by Chuck Black
“This is Andrés Zapata and his three top hatchet men, Botello, Valarde, and Mancilla,” Sloan said. “As far as we can tell, he is the leading drug trafficker in Puerto Rico. His rise in the drug arena has been fast and steady, aided by a corrupt police force and hard economic times for the island. Until now, we’ve just fed any intel we received on him to the DEA.”
“What’s changed?” Reed asked.
One of the analysts pointed to the next image that flashed on the monitor, a photo of Zapata talking with another man. “This is Kofi Sesay, an arms supplier to various rebel factions in central Africa. This was taken three weeks ago. And we have photos of other meetings as well.”
Sloan resumed the briefing. “We believe that Zapata is expanding his operation to include weapons dealing. We suspect that he is trading drugs for weapons manufactured in the United States and then supplying the weapons to various terrorist organizations in the Middle East and in Africa. You two will pose as a US weapons supplier under the front company Armstrong Industries. Find out where his operation is, and get us his network of suppliers and dealers so we can make a bust.
“You’ll be joining with a senior CIA operative in San Juan by the name of Carlos Hurtado. He has successfully gained the trust of Zapata’s men by feeding them reliable contacts for their drugs. Once the drugs make stateside, we track them and make our busts far enough down the chain that Zapata doesn’t suspect Hurtado. Hurtado’s cover name is Soliz. He’ll give you a situation report when you arrive,” Sloan finished.
More details of the op were briefed and discussed, allowing Drew and Reed to ask questions until they were satisfied they had all the information they needed for the mission.
Two days later, they arrived in San Juan, Puerto Rico, where Agent Hurtado met and transported them to the La Concha Resort. In spite of being thirty-two, Agent Hurtado looked young and reckless. The sparse facial hair and colorful tattoo that stretched from his elbow to his shoulder added to the impression, but that was where the facade stopped. In the hotel room, Hurtado’s brief was thorough and professional. Afterward he looked concerned. Drew figured he was analyzing their abilities and resolve.
“These guys don’t mess around. If they think for a second you aren’t the real deal, we’re all dead. And they can get away with it.”
“Then we’d better make sure they believe us,” Drew said.
—
The following day, Agents Hurtado, Reed, and Carter arrived at Zapata’s villa overlooking Costa Dorada Beach on the northwest shore of Puerto Rico. It was a scene right off a postcard, with white sandy beaches, teal-blue water, palm trees, and humid air thick enough to drink.
Drew scanned the area as they walked up the elaborate stone sidewalk. Validus and another light invader were waiting, swords drawn. Validus was shaking his head.
“Something’s not right here,” Drew said, slowing his gait.
Validus gave orders, and two more light invaders appeared. They entered the house ahead of Drew and his team.
“It’s a little late for second thoughts now,” Reed said.
Hurtado shot Drew a fierce gaze.
Drew readied himself as Botello, Zapata’s main contact, greeted them at the entrance. “Ah, Soliz, come in, my friend.”
“It’s good to see you, Botello.” Hurtado turned and looked at Reed and Drew. “This is Edward Davis and Kyle Moore.”
Botello didn’t greet them but instead led them into a broad marble foyer that opened to a two-story skylight ceiling twenty feet above. Drew followed with Hurtado on the right and Reed on his left.
Validus and his three warriors were each engaged with fierce dark invaders. Whatever happened now, Drew wouldn’t be getting any help from them.
“These are the associates from Mr. Armstrong’s organization I talked to you about on the phone,” Hurtado said.
Botello turned and held up his hand at the same time that two men with handguns entered from the left and right, muzzles leveled on them. Botello smiled condescendingly. “And that, Soliz, was the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Whoa,” Hurtado said, lifting his hands in the air. “What are you doing, Botello?”
Botello’s smiling face turned fierce as he pulled out his own .45 and stuck it in Hurtado’s face. “You don’t tell anyone about me or Zapata or our operation. That’s not how we do business, you idiot!” He sneered at Reed and Drew. “These two could be cops or DEA agents for all I know.”
