Into the Jungle

by David M. Salkin

  They left through customs and picked up their luggage of civilian clothes to jibe with their cover story and then headed out to pick up a shuttle to the rent-a-car place at the other end of the airport. There, they picked up two white Mitsubishi “cab-over” vans, similar to Volkswagen beetle vans that Mackey remembered from his youth. They drove through the highly industrial area to the center of town, where they checked into a small hotel that was expecting them. Julia wouldn’t be in Santos until the next day, when the container ship was due to arrive at the port.

  The men checked in, threw their luggage into their rooms, and did what guys always do in a new city—they walked until they found a place to eat and drink and look at women. They had changed out of their T-shirts, thrown on jeans and casual clothes, and found a little café with seating outside that overlooked a shopping area. With an entire day to kill, and a “company American Express Card,” they would enjoy the day.

  The waitress didn’t speak much English or Spanish, but Cascaes surprised everyone with a little Portuguese. He ordered Caipirinhas and beers for everyone, with some Feijoada (black beans) and Churrasco.

  “Where the hell did you learn to speak Portuguese?” asked Mackey after the cute little waitress left, not oblivious to the stares and comments the men made about her. They had practically taken over the entire outside seating area.

  “Cascaes!” he replied, “It’s a Portuguese name,” He laughed. “I’m first generation American, Chris. My parents both spoke fluent Portuguese. I’m not fluent anymore, but I know enough to get us food and beers.”

  “Yo’ skipper, what did you order? I don’t want no Taco Bell,” said Earl with a smile.

  “Don’t worry, it’s barbeque—you’ll dig it. But watch the Caipirinhas—drink too many and you’ll be speaking Portuguese, too.”

  “Yeah, man—what is that stuff?” asked Earl.

  “Cachaca and lime. Similar to turpentine or butane,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh, great” said Moose, “get everyone hammered and then go out working…”

  Mackey shot him a look—there was to be no referring to working at all in public.

  “You know,” said Moose, “Saving the souls of our brothers with a hangover.” He smiled.

  Raul Santos stood up and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to my city, my friends—Santos, Brazil, named after the famous American explorer who discovered beer.” Everyone laughed and thanked him for allowing them to drink beer in his city.

  The banter continued until the waitress returned with a busboy and trays of food. It was enough to feed an army, which by coincidence was exactly what they needed. To be able to relax like gentlemen on a beautiful sunny day overlooking little shops and the ocean was a treat that most of them hadn’t enjoyed before during a mission. At one point during the meal, Mackey looked around at the men and realized no one had spoken in almost five minutes. Each man was staring at the sea, sipping cold drinks and enjoying his full belly. It was a perfect moment, and Mackey smiled ear to ear.

  Cascaes caught him smiling and looked back at the men. For a second, he felt a little choked up, feeling the love and pride he had for this crew, especially his SEALs. They had all saved each other’s ass more times than they could count, and now, to sit totally relaxed overlooking the ocean that was a sailor’s home as they prepared for the unknown yet again was just a beautiful place to be. Cascaes gave Mackey’s fist a pound with his own fist, and they didn’t have to say a word to know what the other felt.

  Cascaes ordered a couple of orders of flan for dessert, just so the guys could try something new. The sweet custard brought mixed reviews, but the Caipirinhas had been a hit, and the men were a little buzzed. Mackey paid the bill and the men spent the rest of the day walking around the city like regular tourists. They wanted to enjoy every minute of the Brazilian sunshine, and so they walked to the beach.

  Only Mackey and Cascaes were prepared for the Brazilian beach scene. Men and women in Brazil didn’t sunbath like Americans. The women, most of whom were topless, wore thongs that weren’t much wider than dental floss as bottoms, and the men’s suits weren’t much bigger. Mackey laughed and commented it was the first time he’d seen his crew speechless. The men sat up on the boardwalk drinking cold beer and staring shamelessly for hours. It was a good day.

  Chapter 22

  Vega’s Camp

  Vega sat on the ground in front of his cabin facing Kuka. Carlos sat back on the porch about thirty feet away, AK-47 across his lap, watching intently. Two of Kuka’s warriors sat on their haunches down the trail a bit. Obviously, both “chiefs” were a little tense about the meeting. Although Vega spoke some of the Guarani language, the subtleties needed in a complicated conversation were lacking, and it was frustrating for Vega to try and express himself in what amounted to third grade thoughts.

  Over the course of fifteen minutes, Vega was able to convey that eating Eduardo was not acceptable behavior to Vega. Kuka, for his part, was fairly blasé about the whole incident. As far as he was concerned, Eduardo had insulted one of his best warriors, and Vega and his men had been too rough with their women. Kuka hinted that any future contact with his women would be very costly, if he was to allow it to happen again. Vega told Kuka that he needed the women to get busy again harvesting the Coca leaves, and explained that they needed much more than they had been producing. Kuka was fine with that, as long as he would be compensated. Rainey season was coming soon, and tarps and blankets would be required in larger quantities. Kuka had been given an umbrella once by Vega, which he had in turn given to one of his wives. The umbrella was very impressive to the whole tribe, and now Kuka wanted two more. It was hard for Vega not to smile at the hard bargain Kuka was demanding for millions of dollars worth of cocaine.

