Rendition Protocol

by Nathan Goodman

  Back in her bedroom, Jana’s right hand began to twitch.

  In the dream, Jana heard the warnings from a government geologist they had consulted during the investigation. “If that device detonates just above the magma chamber,” he had said, “it will cause a volcanic eruption unlike any on record. It will devastate the western United States and cover much of the country in ash. It will blot out the sky. There will be a year-long winter . . .”

  The Jarrah in her dream turned to face Jana and she could see death in his eyes. Her dream-self was frozen, unable to fight. He pulled out the same knife and plunged it into her chest.

  On the bed, Jana’s breathing stopped and the post-traumatic stress episode took control. Her body began to convulse and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  20

  Goes Undercover

  Touloulou Bar, 5330 Marble Hill Rd., St. John’s, Antigua

  Jana’s little black dress fit snugly against her trim form. It was just enough to attract attention but not enough to be flashy. Her target was here, and she knew it. When she walked in, she couldn’t help but notice Rojas sitting at the corner of the bar and it was all she could do to avoid making eye contact. That’s him, she thought.He was looking right at her and his eyes traced down her distinct curves. Jana’s heart beat faster and she exhaled, an effort to blow out jittery nerves. She felt like she was walking into the mouth of a lion.

  Music thumped from five-foot speakers and bodies pressed tightly against one another, bouncing with the beat. It was a strange concoction of African rhythms bolstered by the unique sound of steel drums—an authentic blend of the island’s West African heritage that had been softened by the salty air, gentle breezes, and a relaxed attitude known to locals as “island time,” a low-stress approach to life.

  She walked to the bar and leaned an elbow onto its polished wood. Rojas wore an expensive blue blazer atop a crisp white button-down shirt. She flicked her blue eyes at him and in response the side of his mouth curled up. She returned the grin but in more of a polite way.

  The bartender, an islander, wiped the bar with a white towel and said, “Ma’am?”

  “A mojito please,” Jana said.

  Rojas stood. “May I make a suggestion?” His Latin accent was softer and his eyes more captivating than she’d expected. He looked at the bartender. “Bring her a Guyanese-passion-fruit rum punch, and use the Ron Guajiro.” He stepped closer. “I hope you don’t find me too forward, but I think you’ll like it. My name is Diego Rojas.” He extended a hand.

  “I’m Claire. That’s a very expensive rum,” Jana said. “About two hundred dollars a bottle as I recall.”

  Rojas’s smile revealed perfect, pearl-white teeth. “A beautiful woman who knows her rum. You’re just visiting our exquisite island?”

  I can’t believe I am this close to him, she thought as goose bumps formed on her arms. To be this close to a psychopath, the one man that had the key to finding Kyle, was terrifying. A bead of perspiration ran down her side.

  “Most islanders prefer either Cavalier or EnglishHarbour,” she said, “but that is for the average local. The Ron Guajiro distillery did its finest work in the ’70s, but that’s no longer in supply. But the 1980s, like he’s pouring now, produced a very respectable bottle.”

  “I’m impressed. Have you ever tried Guajiro from the 1970s?”

  She dropped an innocent hand on his arm and peered into his dark eyes. “One mustn’t covet what one cannot have. Don’t you agree?”

  He laughed as the bartender mixed the punch in front of her. “To covet is to yearn to possess or have something. And what makes you think you can’t have what you covet?” His eyes wandered down her top to what pleased them.

  “Here you are, ma’am,” the bartender said as he placed the rum drink in front of her. She tasted the colorful punch.

  “What do you think?” Rojas said.

  “Let’s see. Although a sacrilege to hide a rum as fine as Guajiro behind the other flavors, I detect traces of clove, pipe tobacco . . . espresso, a bit of tawny port, and orange.”

  “How did you come to know so much about rum? Did your family own a distillery?”

  Keep him talking. Jana believed Kyle was alive and knew his life depended on her ability to penetrate Rojas’s organization. She scanned for the slightest sign of deception. A flicker of facial muscles, the eye darting down and to the left, but she could detect nothing.