Drew noted that the gunman to his right used a two-hand grip while the other gunman and Botello used the single-hand grip of inexperienced, cocky gang members. Drew stepped forward, next to Hurtado. “What is this, Soliz? I thought you said Zapata was looking to buy weapons.”
Botello switched his target from Hurtado to Drew. “Shut up!”
Drew’s senses ramped up. He watched Botello’s trigger finger and listened for movement from the other two gunmen. He was too close to dodge the bullet, so he would have to anticipate if Botello made the shot. He needed to get one step closer to make a move.
Drew scowled back at Botello. “You insignificant pig! Threaten us and you threaten Mr. Armstrong.”
He stepped toward Botello just as he heard the gunman to his right move in. He felt the cold tip of the man’s barrel up against his right temple. Evidently this guy was just as dumb as the other.
Drew exploded into action. He simultaneously swept his right forearm up and back, pushing the gun off his head, while hook-kicking Botello’s gun hand, which sent the .45 flying across the room. Drew wrapped his right arm around both of the gunman’s arms while executing a powerful sidekick to Botello’s chest. Both moves were done in less than a second. The gunman’s barrel was now aimed at Reed and the other gunman, and a reactionary shot went off. Drew felt the concussion of the shot next to his chest just before he slammed the palm of his hand into the gunman’s throat. In a fraction of a second, Drew torqued the gun from the gasping man’s hand and turned his attention to the second gunman.
The wild shot had grazed Reed’s arm but hit the other thug square in his right shoulder. Reed was moving to recover the weapon. Drew whipped his head back toward Botello, who was just getting up off the floor after stumbling backward. Drew snarled and walked toward him, but Botello pulled a knife and threw it at him. Drew froze the image of the spinning weapon in his mind, calculating the precise moment to react. When the blade was just inches from his chest, he twisted and caught the knife by its handle with his left hand without missing a single step in his approach toward Botello.
Drew stuck the gun in his belt to free his right hand. Botello looked frozen from panic as he realized that he was now facing a vengeful arms dealer. Drew grabbed Botello by the throat and slammed him up against the nearest wall. He put the knife to his throat and leaned to within two inches of his face.
“You want a war, Botello? You got one. Mr. Armstrong will decimate Zapata’s operation within six months. I came here to make us both profitable, and you point a gun in my face? Bad move.” Drew tightened his grip around Botello’s throat. “We’ve got money, we’ve got ports, and we’ve got weapons. Now all you’re going to have is a lot of pain.”
“Wait…wait,” Botello wheezed.
Drew wore a frown of contempt but hesitated. Botello’s eyes widened with fear as Drew pressed the knife in close against his throat. Botello looked like he was struggling for air, so Drew lightened his grip just enough to let the man talk.
“I can set you up with a meeting with Mr. Zapata. We can still work this out!”
Hurtado stepped toward Drew. “He was just being cautious, Moore. We can all profit from this. You kill him now and we all lose.”
Drew squinted, glaring into Botello’s eyes. He let five long seconds elapse, then removed his hand and the knife from the man’s throat.
“I won’t do this with you again, Botello. Next time you threaten me or any of Mr. Armstrong’s men, you die. I will personally see to it. Is that clear?”
Botell
o rubbed his neck as he nodded.
Drew pulled out a white business card with a single telephone number on it. He stuffed it in Botello’s shirt pocket, then turned and walked toward the door. “Set up the meeting and call the number. We’ll be there.”
As Drew walked toward the door, Reed and Hurtado followed. He reached for the handle and then stuck the knife into the frame of the door. They left without saying another word.
They had driven off the compound before Hurtado looked at Reed, then at Drew. “You want to tell me what I just saw back there?”
“He’s our up-and-coming superagent,” Reed said, holding his arm tight.
Drew looked at Reed. “How bad is it?”