  In the end, Vega promised Kuka umbrellas, steel pots, knives, tarps and blankets and some jewelry for the women. In return, Kuka promised his men wouldn’t harm Vega’s men again so long as they behaved themselves, and Kuka would make sure the women got busy finding and drying the leaves. Kuka’s hangover was sufficient enough that he never mentioned rum. Vega lit a cigar and let Kuka puff on it a few times, but Kuka hacked his brains out and gave it back to Vega. He left smiling, and all was well in the jungle kingdom again, just in time for the arrival of Vega’s Middle Eastern houseguests.

  Vega’s men were still a little uneasy around the Guaranis, and remained armed and in small groups. The Guaranis didn’t hold a grudge, and acted as if the whole incident had never occurred. Justice had been done, and the event was finished. The fact that Eduardo’s smashed skull had been boiled out and was hanging somewhere in Manguk’s hut was not lost on Vega’s men, however, and the once relaxed atmosphere was still very tense to the outnumbered foreigners.

  By the time the sun was getting ready to drop behind the top of the forest canopy, two Guaranis entered the camp leading three tired looking Arabs. They had called in a few times over the past few hours, and Vega had instructed his men to cook up some fish for his weary guests. The tension wasn’t lost on the three outsiders when they entered the camp. They greeted Enrique and immediately asked if there was something going on, as they were nervous enough about their own problems with the authorities. Vega related the incident, which made the three men obviously uncomfortable, but they didn’t say much about it other than the fact they were happy it was over and Kuka had control over his people again.

  “How long will you stay?” asked Vega.

  Hakim smiled. “Did you know, in my country, it is considered rude to ask a guest how long they will stay with you? Are we unwanted in your camp, Señor Vega?”

  Vega smiled and made light of it. “Of course not!” he said with a big smile. “In fact, I am happy to have three more ‘civilized men’ to add to our numbers. You are perfectly safe from the police here, and I am reasonably sure you are safe from the Guaranis now, as well. I will have to send my men out in the next few
days though to pick up some supplies to keep the crazy old chief calm, though. For a few minor supplies, I can keep my little army producing and under control. Can I get anything for you when they go to the city?”

  “Perhaps some mosquito repellent, if you would be so kind,” said Raman Qasim. “I don’t know how you get used to this jungle. It is amazing you don’t all have malaria.”

  “Who said we don’t?” said Vega, half serious. “And God knows what else. I won’t be unhappy to leave this place one day soon. In any event, I have a few cans in my cabin. You may help yourself. There are nets to sleep in as well.”

  Qasim bowed slightly and said thank you, then added, “Your men did very well last week, Señor Vega. While it made our departure too risky, I do have to tell you that the worldwide reaction was even more than we could have expected. The American stock market fell another five hundred points, flights were cancelled, and everyone is screaming at each other on the television. America grows weaker by the day.”

  Vega tried a polite smile, but inside was concerned about losing his best customers. He changed the subject. “Come, you must be tired. My men have prepared a feast. Carlos! Take care of our guests!” He clapped his hands, and his men came jogging over to escort the men to a large fire where two five foot catfish were roasting. Dinner would be fresh and delicious, and much less controversial than the night before’s.

  Chapter 23

  Santos, Brazil

  The two Chrises were sitting outside at a little café enjoying Brazilian coffee and a sweet roll, waiting for Mackey’s cell phone to ring with a call from Julia. The rest of the team had slept in a bit, after consuming a few extra beers the night before.

  Mackey put his coffee down and leaned closer to Cascaes. “Ya’ know, when I live like an actual human being, like on a beautiful morning like this, I realize how many of my years have been spent living like a fucking animal. I think this is my last gig, Chris. You know I always say I’m too old for this shit…well, I’m getting too old for this shit. My buddy Skripak was right—it’s time to get out while I can still walk.”

  “Yeah? Then what? You don’t strike me as the type to sit around doing nothing,” said Cascaes.

  “I didn’t say doing nothing. I can fly commercial—or maybe just see the world as a civilian for a while, instead of always attacking it. There’s a difference.”

  Cascaes laughed. “Yeah, well, with my promotion, I think I’ll stick around for a while. Besides, I love what I do, and these guys are my family…”

  Mackey’s cell phone rang. He picked up and said hello, and a very sweet voice with a British accent said “hello” back.

  “Señor Mackey, from the Los Angeles Outreach Ministry, I presume? It’s Julia.”

  Mackey was still trying to get over the British accent. “Julia, nice of you to call. I’m just having a coffee and enjoying a beautiful morning. Care to join us?”

  “Sounds lovely, darling, but I’m down at the dock presently, waiting for your Connex container.”

  Mackey put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Cascaes, “She called me darling…”

  “Well, shall we meet you down there?” he asked.

  “No, actually, it’s probably better if I go it with my usual people. I will give you a ring when we have the truck loaded and ready to go. We’ll swing by your hotel and you can follow us out. Have your men ready, by say, ten o’clock?”