  “No, I come to the knowledge more honestly. I work in a bar.”

  He laughed louder this time and returned her touch. When his eyes landed on her hand, his dazzling smile retreated and he said, “But what have you done to your hand?”

  If he knows I beat the shit out of his rival last night, he’s doing a good job hiding it. She allowed a protracted silence to punctuate the moment. “I cut myself shaving.”

  He laughed and tossed down the remainder of his drink. “My, my. But there are cuts on the knuckles. Yet no bruising. How very interesting. Hmmm . . .” He took her other hand. “Marks on both hands. Yes, shaving is a dangerous business. One must be more careful.” This time, the Latin flavor of his accent betrayed a slight English quality, like that of a person who has spent a great deal of time in the United Kingdom.

  Jana shifted positions and another bead of sweat fell. “But why be careful? Life is too short, Mr. Rojas.”

  “Indeed,” he said as he nodded.

  ***

  From a darkened hillside about fifty yards away, Cade squinted through binoculars into the open-air bar. Even at this distance, the music was clearly audible. “Well that didn’t take her long,” he said.

  Stone, lying on the ground next to him, replied, “Did you expect it to?” He adjusted the tripod on his Vortex Razor HD monocular spotting scope to better align his view, then cranked the reticle to zoom in closer. “I mean, how could you not look at her.”

  “Are you trying to tell me she’s beautiful? We dated for a year, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Cade squirmed and shook his head. “Let me ask you a question. Are you the biggest dumbass on the island?”

  Stone continued watching through the scope. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You had her. I mean, you had her. But you let her go? What were you thinking?”

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  Cade put down the binoculars. “It’s exactly that simple.”

  “Let’s drop it, alright? I don’t like talking with Jana’s ex-boyfriend about Jana.”

  Cade shook his head again.

  Stone said, “She’ll have this guy wrapped around her fingers in a minute. Look at him.”

  “Sure wish I could hear what they’re saying. Makes me nervous as hell with her being in such close proximity to this scumbag.”

  “No way I’m sending her in there wearing a wire. But that’s one thing we can agree on. Rojas is a psycho. He’s got no remorse. It took a lot of people to die for Rojas to become Rojas.”

  ***

  Jana leaned back and laughed. She was surprised at how easily things were unfolding. “So where were you raised?”

  “You tell me,” he replied.

  “Let’s see. Dark hair, dark complexion. But not just from spending too much time on the beach. You are Latin.”

  “Is that good?”

  Jana grinned. “I’d say somewhere in Central America. Am I right?”

  “Very good,” he said as he nodded. “I was raised in Colombia. My parents owned a large farm. We produced coffee and sugarcane.”

  She took his hand and flipped it over, then ran her fingers across his palm. “These don’t look like the hands of a farmer. And the Guajiro? One doesn’t often find a man of such sophisticated tastes. They must have been very special people.”

  “They were the second largest coffee exporters in the country. A most exquisite Arabica bean.”

  “You didn’t grow up harvesting sugar cane in the fields, did you
?” Her grin was playful.

  “Far from it. I was sent to the best private boarding schools. Then to Oxford for university.”

  “A classical education, no doubt.”

  “And here I am.”

  “Yes, here you are. And what do you do now?” She knew the answer but wanted to hear his cover story.

  “Let’s not talk about me. I want to hear more about you.”

  Like how to separate me from my panties? Jana’s expression changed. “I can see you coming from a mile away, Mr. Rojas.”

  “My name is Diego,” he said with the soft elegance of a Royal. His eyes locked onto hers. “And because a man finds beauty in a woman, there is something wrong with that?”

  “You are only seeing the surface. You don’t know me.”

  “Nor you I,” he said. “But what fun would life be if we couldn’t discover new people.” His hand found his chin. “But your statement sounds like a warning. Is there something I should know about you?” His smile reminded Jana of a Hollywood leading man.

  She had a hard time withdrawing from his gaze, but finally looked away. “It’s not pretty on the inside.”