“I’m okay. Just hurts like—”
“Seriously,” Hurtado interjected. “Where did you learn to move like that?”
Drew opened the glove compartment to see if there was something to put over Reed’s wound until they stopped. “Chicago. I spent a lot of time dealing with thugs just like those.”
He hoped that would suffice.
Back at the hotel, Drew found a first-aid kit and began cleaning and dressing Reed’s arm.
“How do you do it, Carter?”
“Do what?” Drew asked.
Reed just shook his head. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. Do you know why we’re in Philadelphia together?” He winced as Drew finished cleaning the wound.
“Yeah…’Cause I’m a rookie and you’ve got experience.”
Reed snorted. “Seriously, do you?”
Drew stopped and looked at Reed’s face. “Because Ross wants you to keep an eye on me.”
Reed didn’t say anything.
“How am I doing?” Drew asked with a slight grin.
“I cleared you three months after the Farm.”
Drew was surprised by that. “Then why are you still with me?”
Reed gingerly felt the wound and nodded his appreciation. “Because there are no other agents like you, and Ross knows it. You see things no one else sees, Carter. It’s uncanny. I’ve been with you long enough to know you’re not normal. Hurtado saw that in one mission. So tell me how you do it. It will only make us better as a team.”
Drew sobered. He looked at Reed, considering how his partner would handle the truth. He shook his head. “You would never believe me if I told you.”
He started to get up from his chair, but Reed grabbed his arm.
“Carter, whatever it is you have is real and it works. I’ll believe you. There’s too much evidence not to believe you. Try me.”
Drew once again faced the temptation to share the burden of this global battle for mankind with someone else. If only Ben had succeeded. If only he could find Ben now. If only he had physical proof for what he was seeing.
He looked Reed square in the eyes. “There is no secret, Reed. I’ve been training since I was twelve, and I have a knack for it.”
“I don’t believe you. Obviously you’ve had training, but nobody catches knives out of the air, and nobody can predict a situation going south before there are any indications.” Reed reached for his shirt. “Just be straight with me.”
“There’s more going on here than just fighting drug lords, weapons dealers, and terrorism. A lot more,” Drew said.
Reed squinted, anxious to hear more.
“All of these crimes are being orchestrated by an organization much bigger, much more evil than ISIS, Hamas, or people like Zapata.”
Reed shook his head. “Like the IGA? Carter, that theory’s been investigated.”
“No. Bigger,” Drew replied.
Reed cocked his head. “How do you mean? What proof do you have?”
Drew hesitated. Reed was a stand-up guy. Imagine what he and Ben could do with one more person on their side, trying to discover and reveal the truth about the invaders—especially another CIA agent. Drew opened his mouth to confess, then recanted. Reed would never buy into it.
“It’s just a gut feeling I have. A sixth sense.”
Reed looked disappointed. “Well, I can’t argue with that. You have one heck of a sixth sense.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Reed waited for more, but Drew was done, and Reed seemed to sense it. Perhaps one day he might be ready to hear the truth, but it wouldn’t be today.
—
Three days later, Hurtado, Reed, and Drew met with Zapata. This time, the meeting was in a public outdoor club, and much of the conversation was just social.
“I like to get to know my clients first,” Zapata said with a wide smile as he sipped from his glass of Bacardi rum. “If I can’t enjoy a drink and a meal with someone, I don’t want to do business with him.”
Drew looked at Zapata, disgusted by the filth he was pouring into the US. In his eyes, Drew saw the images of addicted teenagers, broken marriages, and abuse of every kind.
Drew smiled back. “Then let us drink and eat often, my friend, and the business will take care of itself.”
At the end of the meal, Zapata lit a Cuban cigar and nodded at the pleasure the aroma brought him. “I think we may have a future together.” White smoke pushed out from his nose and mouth with each word.
“On behalf of Mr. Armstrong and Armstrong Industries, we look forward to doing business with you.”
