The Unending Chase

by Cap Daniels

  He stepped aboard and soon appeared at the top of the ladder with his binder tucked under his arm and his coffee mug held firmly in his left hand.

  We shook hands, and he took a seat. Dominic was one of the smoothest, most relaxed people I’d ever known. He never appeared to be in a hurry or worried about anything. The Dominic Fontana who sat in front of me didn’t match the man I knew as my handler.

  As if he thought someone were watching him, he looked around, nervously shifting his position, and crossing and uncrossing his legs.

  “Relax, Dominic. Are you all right?”

  He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand after swallowing a mouthful of coffee.

  “Yeah, I’m okay, Chase. It’s just this mission. I don’t know. It’s not what I expected would come down the pipe for you. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”

  The man had my attention. I placed my cup on the table beside me and leaned forward. “Let’s see it.”

  He stared at his leather binder. “You can say no, Chase. You don’t have to accept everything that comes down. You can always say no.”

  “Let me see, Dominic.” I reached for the binder, and he reluctantly released it.

  I leaned back and crossed my legs as the thick, partially redacted file came to rest on my lap. I was shocked to see it written almost entirely in Spanish.

  “Since when do we get redacted files?” I asked, holding up a page that had more lines blacked out than visible.

  “I’ll have the clean version soon, but for now, that’s all we have.” He rechecked his watch, then glanced anxiously over the Bridge of Lions across the Matanzas River.

  “Is Clark here?”

  I slid the sheet back into the file. “Yeah, he’ll be up in a few minutes. Does this involve him?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.” Dominic stared through the deck, presumably to ascertain whether Clark was on his way up. He cleared his throat and pointed to the file. “This one’s in Panama, back where. . . .”

  “Where my parents and sister were murdered,” I said, letting him off the hook.

  “Yeah, exactly.” Some of the tension in his face relaxed. “It’s the Chinese this time.” He paused.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Look, Chase. We don’t know who killed your family—”

  “Somebody knows,” I said.

  “Yes, somebody knows everything, but that’s not what this is about. This has nothing to do with your family’s murder. This is about money and power.”

  “Everything’s about money and power, Dominic. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  He nervously cleared his throat again, reached out, and flipped to the final pages of the file.

  “We believe they’re going to sink a ship.” He poked his long, bony finger at a high-resolution satellite photo that showed a container ship passing beneath a bridge.

  I studied the picture, but I was lost. “Okay, it’s a bridge over a river or canal with a cargo ship.”

  “It’s not just any bridge,” he said. “It’s the Puente Centenario over the Panama Canal.”

  “At Paraíso,” I whispered.

  “Yes, at Paraíso,” he said, watching me carefully.

  I bit at the corner of my lip and tried to suppress the cacophony of agonizing emotion rising in my throat. “That’s where. . . .” I couldn’t force the words past my tongue.

  Dominic took the file from my hand. “Yes, that’s where your family passed away.”

  “Murdered!” I growled.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  I scowled. “Murdered. That’s where my family was murdered. They didn’t pass away. They were slaughtered, and it happened right there.” I pointed at the picture. “That’s ground zero, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Dominic closed the file. “I won’t lie to you, Chase. That’s why this assignment is yours if you want it. There’s no other operator on the planet with as much connection to this place as you. That’s a double-edged sword for us, though.”

  He paused, but I didn’t flinch.

  “On the one hand,” he said, “you may focus that bile you’re tasting in your throat right now and turn it into the fuel to complete this assignment with perfection. The other side of the sword is the one that scares the hell out of me.”

  I nodded as I pictured what could go wrong if I hit the ground in Paradise and turned into the trembling, terrified boy I was the last time I was in Panama.

  “What’s the assignment?”

  “Why don’t you have another cup of coffee? Once you’re fully read-in, it’s your mission, and there’s no backing out. Right now is your last opportunity to say no.”

  I stared coldly into his eyes. “What’s the mission, Dominic?”