  Another well-dressed man with distinct Latin features walked with briskness toward Rojas then whispered something in his ear.

  Who is that? Jana thought.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment?” Rojas said with a gentle touch to her hand. “Business calls.”

  Jana watched the men walk onto the balcony. Rojas was handed a cellphone. He knows. He knows I’m the one who put his rival in the hospital. Now I’m in this deep. Jana’s right hand began to tremble. What am I doing? Her breathing accelerated. Flashbacks of her horrifying ordeal in the cabin with Rafael popped into her vision.

  ***

  From the hillside behind the bar, Stone squinted through the powerful monocular. “Shit, we’ve got a bogey.”

  “What?” Cade stammered as he reached for his binoculars. “Is she in danger?”

  “Of course she’s in danger. She’s two feet from Diego Rojas.”

  “No!” Cade said. “Where’s the new guy you’re talking about?” Cade searched from one side of the club to the other.

  “Hold on,” Stone replied. “I know who that is. That’s Rojas’s intelligence man. Looks like he and Rojas are going out on the balcony.”

  “I can’t see Jana! Where’s Jana?”

  Stone looked over at Cade.

  His expression reminded Cade of his first days working at NSA. He was so green he’d felt like such an idiot.

  Stone said, “Christ, you really are a cubicle jockey, aren’t you?” He pushed Cade’s binoculars a little to the left. “She’s right there. Same place she’s been sitting.”

  “Fine. Alright.” Cade’s breathing settled. “And I’m not a cubicle jockey,” he muttered.

  “Oh, no?” Stone said.

  “I’ve been in the field before.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Fine, don’t believe me.” Cade tried to come up with a real zinger. “Besides, you misused the word.”

  Without losing focus on Jana, Stone said, “What word?”

  “Bogey. A bogey refers to a phantom blip on a radar screen. It originates from an old Scottish word for ‘ghost.’ You misused the word.”

  “Oh yeah,” Stone said. “You’re perfect for fieldwork. It’s also a World War II reference to an unidentified aircraft that is presumably hostile.”

  “Do you know the security guy?”

  “Yeah,” Stone replied. “More of an intelligence consultant though. His name is Gustavo Moreno.”

  “Gustavo Moreno?” Cade parroted back. “Why do I know that name?” Cade closed his eyes and began searching his memory for the name that would not come. “Moreno . . . Moreno, now why do I—” His eyes went wide. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he jammed a hand into his pocket and withdrew his phone.

  21

  Panic Sets In

  In the vast NSA command center, Knuckles saw that it was Cade calling and answered his phone. “Cade. Go.”

  From the hillside in Antigua, Cade stuttered. “Knuckles, Uncle Bill, get him. We’ve got . . . there’s a problem.”

  “Well I guess so,” Knuckles replied. “Dude, calm down.”

  Uncle Bill, the grandfatherly section chief, walked to Knuckles’s desk with a grin on his face. “Is that Cade? Put him on speaker.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The speaker phone blared. “She’s . . . she’s . . .”

  “Just calm down, Cade,” Uncle Bill said as he wiped a few crumbs from his beard. The tiny bits of orange cracker disappeared into the tight-weave carpeting. “Let me guess. Jana’s in a bar? Perhaps surrounded herself with drug lords?”

  There was a short silence. “How did you know that?” Cade said.

  “Come on, buddy,” Knuckles said. “We can see the location of your cellphone. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you’re staked out on a hillside, probably surveilling the, let’s see, a bar called Touloulou?”

  “There’s a couple of security cameras inside the bar,” Uncle Bill said. “We hacked them. If you’re seeing what we’re seeing, she’s been talking to Diego Rojas, right?”

  “Rojas is bad enough, but it’s this new guy—”

  “Gustavo Moreno?” Uncle Bill said. “Yeah, that’s not good. Been looking for him for a long time.”

  “Dammit,” Cade said, “Why didn’t you guys tell me we had eyes inside?”

