by Jay Begler
Isabella loved what she was hearing, though she questioned whether it was true and was about to say something when Louisa laughed slightly. Isabella feared that Louisa’s compliment was some kind of horrible joke, but it wasn’t. Louisa said, “You are blushing.” She took a small compact mirror from her purse and held it up in front of Isabella. “See?”
Isabella wondered, “Could this beautiful and apparently engaging woman see me as attractive?” She smiled and said, “You know Louisa, I see that you are an expert in manipulation. You are not manipulating me now, are you?”
“Not at all; it’s the way I am. You probably saw my statement. I’m a contrarian through and through and I am brutally honest. So, when I say you are lovely, I’m telling the truth.”
The next moment, both spontaneous and unexpected, and in retrospect, shocking to each of them, was one that became an indelible memory for both of them. Louisa rose, took a seat next to Isabella, took her hand in hers and kissed it. “I would never manipulate you or ever lie to you Isabella. I promise you that.”
Without thinking about the consequences of her action, Isabella, measured in all things, drew close to Louisa and as their faces touched, kissed her lightly, then passionately, on her lips. It was Isabella’s first sexual kiss. They broke apart, both embarrassed, flustered, and excited by what had happened. Simultaneously, each apologized to the other. They stopped talking, caught their breath and embraced again.
Breathless, Isabella said, “I guess you really don’t find me ugly?”
Stroking Isabella’s face gently, Louisa responded through a laugh, “I told you, I am a total contrarian. I think differently from most people; that includes what I consider beautiful or ugly. You are not ugly Isabella; to the contrary.”
They kissed again. A long moment passed between them. Isabella calming her unfamiliar emotions said, “I think we should get on with the interview.”
Louisa, also feeling a rush of emotion she had not felt for many years, rose, went across the table and whispered, “Yes.”
Once Louisa accepted the job, after struggling with the fact that she would work for the Cartel, she and Isabella became, with Morales’ blessing and encouragement, inseparable lovers.
Louisa addressed the attendees of the meeting. “One of the most important things I learned when I worked for the Central Intelligence Agency was the importance of thoroughly understanding the psychological makeup of the subject you were trying to turn. Once you do, the chances of successfully turning that person increases dramatically. From the moment you raised the possibility of her extraction, me and my team sought to develop as much information about her as possible. We wanted to find out what makes her tick, her as strengths and her weaknesses. In layman’s terms, we wanted to know what buttons we should push and not push.”
“We gathered this intelligence in several ways. First, our data mining group went through all of Rebecca’s internet activity for the last ten years. Some sites she visited frequently revealed certain things about her personality. Field operatives interviewed friends of Rebecca and Daniel to learn about their relationship. It always surprises me how much information people will volunteer to total strangers. People, however, love to gossip.
“We learned many things about Rebecca, but far and away the most important thing we learned is this…” She paused, reached down, and pulled up two 16 by 24 color photographs of Rebecca’s battered face, prompting Morales to wince and say in a whisper, “My god!”
Louisa related the back story about Rebecca’s injuries, the sexual assault and its long-term impact on her. “After what she and her husband call the ‘Event,’ she developed a severe case of PTSD. While her physical wounds healed, Rebecca psychological wounds are still with her. The fear of those men coming back is unrelenting. She lives with an undercurrent of terror every moment of every day. And, to make matters worse, the brute that beat her sent her a photo five years later with a note saying he was coming for her.” She held up the photo of the larger man. “She was in a psychiatric facility twice and once talked seriously about committing suicide.”
Louisa concluded with, “Because of her trauma, Rebecca, who was once a robust, and assertive woman is now quite frail. She is a broken woman. The last thing we need to do is to push her too hard. When Rebecca arrives, she needs to feel that she is in a totally safe environment. No threats, just promises. We’ll work around that as we pursue turning her. This brings me to a timetable. You’ve all heard of the Stockholm syndrome, where prisoners would often empathize with their captors. This is what we are aiming for. Through the right harsh conditions, including torture, we’ve often found that within less than a month we can accomplish this goal. Rebecca, however, is different. We can’t be harsh because she will snap and be of little use to us. Slow and gentle is the approach. The goal is to get her fully engaged in our project.”
Morales asked, “How long?”
“I don’t really know. But, the consensus of my team is that we can bring her around in less than six months.” She smiled a bit and looked directly at Morales. “Hector, in your youth, you made quite an impression on Rebecca. According to the notes of the psychiatrist treating her, she mentions you from time to time and how after your summer with her she fought the urge to see you.”
Morales smiled and quipped, “Now you tell me.”
“Are there any residual feelings for you? We don’t know, but if there are, we’ll exploit them. However, we will be on uncharted waters and expect that there will be surprises ahead. We’ll do our best, however.”
Eighteen
•
Metamorphosis
After the meeting, Morales summoned the head of security to his office and showed him the photographs of Rebecca’s battered face and the photograph of the thug that beat her. “Find out who these men are. If they are alive, I want them brought to the hacienda. Put a big team on this and use our resources in the United States, including some of our operatives in the FBI. One or both of them are probably in the FBI database. That prick didn’t realize it, but when he sent his photograph to her, he signed his death warrant.”