  He pulled a brown envelope from the file and tore open the wax seal. Several eight-by-ten aerials slid from the envelope. I thumbed through the stack. They were pictures of ships of every size, from thirty-foot cruisers to Panamax cargo ships of enormous proportions.

  “Let’s start with a little background on the Panama Canal,” he said. “There are three sets of locks at each end of the canal that raise fourteen thousand ships a year, eighty-five feet above sea level, up into Lake Gatun, and then back down to sea level on the other side. You can imagine what an impact closing the canal could have on the world economy. They’re building new locks and dredging, but for now, the largest vessel permitted through the canal is nine hundred fifty feet long and a hundred and six feet wide. Of course, the draft can be no greater than thirty-nine and a half feet in the tropical fresh water of Lake Gatun. That’ll all change when the new locks are finished . . . if that ever happens.”

  I tried to focus on his briefing and quell my hatred for the last place I’d ever seen my family.

  He continued as if he were briefing a Cub Scout troop on an upcoming camping trip. His mastery of communication techniques was epic.

  “Currently, the largest ship to routinely transit the canal is a Chinese freighter called the AAS Pearl. It’s owned and operated by Advanced Asian Shipping, and it’s far more than it appears to be on the surface.”

  He lifted his mug and swallowed the last of his coffee. I had questions, but I chose to continue listening.

  “The Pearl is definitely a cargo ship, and a big one, but that’s not all she is. She’s also an exceptionally advanced intelligence-gathering platform. The Chinese Ministry of State Security likes to believe their little listening ship is the world’s biggest secret and that nobody knows except them. We’ll let them keep believing that for now, but we’ve been using that ship as a dumping ground for disinformation for years. We feed them so much bullshit, it’s a wonder there isn’t a cloud of methane gas floating around that boat everywhere it goes.”

  I raised my eyebrows in impatience, and he got the message.

  “Okay, so here’s what we believe is going to happen. They’re going to flood their ballasts in either the Miraflores or Pedro Miguel Locks, and then sit her on the bottom. Because of her size, there will be very little room for salvage divers to inspect and repair the alleged damage. That will effectively close the lock and shut down the southern end of the canal.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Dominic squinted. “We don’t know for sure, but we have some guesses. My theory is that there’s a lot more to it than just sticking a Chinese spy ship to the bottom of a lock.”

  “When?” My head spun with theories and questions.

  “She left Valparaíso, Chile, yesterday morning.” Dominic checked his watch again.

  My mind immediately went to work drawing a map of western South America. “Valparaíso? What was a ship that size doing in Valparaíso?”

  “We don’t know, but satellite imagery doesn’t show any changes in her cargo in Chile,” he said.

  With my mental cartography project still churning, I said, “It’s about three thousand miles from Valparaíso to Panama City, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s
right,” he said. “It’s just over three thousand miles.”

  “Can she make twenty knots?” I asked.

  “She makes almost twenty-four in good weather, and currently, there are no storms off the western coast of South America.”

  My brain stopped drawing maps and turned into a calculator. “So, she’ll be in the canal in four days.”

  “Probably.” He closed one eye and went to work doing the math.

  “Okay,” I said. “So they’re going to sink a spy ship in a lock and close the canal. The only reasonable explanation is that they want to listen and watch as we react to a catastrophic closure of the canal. They want to know what we’ll do and how quickly we’ll do it.”

  Dominic smiled. “Bingo. They’re going to gauge response for a future mission.”

  “It’s pretty ingenious,” I admitted before swallowing the last sip of coffee. “More coffee?”

  “Don’t you want to know what we want you to do?”

  “I think I already know what you want. I’m an assassin. You want me to figure out who’s going to sink the ship and stop him.”

  Dominic chuckled. “Well, no, not exactly. Let’s get some more coffee, and I’ll help you pack for Panama.”

  Clark met us in the galley. He had just brewed a fresh pot and was yawning himself awake.

