karl stared in confusion trying to make sense of Sasha's actions. Staring at her fist, he noticed the S-studded diamond ring on her finger and recalled the “S” stamped into the bricks of morphine and opium.

  "Yeah, you just figured out who I am. Aren’t you the one, who ripped me off a
while back for a few million and change?

  “You’re confused,” Karl replied, nervously.

  “It’s payback time," Sasha whispered, smacking Karl across the face with her pistol. Her emotional detachment had begun; she was altering into another identity, transforming into an anti-social, pathological separate self, her second self.

  "What do you want?" Karl said in a resigned tone, as Sasha tapped the pistol barrel against his forehead.

  "Both of you get on your knees, put your hands behind your heads," Gina ordered, moving to the center of the room while pointing the rifle at Karl as he stood shaking.

  "Okay, Alfred E. Neuman, get on your knees the hard way or the easy way?" Gina ordered, aiming the rifle muzzle at his thigh. Biting his lip, he slowly went to his knees.

  "Now boys, you are both high achievers," Gina said casually, studying their reactions. "But we are serious criminals."

  "And the bad news is, you don't get merit badges for being street-smart," Sasha added with a morbid, sarcastic grin.

  "You treat us with respect, damnit!" COL Rose ordered, sitting on the floor with his hands behind his head.

  "I respect a strong will," Sasha replied dispassionately, moving to the small table and removing a heroin mixing kit from her backpack. Sitting down on sandbags, she began heating and mixing 50mg of heroin and cocaine in a spoon.

  "It’s time to stand on the podium of truth fellas," Gina suggested, edging toward the men.

  "What are you talking about?" Karl asked, self-consciously.

  "Who's your point of contact? Where's the stuff going?" Gina questioned.

  "We're not working with anyone. Now just git," Richard shouted, watching Sasha stir the drug cocktail.

  "You both have some bad habits," Gina said, resting the rifle's muzzle against Richard’s forehead.

  "Look. It was just a dare-devil deed," Karl lied, squirming uncomfortably on the wooden boards.

  "You both have some very, very bad habits," Sasha said, mixing and filling a syringe with 50 milligrams of pure heroin and cocaine. "You still haven't told me about the shipment," she voiced, standing, sauntering closer to Karl, while squirting the deadly solution into the air.