Within 48 hours, the security team identified the man as Kevin O’Brien, aged 48, a career criminal from Roxbury, Massachusetts. After serving five years of a ten-year sentence for aggravated assault, prison authorities paroled him. Once out, he joined his brother and together they set out across the country invading homes in a manner similar to the invasion of Rebecca’s house. The brothers’ mother and sister continued to live in Roxbury. Being dutiful sons, they called their mother and sister every two weeks. Local field agents of the Cartel went to Roxbury, but no one had seen the brothers for several years. The team assigned to find the brothers tapped the mother’s and sister’s phones. Two weeks later, they overheard a conversation between Kevin and his sister in which his sister reported, “She’s not doing so well and may have to go to the hospital. Where can I reach you?”
Without thinking about the consequences of his action, he gave the number of the Days Inn motel in Austin, Texas. Twenty-four hours later, as the brothers stepped out of their car after a night of drinking, ten men surrounded and rendered them unconscious with stun-guns. Blindfolded, bound and gagged, the brothers were thrown into the back of a van, driven to a private airport and flown to Mexico. The snatch took twelve seconds. Injected with a heavy narcotic, the men were unconscious for the entire trip. When they awoke, they found themselves in a pitch-black room. They did not understand what happened to them, nor where they were. Their shouted pleas to let them out of the room went unanswered. As morning shards of daylight seeped into the room, they realized that they were in a prison of sorts.
Morales’ only instruction to his men was, “Beat the crap out of them periodically, but don’t kill them. I want them kept alive for now. Feed them, but no one talks to them.” Morales was so infuriated by what the brothers had done to Rebecca that he took part in the first round of beatings. Just before he left the prison he looked down on
the bloodied men. He placed her photograph between them, and said, “Rebecca says hello.”
Several days after Shapiro died, Morales sent Rebecca an email to her, which was businesslike in tone.
“Dear Rebecca,
I am so sorry about the passing of your father. He was a brilliant man who helped develop some key veterinary products for us, possibly saving tens of thousands of our cattle over the years. It was always important to him that the cattle we raised were strong and, above all, healthy. He convinced us to stop using hormones of any kind and to work on feeding the cattle a healthy mix of natural ingredients. In a way, your father was a true ‘green’ proponent. We are renaming our research center, the ‘Meyer Shapiro Veterinary Research Center.’
On another matter, unfortunately, the investors and Sonora Pharmaceutical, after giving your molecule serious consideration, have passed. The chief problem I’m told is the ineffectiveness of the molecule in most of the tested population. Candidly, they felt that if Actalmar could not achieve your goal, it was unachievable. I truly hope that you and Daniel work things out. Please send my best regards to him.
Sincerely,
Hector.”
Two months later, Morales’ team abducted Rebecca. The abduction itself was relatively simple. As she was returning from a bridge game near her home, her car hit rubber dummy that the abduction team threw in front of it. When she got out of the car, a man approached and said in a friendly tone, “Can I help?” Before she could respond, a second man injected her with a potent narcotic. She was unconscious immediately. A third man, a surgeon, took a miniscule piece from her scalp and stitched it closed. The piece was later entered as evidence in Daniel’s murder trial.
Rebecca was taken on a stretcher to the guest house where she stayed decades earlier. Morales sat by Rebecca’s bedside and held her hand. Night was giving way to morning when she began to stir. He moved away and sat in a chair at one end of her room. Rebecca opened her eyes and then, like someone hoping to fall back to sleep, closed them. After several minutes she reopened them, sat up, surveyed the room and, more asleep than awake, saw the figure of a man she couldn’t make out. As the meager light in the room increased, however, the person she saw came into focus.
“Hector?” she asked, and then fell back into a deep drug induced sleep.
It was the slight pain in her head that that brought Rebecca to full consciousness an hour later. Morales was no longer in the room and she had no memory of seeing him. Looking at her environment, Rebecca asked herself, “What’s happened to me? Where am I? Why does my head hurt? Was I in an accident? Am I in a hospital? How did I get into these pink silk pajamas?” And “Where’s Daniel? Is he ok?” As she was attempting to puzzle out these questions and to remember the last thing that happened to her, she heard a knock on the door and said, “Yes?”
It was a woman’s voice. “Excuse me. May I come in?”
“Yes.”
The door opened, and Louisa, pushing a cart bearing fruit, juice, coffee and croissants, entered the room.
“Good morning, Rebecca. I hope you slept well. My name is Louisa Martinez. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
“Where am I?”
Louisa pulled back thick floor to ceiling curtains to reveal windowed doors leading to a terrace. Beyond the terrace, there was the pool in which she swam as a teenager, and beyond that a flower garden tended by several gardeners. What Rebecca could not see were the miniaturized cameras placed discretely in Rebecca’s room and throughout the areas surrounding her room. These provided live feeds to monitors in the hacienda on a real time basis. The cameras were not specifically put into place for Rebecca. They were used to spy on Morales’ guests, many of whom were high level government employees or drug enforcement types, both Mexican and American. Looking beyond the hedges, Rebecca saw the hacienda. She recognized it immediately and blurted, “The hacienda! What am I doing here?”