  “Good morning, sleeping beauty. It’s about time you joined the land of the living.” Dominic reached for his son’s hand, then pulled him in for a fatherly hug.

  Clark wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Hey, Dad. I didn’t know you were coming so early. How are you?”

  “I’m great, but it’s not early. It’s nearly seven o’clock. I thought you Green Beret–types slept twelve minutes per day or some ridiculous such thing.”

  I laughed. “That’s what I thought, too, Dominic, but this particular Green Beret seems to need at least twelve hours a night.”

  Clark ignored us and enjoyed his first cup of coffee.

  “Chase and I were just discussing a little operation in Central America. He’s in, and if he wants you there, we can certainly authorize that. He’ll fill you in later, but for now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a few more things to discuss.”

  “Sure,” said Clark, squinting and still yawning.

  I suspect Clark had the same measure of curiosity as most people. One of the many things that surprised me about him was his ability to suppress the insatiable need to know. I suppose he knew I’d fill him in, just as Dominic had said, but it had to be tough pretending to be so nonchalant.

  Back on the upper deck, Dominic returned to his briefer persona. “We’re not ruling out the necessity of you doing what you do best in Panama, but everyone hopes you won’t actually have to pull a trigger. This is more of a babysitting assignment than anything else. We’re sending in a ninja of sorts—someone who’s a little bit of a challenge to control. We need you to get him on board that freighter. Then, after he collects the information we need, it’ll be up to you to get him back off that ship and into the hands of the analysts before he gets away.”

  I eyed Dominic over the rim of my cup. “Gets away?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, the asset you’ll be escorting isn’t what you’d call predictable. His name is Diablo de Agua, and he’s, well, let’s say a bit of a wild card.”

  “I’m not following,” I confessed.

  “Diablo de Agua is hard to explain. There’s quite a bit wrong with him, but he’s incredibly useful when the situation calls for a man with his particular skill set.”

  “Just what is his skill set?” I was fully engaged.

  “As I mentioned before, he’s a bit of ninja. He’s small and lightning fast. He doesn’t like to fight. Instead, he prefers to escape, but that doesn’t mean he can’t fight. He’s lethal and has no capacity for remorse. If forced to do so, he’d walk through another human being as if they were nothing more than a doorway. He moves undetected and remembers absolutely everything he sees and hears. He just has a little trouble functioning in normal society.”

  “So, he’s a psychopath?”

  “Oh, no. He’s no psychopath. He’s simply capable of ignoring what would terrify and haunt the rest of us.”

  “That’s pretty much the definition of psychopathy, Dominic.”

  “Okay, then, Dr. Fulton. Diagnose him as you see fit, but your job is to get him in, get him out, and hang on to him long enough for someone to debrief him.”

  I thought about what he’d said, but it all sounded way too easy. “What’s the catch?”

  “There’s no catch,” he protested, unwilling to make eye contact.

  “So, we’re just going to let the Chinese sink a ship in the Panama Canal?”

  “It’s their ship,” he said. “Who are we to stop them from sinking their own ship? Besides, there’s that whole Neutrality Treaty that says we can’t interfere in the affairs of the nation of Panama.”

  “I took history, too, Dominic. The Neutrality Treaty says we can do what is necessary to defend the Panama Canal if we believe it’s under attack, and we can also do whatever is necessary to reopen the canal if it becomes closed by some hostile action.”

  “You’re right, but what we can do and what we will do are often two very different things, my little history scholar.”

  “Indeed,” I surrendered.

  “Okay, so I’m going to pick up this water devil of yours and deposit him on board a Chinese freighter in the Panama Canal, and then gather him back up after he escapes from the sunken Chinese freighter. Then, I’m supposed to deliver him in a nice, neat little package to some analyst who can debrief him. And that’s all?”

  Dominic laughed. “Have you ever known anything to be that simple?”

  “Here it comes.” I shook my head. “I’ve been waiting for this particular shoe to drop.”

