Field Agent

by Dom Testa

  She took it, looked at my fake name printed on one side, turned it over, then looked back at me.

  “A bug?” She shook her head and handed it back. “No, we don’t have that. But I like it.”

  “If we put off your appointment another day we could have some flown down for you with your phony identification.”

  “No. We’re going in. I’m not going to take a chance that he cancels if I put him off.”

  Now I lay on a ridiculously hard bed, listening to traffic outside the window, wondering where everyone in San Lorenzo could possibly be going after midnight. In about 12 hours Gamez would walk into the lion’s den, and it would help if I was well rested.

  At three a.m. I rolled over and checked my messages. Nothing from Poole nor Quanta. Nothing from Christina. I set the phone back on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling.

  Gamez met me at the hotel at 11. If she was nervous it didn’t show. Of course, she’d worked with Quanta in the early days, so her blood could probably cool nuclear rods. Besides, this was an easy assignment; Deele wasn’t on guard. Yet.

  We walked to an outdoor cafe where she immediately lit up a cigarette.

  “We’re on for two o’clock,” she said. “Confirmation from Ms. Capaldi.”

  “Yeah, Deele’s right hand,” I said. “Where’s Peach?”

  “He’s setting up the listening equipment in your room.”

  “Oh. He’s in my hotel room right now?”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll stay out of your underwear drawer. I think.”

  I looked at the menu while I said, “Where did you find him, anyway?”

  “Peach? Oh, I’ve known him all his life. That’s why I trust him.”

  She hadn’t answered the question, but that was pretty much her style. I changed the subject.

  “We’re sure now that Deele’s objective is to use the soybean success as a way to get his foot in the door. But ultimately he’ll go after all the major cash crops. And not just in the Americas, but around the world. Global extortion, you could say. Anyone who doesn’t want to play ball will find themselves with a bunch of withered and dead crops.”

  “And starving people,” she added.

  “Yeah. Lots of those.”

  She focused for a minute on her cigarette and the people walking past the cafe. Then she said, “You know, Eric, what I find most interesting about this case? Just how easy it’s been for Jason Deele.”

  The server had set down a basket of small, cheese-flavored rolls. I took a bite. Then another.

  “What do you mean?” I said through a mouthful of bread.

  She stubbed out her cigarette. “I mean, what he’s doing is diabolical, but the idea is not far-fetched. He’s introduced a sort of cancer to the world of food crops, and he’s already prepared with the antidote. So what I can’t figure out is—”

  “Why hasn’t someone already done this?” I said, finishing her sentence.

  “Exactly.”

  I took another bite. “It’s a damned good question.”

  “And do you have an answer?”

  I wiped my hands on a napkin. “The only answer I have is not a very pleasant one. Because you’re right, what he’s doing isn’t comic-book crazy, or something from a mindless action movie. Anybody could’ve done it. Jason Deele and Jaclyn Stone may not have been the first to think of it, but they’re at least the first to put it into action.”

  She stared at me, then gave a slow nod. “And they might not be the last.”

  “That,” I said, “is my biggest concern. And why we have to stop them. Cold.”

  At 1:30 I was back in my room after the quick lunch with Gamez, followed by a walk to release some tension. There’s something tantalizing about walking around an unfamiliar city, surrounded by people you not only don’t know, but will never know. I tried to do it on every assignment if given a chance. The charge from that experience, alone in a sea of strange faces, unsure of what’s to the left or the right—and not caring—gave me a rush.

  For the longest time I didn’t understand why, but it finally occurred to me. Getting lost in a new city, and passing by so many nameless characters in my personal play, I understood that I was seeing everything in a new, fresh way that none of the people around me could. It was all so boring and predictable for them, pure wallpaper in their steady, scripted life, that they no longer saw all the things I could. This play was just for me, and they were extras. They came on and off the stage without even seeing the set.

  But I was unencumbered by their dull routines. I was free to see everything, hear everything. Even the smells were new experiences for me, while the natives around me felt no stirring of excitement.

  That’s what walking alone in a strange city meant to me. Like I was given a gift nobody else around me had anymore. They wouldn’t receive that gift until they, too, escaped their ordinary surroundings and ventured out. Granted, getting away didn’t create this euphoric experience for everyone; some might be terrified to strike out into the unknown. But for inquisitive creatures like me, it’s a dopamine blast. It’s why sometimes my walks stretched for hours.

  Not this time.

  In the room I found the gear Peach had set up. I spent a few minutes getting a feel for it, but it wasn’t too complicated. The first thing I did was install a patch to Washington so Poole could record the whole thing.

  Then I sat back and waited.

  The meeting would take place at the private villa Deele had obtained for his occasional visits. The operative word there was private. About 20 minutes outside of town, the gated home itself wasn’t large enough to qualify as vulgar, but the land around it was expansive, providing a nice buffer for visiting billionaires. Gamez intended to dictate everything she saw until she was ushered inside.

  A little after two o’clock she checked in with me. I slipped on my headphones and sat forward.