  “You have a date,” he said, already meaning it like a real date just from the sound of her voice. He looked at Mackey, “A British accent. That kills me, man. I thought for sure she would sound Spanish or something.”

  Cascaes just laughed.

  “We’ll finish our coffee and wake up the crew and get them fed. She’s coming by at ten, and it’s going to be a long trip.”

  The two of them finished the coffees, the best they had ever had, and took the long way back to the hotel so they could see the beach again. The water was blue and clean—a far cry from the swamp they had just left, and the one they would soon enter. The team was assembled fairly quickly and had loaded up their vans just as another small van followed by a large tractor-trailer pulled up in front of the hotel. The van pulled over, and out of the passenger side door emerged a stunning young woman who stopped the entire team in their tracks.

  Julia Ortiz had a bouncy walk that just read as “happy.” Even though she was petit at five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet, she was always the center of attention. She was wearing jeans and work boots with an old sweatshirt that had the sleeves cut off, and could not possibly have looked sexier if she had been wearing an evening gown. Her short black hair fluttered in the warm breeze and her teeth were ivory white against her tan skin. Even Cascaes, who tended to be “cooler” than the others said “holy shit” quietly to Mackey, who had instantly fallen in love.

  Mackey strode out to greet the peppy young woman who approached the group with such confidence. He extended his hand and said, “You must be Julia Ortiz?”

  She shook it with a firm handshake and said, “And you must be Señor Christopher?”

  Her accent was rather bizarre. She looked as Brazilian as anyone walking in the city, but her accent was mostly British with only a little twang of something else—Portuguese or Spanish?

  “That’s me,” Mackey smiled, “But most of my friends just call me Mack. This here is Chris Jensen, my assistant in our outreach program, and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the fellas later, when their tongues are back in their mouths.”

  She shook hands with Cascaes, now using his fake passport name of Jensen. All of the military personnel in the group had been given new last names only. The CIA members had changed names so many times prior to this mission that it was safe to keep theirs’ as they were. Dex Murphy had feared that if things got too complicated, one of the men might slip up, as they were not well trained in spy-craft. Since the major risk was with military records popping up on someone’s computer somewhere, it was only those members of the team whose records were altered.

  Julia ignored Mackey and disappeared into the group of men, introducing herself to each. Moose, who tended to be a large teddy bear when not killing people, gave her a hug and lifted her right off her feet. Not to be outdone, each team member after Moose gave her a kiss hello and his most charming smile. She was used to the attention, and played up to each of them. In only a few seconds, she had her own fan club.

  She walked back to Mackey smiling, and said, “There, now we’re old friends. Do you wish to travel with me in my van? We have a very long day of driving. It would give us an opportunity to chat a while.”

  “Sounds perfect,” said Mackey. “Chris, you come with us. Will he fit?” he asked after he invited Chris.

  “Yes, actually, I will have my two men drive your two vans, and I will drive you myself in this one.” With that settled, her two helpers, hired by her in Paraguay three years ago, were introduced and headed out to drive the men across Brazil.

  The drive out of the city was slightly harrowing, with traffic coming from every direction, and no shortage of horn usage or cursing between drivers. Julia had commented that only drivers in New York or Rome were more insane. The small convoy of three vans and the truck managed to stay together and get to the highway out of the city that headed south-southwest towards Curitiba, one of the larger cities around the area. There, they would pick up the Rodovia Panamericana highway and head west towards Cascavel and to Foz do Iguacu, on the Paraguayan border.

  Julia drove like a New Yorker, honking and cursing while smiling all the while, and chatting with the two Chrises. She commented that it was very polite to give them both the same name so she wouldn’t forget. She asked why the rest of the team wasn’t given the name Chris as well, and the two men couldn’t help but instantly love her warmth and sense of humor.

  “Are you sure you are CIA?” asked Mackey finally. “Yo
u are way too cute.”

  “CIA?” she asked with feigned shock. “Oh my! You mean, as in a secret agent or spy or something? How exciting! No, I just help the local Guaranis. But if I was CIA, it would be a much better cover than a platoon of commandos wearing Jesus Loves You T-shirts.”

  They all laughed. Finally, Julia smiled and spoke with a more serious voice. “I have been doing some poking around and it looks like your three targets have disappeared back into the jungle, I assume to Vega’s camp. We had coordinated picking them up at several airports that we had leads on, but they must have gotten spooked.”

  “How much do you know about Vega and the three stooges?” asked Mackey, sitting in the middle of the front bench seat between Julia and Cascaes. Cascaes kept track of their friends via the side-mirror to make sure they stayed together.

  “In Eastern Paraguay, Enrique Vega might as well be the president. He uses the Pampidos Guaranis as his own army, along with his own crew, the size of which is unknown. He is so deep in the jungle, we can’t even get satellite images of anything that resembles a camp. We do know that he has wiped out every other coke smuggler in Eastern Paraguay, and whacked politicians in Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina over the past six years. Everyone in the tri-border region is scared to death of him, and rightfully so. You saw what happened to McKnight. While Al Qaeda in Iraq may be claiming responsibility, I am damn sure it was Vega’s people. So is the director, which is why you are here.”

  “So how is it you know so much about him, but no one knows where he is?” asked Mackey.