  “While you’re waiting for Diablo de Agua, you’re going to inspect the Bridge of the Americas and the Centennial Bridge for signs of potential sabotage. That’s where Clark comes in. I suspect you could use his help. It’s not like those are little footbridges. This isn’t Three Billy Goats Gruff.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, let’s get Clark up here. He needs a full briefing. It looks like we’re headed to Panama.”

  8

  Treetop Flyin’

  I’d promised not to lie to her, but I certainly couldn’t tell her the truth. I crawled back into bed beside Penny and brushed the hair from her face. She inhaled deeply and reached for my hand.

  “You’ve come to tell me goodbye, haven’t you?”

  “No,” I said. “Not goodbye. I’ve come to tell you all the truth I can, and to also tell you that I hope you’ll still be here when I get back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Central America,” I said, confident in my honesty.

  “Are you going to have to kill anyone?”

  “Probably,” I admitted, “but if I do, I promise they’ll be bad guys.”

  “Promise me you’ll come back,” she whispered.

  “I promise.”

  “Then I promise to be here when you do.” She pressed her lips to mine.

  When we parted, I said, “Listen. Skipper has been living in a B and B, but I think it would be a good idea if she moved back aboard the boat. Are you okay with that?”

  She smiled. “Of course I’m okay with that, silly. She was here before me, and it’s not like she’s competition. She’s like your sister.”

  I laughed. “You’re not seriously worried about competition, are you?”

  She looked deathly serious. “You’re a hot commodity. Just ask Earl.”

  “You’re funny. I’m going to talk with Skipper. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

  She held my face in her hands and whispered, “Please be careful, Chase. You still owe me a couple kids.”

  “And a black lab,” I said, kissing her again.

  Skipper wasn’t happy about being left behind, but she wasn’t ready for the field yet, and she definitely
wasn’t prepared for an assignment like Panama. She was, however, happy to be moving back aboard Aegis.

  * * *

  We were wheels-up out of Naval Air Station Jacksonville before lunch, and living pura vida before supper. The Ticos of Costa Rico use the phrase pura vida to mean everything from hello to kiss my ass. The direct translation is pure life or simple life, but it seems to be the phrase they use when they can’t think of anything else to say.

  The citizens of Puerto Jimenez never cast a second glance at the Gulfstream jet with American markings. To them, it didn’t matter who we were, where we were from, or who we were there to kill. To them, it was all pura vida, baby.

  Puerto Jimenez is situated on Pavon Bay on the southern Pacific side of Costa Rica. It’s one of the most picturesque stretches of ocean, beach, and rainforest in all of Central America. Perhaps my Costa Rican Spanish wasn’t as good as I believed it to be. I thought Pavon meant peacock, but I didn’t see nor hear any sign of the proud, feathered loudmouths in the short time we were there. What I did hear had no tail feathers but was just as unique as the peafowl.

  “Well, looky here. I’ll be damned if the agency ain’t sent Pretty Boy Floyd and Baby Face Nelson down here to my jungle to stir up some shit.”

  He wore part of a Polynesian shirt that hadn’t been washed—maybe ever—brown cargo pants, green jungle boots, and a hat that would’ve made a great doormat to someplace no one ever wanted to go. His skin was like leather stretched across a timber frame then baked for an hour too long. What hair I could see was wild and solid white. It protruded from beneath his rag of a hat and curled upward toward the sun as if it were trying to escape the madness of its roots. Aviator glasses and a cigar that would’ve made a great walking cane completed the man’s wild look.

  “I hear you two are looking for a ride to Panama City or thereabouts.” The words fell out of his mouth as if the only thing holding them in was the alcohol on his breath.

  Clark looked at me and shook his head. The Gulfstream that had delivered us only moments before was already fueled and taxiing out for takeoff. We each had a rucksack and two rolling Pelican cases full of equipment. The man eyed our gear as if he were thinking about relieving us of it and turning it into a few quick dollars to support his bad habits—and it certainly looked like he had no shortage of those.