  “Pulling up to the property,” she said. “Not much visible in the way of security. Two men in a guard house at the gate. Hold on.”

  I listened as she announced herself to the security men. They went through the routine of checking for her name on a list, and even making a call to the house. Seemed like overkill for an appointment, but it may have been done for show, purely for the image it presented to visitors. No one, including Ministry flunkies, just waltzed in to see the Great and Powerful Oz.

  “Okay, I’m through,” she said. “They were very specific about where I should park.” She scoffed. “Lots of control issues with these guys.”

  I heard the engine die, the door open, and then the crunch of her steps on gravel as she approached the door. After the call from the front gate they were awaiting her.

  “Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Deele,” she said, and I noticed she added a believable accent to her English. Damn, she really was very good.

  She was ushered inside and urged to make herself comfortable in what I assumed would be a formal living room or study. Then things were quiet for a few minutes. Gamez had to assume the room was under audio and video surveillance, so there was no commentary from her. We all had to be patient.

  I leaned over to the minibar, pulled out another diet soda, and cracked it open. Maybe the ingredients were the same from country to country, but it certainly tasted different. A little better, in fact.

  Looking back at the equipment, I took a long gulp. At least the burp was the same in every country.

  “Ms. Medina,” I heard a familiar voice call out.

  “Yes,” Gamez said. “You are Ms. Capaldi, I presume?”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you. Thank you for driving out this afternoon. Could we get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”

  “No, thank you. Will Mr. Deele be along soon?”

  “Well, unfortunately he’s been called away at the last minute.”

  I set the soda down.

  Gamez’s voice was tense. “He was called away? And yet this meeting is very important.”

  Diana Capaldi put on her soothing,
let-me-fix-it voice. “It absolutely is important, Ms. Medina. Which is why Mr. Deele has authorized me to speak for him, and has given me the power to approve any arrangement I feel would be—”

  “This is an outrage,” Gamez said, her voice almost frightening. “I expressed the importance of our conversation when the meeting was arranged. Now to discover that Mr. Deele has pawned me off on a secretary?”

  “Well, Ms. Medina, that’s not exactly—”

  “How dare he come to this country to do business, then show such total disrespect for the ministry controlling his ability to do that business.”

  Capaldi was uttering the expected apologies, trying to defuse the situation. But I’d pretty much tuned out.

  This wasn’t a case of Deele being called away at the last minute. He’d had no intention of making this appointment. And he hadn’t cancelled because he wanted the Ministry official to drive all the way out to his rented villa. While he . . . what?

  That was the question. Why would Jason Deele set up an appointment if he never intended to show up? What else on his agenda would take priority?

  I took another drink of the soda as I worked through it.

  The only answer that made sense was that Deele, after the success he’d already achieved in Paraguay, felt it was below him to grovel any more to the government. This was his power play, a way for him to say I’ve already got your most powerful farmers on my side. If the Ministry and other farming conglomerates wanted more in the way of kickbacks, he’d leverage his growing influence to show them who was in control. It sounded just like him.

  Gamez was still huffing and puffing, but I could tell she now was just playing a part. She was ready to leave.

  I pulled off the headphones and tossed them onto the table. Deele and Stone wouldn’t be at another meeting. They’d be at their local lab, investing more time in their most important assets: the bionic beans and their associated toxin. I could discuss that with Peach, who was monitoring the lab from his post in the vacant building, but I’d stupidly neglected to get his personal contact info. He hadn’t seemed anxious to share his digits with me anyway.

  It meant I’d just have to get out there and look into it myself.

  25

  Quanta was once again out of pocket. According to Poole she was in a meeting that had already lasted more than two hours.

  “Come on now, don’t make me beg,” I said over the satellite phone. “Give me a hint what it’s about.”

  “You know I couldn’t do that, even if I knew.”

  “You’re killin’ me, Poole.” I looked out the window of the ride share, wondering if the neighborhood would look familiar as we got closer. My lone visit with Gamez to the surveillance post had been late at night.

  “All right,” I said, “just let her know I’m on my way to check on our naughty American friends.”

  A text came in from Gamez, asking where I was. I told Poole to hold on, then replied to Gamez that I’d get back to her in a moment.

  “Have you uploaded lately?” Poole asked when I finished.

  “This morning. Why?” I laughed. “You got a bad feeling I’ll get blown up or something?”

  The driver glanced at me in his rearview mirror. I’m sure he understood every word I said, but without Poole’s side of the conversation it was just a string of weird sentences.

  “No,” Poole said. “I just know it’s important to have the most current data, just in case.”

  “Yep, just in case. Well, we have recordings of everything else that’s important today, so no problem.”

  “And you’ve got a series-8 on you, I take it?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  I promised to check in again when I was finished, then ended the call. The driver threw another look my way, so I just smiled and complimented his collection of beads hanging from the mirror.

  Gamez answered on the first ring.

  “So, a wasted trip for you,” I said.

  “Maybe. At least it told us that Deele has no intention of sucking up to the government once he gets a foothold in a country.”