Zapata eyed Drew and became very serious. He leaned forward. “Tell me, Mr. Moore, would Mr. Armstrong be averse to receiving additional cargo at your ports along with our payment for your goods? There would of course be significant compensation in exchange for receiving this cargo.”
Drew leaned forward. “I can assure you that Mr. Armstrong is open to all forms of business.” He leaned back slightly. “However, the risk versus gain ratio must be considered. What might the nature of this cargo be?”
Zapata took another long draw on his cigar as he eyed Drew and then Reed closely. “The kind that must be received at night and would disappear by morning without any effort on your part at all.”
He was talking about human cargo. What kind, Drew wasn’t sure, but this changed the entire scope of the mission. Was Zapata already doing this with other clients? Was this a possible terrorist route into the heart of America?
“Sounds promising. I’ll have a discussion with Mr. Armstrong, and we can discuss details at our next meeting.”
Zapata nodded and the meeting ended. They had not gained the intel they were hoping for, but it certainly would give the CIA a whole new avenue of investigation to pursue.
10
SYDNEY CARLYLE AND THE WEAPONS DEALER
The debrief with Sloan went well, and his supervisor seemed pleased. Langley responded well too; they wanted Drew and Reed to continue establishing a connection with Zapata and his organization to see how much information they could gain before taking Zapata out. It was going to be a lengthy mission after all.
Over the next couple of weeks, Drew found it impossible not to check up on Sydney from time to time when there were breaks in the Zapata investigation. One late Friday afternoon, he read a few more texts and discovered that the last one sent just a few minutes ago read: Can you meet Sat for lunch at Kally’s…12? The reply from Sydney: Love to. I work at 1:30. See you then!
Drew shut down the search and sat back, a dangerous thought forming in his mind.
“Hey, Carter. Want to catch something to eat?” Reed said as he walked toward the elevators.
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got to take care of something tonight.” Where did that come from?
“Okay. See you Monday.”
Drew nodded and shut down his system. He left the building and entered the parking garage, trying to focus on the Zapata evidence they had gathered, but his thoughts always turned back to Sydney. He sat in his car with his keys in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He opened his airline app. Without consciously deciding to do so, he checked flights to Chicago. One was leaving in two hours, the last for the day. His report indicating Chicago as a possible target for ISIS flashed across his min
d.
“What are you doing, Carter?” he said out loud. “Go home.”
He clicked the phone off and started his car. At the garage exit he waited for a break in the traffic to turn left, toward home.
He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, took a deep breath, then flipped on the turn signal and took a right—to the airport. The carry-on with one set of clothes in his trunk was all he had, but it would get him through Sunday.
Validus could tell Tren had an important message by his hurried approach. It was unusual for the guardian.
“Carter is checking up on Carlyle,” Tren said.
“We need an encounter, not just curiosity,” Validus said.
“He’s on his way to the airport as we speak,” Tren replied. “To Chicago.”
“Finally. How promising is an encounter?” Validus asked, hopeful.
“With a little help, I think we can make something happen. But that doesn’t guarantee she’ll witness or he’ll listen if she does.”
“Perhaps, but it’s the best opportunity we’ll have had since he left Chicago. If it doesn’t happen, we’re going to have to look at other options…options he’s not going to like.” Validus was encouraged. “Tell Crenshaw to gather the warriors and then get back to Carter. Keep him safe until we arrive.”
Tren nodded. A few minutes later, the valiant warriors under Validus’s command were ready for their briefing.
“Warriors, Tren believes Carter is about to attempt contact with Carlyle. If you thought the Fallen were doing everything to take him out in the last few weeks, you haven’t seen anything yet. If Carter is indeed the last salvation that triggers the End of Days as prophesied by John, then Niturni will stop at nothing to prevent Carlyle from witnessing to Carter. Their lives will be at stake every minute of every day until he accepts Messiah. We must be alert and be prepared for anything. Car accidents, plane crashes, serial killers, diseases, natural disasters—there are no limits to what they might try.”