Louisa had pushed the cart onto the terrace, brought Rebecca a robe, and placed elegant slippers at the foot of her bed. Somewhat automatically, Rebecca put on the robe and slippers, and inspected the silk pajamas she was wearing. She wondered how she got into them. Everything seemed to fit perfectly. “I hope the pajamas are ok. I was told to find suitable clothing for you, but if you don’t like what I had chosen, we can get other clothing for you. I worked with a professional consultant at Liverpool Interlomas in Mexico City. I’ll show you what we purchased after breakfast.”
Wondering what Louisa meant, Rebecca mouthed, “Purchased?” As the last of the narcotic left her system, a sizable ripple of adrenalin and anxiety parsed through her. “What am I doing here? How did I get here?”
“Please,” Louisa said, pointing to the table, “come to the terrace and have some breakfast. I think you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten something. The coffee will perk you up. I don’t know the answers to your questions, but Hector does, and he said he’d be here at one promptly.”
“Don’t know, or don’t care to answer?”
“No. Truly. Until three weeks ago, I was working in Mexico City as the personal assistant to the President of Aero Mexicana. Hector hired me to be a personal assistant to a woman he described as very important. My first job was to buy you clothes. I don’t really know what I’m really supposed to do.”
“Just tell me this. What day is it and what time is it?”
“August fifteenth, and it’s nine in the morning.”
“Oh my God! That’s over fifteen hours; Daniel must be frantic. I need to contact him immediately. Did you find my cell phone among my things? I have to call my husband.”
“We didn’t see your cell phone or your wallet. Do you remember what happened to you?”
“It’s a vague recollection, almost dreamlike. I was driving home along a road I always take and I think I hit someone. Yes, a man. I got out of the car and that’s all I remember. Is he ok? Did I hurt him?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Is there a phone in the room?”
“Yes, but it is only to dial extensions at the hacienda.”
“Well, do you have a cell phone?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, can you get Hector for me?”
A voice from the interior of the room said. “No need. I’m here.”
Morales walked onto the terrace and addressed Louisa first. “Thank you, Louisa. You may go. I will send for you a little later on. Right now, I’m sure that Rebecca has many questions.”
Without saying a word, Louisa turned and left.
“What is going on, Hector?”
“First, tell me how you are feeling.”
“Physically, ok. I have a slight pain in my head, like a bite, and I have a bandage on my arm, similar to the kind I’d get after a flu shot.” She put her index finger on the place from which the pain was emanating and felt what she believed was a small bump, but was the remains of a stitch. Morales sat down, poured some coffee into his cup and into Rebecca’s cup. “It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” She did not respond.
What Morales was to tell Rebecca was part of a well thought out script, one consistent with the goal of turning her into a willing participant in the super-drug project. Everyone involved assumed that this task would take quite some time and might not succeed. His meeting with Rebecca was the first step. The nature of his delivery, tone of voice and even his body movements, had been full rehearsed and critically appraised.
“I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Rebecca. I just ask that you listen and don’t interrupt. If you let me finish, I think what I tell you will answer many of your questions. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded.
“You know me as Hector Morales but I have another name. I’m sure you’ve seen it. I am known as ‘El Fantasma,’ the head of the Aztec Cartel.”
She interrupted adamantly, “Hector. Really! This is no time for joking. I need to know what’s going on. Most important, I need to call Daniel. He’s probably out o
f his mind with worry.”
Morales looked directly at her, and from the tone of his voice she knew he was not joking. “Rebecca, everything I tell you is absolutely true. I would not waste your time or my time by joking. I am El Fantasma.”
He could see the shock register on her face and that she was about to say something when he held up his hand and said, “Please Rebecca, let me finish and if you have questions, and I’m sure you will, I will answer them.” She fell silent.
“Although I am the head of the Cartel, I report to a board of directors. Against my strenuous objections and Isabella’s objections, the Board wanted you here to help develop your Alzheimer’s drug, Clarity, to the point where it would be effective across many demographics including the elderly and those afflicted with anxiety and depression. For reasons I’ll explain another time, the directors believe, as do I, that the development of this drug is essential to the survival of the Cartel.”
She asked quietly, and in a tone showing no fear, “I’m assuming that you will link the drug to a highly addictive element, something I will never help you achieve. So, you might as well return me to my family.”
“We can’t do that, Rebecca. If you don’t help, nothing will happen to you. You will remain here, of course, but whatever your choice we will respect it and we will treat you well. And if you work with us…”
Rebecca didn’t let him finish his sentence and shaking her head negatively interjected wearily, “Never.” She began to weep. “I can’t do it. Just let me go home. Please.” Rebecca looked away and shook her head negatively. Tears ran down her face, and she said bitterly, not so much to Morales, but to kismet, “I guess this is the final straw. First, two maniacs broke into my house and ruined my life. And then, I’m kidnapped by the worst criminals in the world. You know what Hector, frankly I don’t care anymore. Maybe it would be for the best if you killed me.”