  “Right. So I’m making an unannounced visit myself.”

  That sank in with her for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “Is that wise?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said.

  “No. It’s better if you’re not involved this time. On a bunch of levels. Let the American handle this one while you and your people remain clean.”

  Yet another glance from the driver, but what exactly could he glean from my side of the conversation?

  Gamez fell silent. The vibe coming through the phone radiated her displeasure. And I couldn’t blame her; some hotshot cowboy comes riding into her country and then makes a dangerous—and potentially stupid—move without her? She had every right to be pissed.

  But it wasn’t going to stop me from doing it. Sometimes an operation needed an assault team to ensure success; other times it required speed and stealth, and called for one person. Gamez would know that, even if she didn’t like it in this particular case.

  The driver pulled over and seemed perplexed by the address. It was an intersection in an industrial neighborhood with a handful of people walking around, not one of whom looked as out of place as I did. I tipped him with cash and, when he thanked me, I gave the standard A-okay sign with my fingers. I hoped the gesture translated well in Paraguay. For all I knew I’d just suggested he make love to his dog.

  I waited until he drove off and turned the corner, then did an about-face and walked the other direction. If Poole was correct—and when wasn’t she?—then I was three blocks from my target. I passed some blue-collar workers going the other way, each of whom gave me a curious look. But no one spoke a word.

  Four minutes later the address was right in front of me. I stopped and pretended to check something on my phone. With furtive glances, I mentally catalogued a squatty building made of brick, smaller than most of the others around it. There was a main entrance I had zero interest in. At the far end a crude loading dock looked enticing.

  There was no way Deele’s hastily-arranged space in this Asunción warehouse district would have nearly the security upgrades found in his Texas lab. But it wouldn’t be alarm-free, either. I’d brought along my small pack of goodies to handle the easier stuff.

  As I straightened up to put my phone away, a large shadow fell over me. I looked up.

  Into the face of Peach.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I muttered to myself. Then, without raising my voice or making a scene that might draw attention, I said emphatically, enunciating each word like I was speaking to an idiot. “Go back. Understand? Go back to the listening post.”

  When he didn’t move or say anything, I tried it in Spanish. This time with an almost-comical pantomime of him walking away.

  He crossed his massive arms as if in defiance. Then, after staring at me for a moment, he said in crystal-clear English: “Your Spanish needs work. Better stick with your mother tongue.”

  I probably gawked for a second, then gave a small laugh. “Well, use it or lose it, amigo, and I haven’t had to use Spanish for a while. You know, you could’ve indicated that you’re able to string sentences together.”

  “More fun to watch you make a fool of yourself.”

  “Right.” I threw a glance at the building to see if we’d drawn any attention, but everything was quiet. “I suppose Gamez sent you. She just couldn’t let me do this alone, eh?”

  “Guess not. So what’s the plan?”

  “I thought you didn’t like Americans.”

  He shrugged, which, given his size, was an intimidating act on its own. “You have good hamburgers and video games. But that’s about it. So no plan, right?”

  I could grow to like this giant slab of smartassiness. He was like a 300-pound version of me.

  Nodding toward the loading dock, I said, “Entry point there. That’s as far as I’ve got.”

  “Okay,” he sa
id. “I suggest we walk back the way you came, cross over, then head back toward the entrance. Keep talking to me the whole time.”

  “There’s an alley we can use along the right side, near the dock,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  By the time we made the loop and approached the alley, I’d learned about Peach’s favorite drink, his guilty-pleasure TV show, and made an attempt at his real name, which he asked me to never try again.

  Looking as casual as possible, we turned down the alley, then, once clear of the front side’s line of sight, stopped to survey the scene. The building wasn’t in the best condition, which led me to wonder what could really be going on inside.

  But my instincts about security were correct. I nodded toward the low roof of the building and Peach followed my gaze. An obvious camera was aimed at the loading dock and the secure door beside it. That left plenty of space unwatched.

  “Look for a power panel,” I said. “Just stay out of the camera’s zone.”

  Peach edged across the alley to the corner of the building and peered around the back. With his head he indicated pay dirt. Joining him, I saw the box mounted against the wall. It took about a minute to hook up the clamps and run a quick test.

  “If we run into trouble, remember where these are,” I said, tapping on the clamps. “All right, let’s go.” We moved toward the security door. I fumbled in my pack and removed the lock pick set. Sounds fancy, but you can find them online for the cost of a good bottle of bourbon.

  Before starting, I gave two mild raps on the door. After 30 seconds I went to work and had it open. I slipped inside, followed by my hefty sidekick.

  The condition inside matched the worn-down exterior. Through the dim light I took in ragged walls with multiple holes in the drywall. The light fixture in the ceiling was a solitary bulb with no cover. At the moment it was turned off, assuming it worked at all. The thin strip of windows near the top were crusted over with filth, which explained the crappy lighting. We’d evidently entered a seldom-used storeroom.

  “Where are your cameras set up?” I whispered to Peach.