  “Dude,” Knuckles said. “What fun would that be? We just wanted to see how long it would take before you called us in a blustery panic.” Knuckles handed Bill a five-dollar bill. “And I lost the bet.”

  “Yeah, hysterical,” Cade said. “Moreno, he’s the guy that used to work for Pablo Escobar? Do I remember that right?”

  “He’s the one,” Uncle Bill said. “He was head of Colombia’s National Intelligence Directorate. We haven’t seen him for over a year. I’m impressed you remembered his bio.”

  “Didn’t he used to work on our side?” Cade said. “But then took up with the Medellín Cartel?”

  Knuckles jumped in, always eager to assert his knowledge. “Looks like he’s changed teams. Our workup says he spent the first ten years of his career at Langley, took his intelligence experience to Colombia’s NID, then disappeared.”

  “How does the CIA have another mole?”

  Uncle Bill answered. “He wasn’t a mole, Cade. He worked legitimately for the CIA. He resigned and went back to his home country to work intelligence there. It’s after that that he decided the pay was better working for a drug lord.”

  “Whatever,” Cade said. “But if Rojas has Moreno working for him now, and Moreno is gathering intelligence for the Los Rastrojos cartel, then that means—”

  Uncle Bill interrupted, “That Rojas will likely run a background check on Jana. He certainly already knows that a woman broke that guy from the Oficina de Envigado cartel into pieces last night. What we’re hoping, of course, is that this chance encounter with her will lead to Rojas trusting her.”

  “Bill,” Cade said, “why are you so calm? If Moreno runs a full bio on Jana, they’ll no doubt have her fingerprints. They’re going to find out she was FBI. And if they know she used to be a federal agent, they’re going to suspect she’s working undercover.”

  “We’re prepared for this eventuality, Cade.”

  “What?” he yelled into the phone.

  “For a man with the intelligence-gathering capabilities of Gustavo Moreno, it’s not surprising he would be able to find she’s a former fed.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “No, I’m not,” Bill said, “but I’m prepared for it, and so is Jana. Look, the only thing she’s going to do tonight is pique the interest of Rojas, right? Our only hope of finding a clue to Kyle’s whereabouts is for Jana to get on the inside. We’re assuming Rojas will find her identity and Jana will not deny it. In fact, she’ll embrace the fact that she was Bureau and threw
away her badge. Moreno’s background check will confirm she’s been living in a tiki hut on the beach ever since, under an assumed identity.”

  “The story is plausible, Cade,” Knuckles added. “It’s not unlike the story of Gustavo Moreno himself. He also worked at high levels within the US government, but became disillusioned and left.”

  Uncle Bill said, “When she gets back to the safe house tonight, you guys go over the story.”

  Cade rubbed his eyes. “Fine.” He exhaled. “I can’t believe we’re using her as bait.”

  “Cade?” Uncle Bill said, “Jana is a grown woman of high intelligence, and she’s especially loyal to her friends. We’re not exactly using her.”

  “How do you figure?” Cade replied.

  “Would you want to be the one who didn’t tell her Kyle was suspected as missing? If anything happened to Kyle and she could have done something about it, she’d kill the three of us for not telling her. We may be using her as bait, but she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

  “Bill?” Cade said. “Kyle is not suspected of being missing. He’s missing.”

  “We’re on the same team, Cade. But at this point, Kyle is still assumed to be under deep cover. Unless we have proof he’s been abducted, we’ll never get authorization for a strike team. I want you to understand the magnitude of what we’re talking about here. If we send in a team to extract Kyle, and it turns out he’s not been abducted, we’d not only be effectively ruining six months of undercover work, we’d be violating international law. You’re not in the United States down there. Antigua is a sovereign nation. It would be viewed as an incursion, and the repercussions on the world stage would be disastrous.”

  Cade rubbed his eyes. “Fine. But, Bill, when this is over, I’m going to tell Mrs. Uncle Bill Tarleton about the secret stash of orange crackers under your desk.”

  22

  An Island Arrival

  V. C. Bird International Airport, Pavilion Drive, Osbourn, Antigua.