7:15 AM - CST
Derek Grimsrud
never saw it coming. How could he, since it was a fellow CIA agent who set
everything in motion? Regardless, he was caught completely unaware for the
first time in his life. In CIA circles, he was referred to only as Mr. Black
for security reasons. Only a handful of people outside his team knew even his
first name. The reason; he commanded a black ops team of specialists, operating
out of Fort Bliss Army Airfield. He was also one of less than a dozen that knew
the international assassin – code name: The Chameleon, on a personal level. The
Chameleon had saved Derek’s life several years ago, and from that grew a
closeness that defied logic.
Derek sauntered
out of Charros Mexican Restaurant rubbing his very satisfied, very full
stomach, headed for his black Jeep Rubicon. He’d eaten too much, so he decided
to blame it on his chopper pilot, Craig. They usually ate breakfast together,
usually at Charros. Derek ‘forced’ himself to eat both little fresh apple pies
Senora Alvarez prepared especially for the duo. They’d been coming there for
years and it was her way of thanking them. Derek rationalized that he HAD to
eat Craig’s portion or Senora Alvarez would be offended. Logical or not, that
sweet cinnamon topped pie with crust so flaky it melted in your mouth, had to
be eaten. There was no way around it.
Charros was a
small family owned restaurant on the West side of Laredo, Texas, across the
border from the Mexican city of Juarez. Juarez had been turned into a warzone
by the Drug Cartels. Trafficking in everything from pot to humans was the norm
in the northern Mexican City. It was also known for its many factories that
supplied parts to American automobile manufacturers. Many of the plant
employees lived in El Paso, commuting daily across the border.
Derek heard a
young girl scream as he was clearing the restaurant door. His head snapped to
the left, immediately picking the girl out of a crowd. Two men were dragging
what appeared to be an 8 to 10-year-old in a bright yellow sundress towards a
brown, late model Ford F250 van. Derek sprang into action out of reflex;
running towards the two men. He was so focused on the girl he didn’t see
another man in the alleyway next to Charros.
“Hey!” he shouted
at the two men. “Let her go!” His Kimber .45 was already coming out of his
holster as he skidded to a stop. That’s when he was hit from behind with a
leather sap, dropping him to his knees. Two of the men scooped him up as he
fell and tossed him into the waiting van. The girl ran up the street, her part
in the deception completed.
The Ford laid
rubber as it pulled away from the curb, catching the attention of Senora
Alvarez. She jotted down the license plate as the van sped off. She called the
El Paso Police department for the umpteenth time with information about a
speeding vehicle in front of her restaurant. The desk sergeant explained to
Senora Alvarez, for the umpteenth time, they couldn’t send a patrol car out
every time she called about a someone she thought was speeding. Had she known
Derek was in the back, it might have made a difference, but she didn’t. The
officer took the information and promised to investigate, mollifying Senora
Alvarez enough to get her off the phone. It didn’t matter to Isabella Alvarez.
She put the license number in her little card box, organized by plate number
for future reference. It was her way of trying to help keep the neighborhood a
little safer.
*****
The first thing
Derek noticed when he came around was the smell of potatoes. He opened his eyes
to slits, not sure what he would find, and realized he was under a pile of old
burlap bags. That explained the potato smell. The vehicle he was in was moving
at a steady speed with few bumps along the way. They were on a main highway;
they had to be if they were in Mexico, and of that he had little doubt. The
conversations he could hear were all in Spanish; Mexican Spanish and not the
mix of English and Spanish found in South Texas. It made sense. If someone was
kidnapping a CIA agent, in broad daylight no less, they needed to get out of
the US. El Paso was almost perfect with Juarez just across the border. It
wouldn’t have taken more than a hundred to bribe a Mexican border guard, but
the US side would be more difficult, but not impossible. The Cartels used more
than money for leverage and many of the guards on the US side had family in
Juarez.
Derek knew it was
about 8:20am when they jumped him. Although he didn’t know how long he’d been
out, he estimated two hours. Whoever hit him did it right; enough force to
knock him out, but not crack his skull, for which he was grateful in an ironic
way. Training dictated 90 to 180 minutes for a similar blow, so Derek split the
difference, calling it 10:30am. He would keep track of the time mentally with his
internal clock. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do until sundown. Sundown was a
fixed time, so it would give him a solid reference point.
Derek could see
one man well through the burlap. He was sitting to the right, on a folding
chair in the back of what had to be a full-sized van. It was too roomy for a
mini, and not big enough for a cargo van. He spotted a tattoo of a shoe on the
man’s left earlobe; Los Zapatos de la Muerte Cartel insignia.
Derek wasn’t
surprised. Six months ago, he’d led an off the book’s operation for the hit-man
known as The Chameleon. It was a rescue mission; an extraction of three
innocent civilians from the small town of Los Trios, southeast of Juarez. It
went off without a hitch; if you don’t count the two SUV’s that his pilot Young
Bear took out with their Sikorsky CH53-E and four well placed rockets. Derek
could have let them go, except as an ex-Navy Seal, who had lost eight of his
operatives to the Cartels in the last 18 months, it was an opportunity to thin
the herd. He took it. He wouldn’t regret it in retrospect.
Nothing the crew
was discussing was of any intelligence value, so Derek decided to sleep, saving
his strength for later. The bags were comfortable enough, and the floor was
smooth. He also had the secure knowledge of the GPS locator embedded in his
sinus cavity. He might not know where he was, but sooner or later someone
would.
*****
Camacho’s men were
under strict orders to keep the CIA agent alive under any conditions.
Otherwise, there wasn’t much they couldn’t do to the operative.
Andres Camacho was
the new head of Los Zapatos; taking over after the Chameleon executed his
uncle, Carlos Torano. Torano had gone to Argentina expecting to recover over 12
million dollars of Cartel money from his half-brother, Enrique Garza. Garza had
embezzled the funds from the money he laundered through Gulf Coast Bank and
Trust while president of the Corpus Christi location. Neither got what they
were expecting. Enrique had paid the Chameleon to relocate him, and Torano had
been sent to Argentina to get his money back at the behest of the same man.
The Chameleon
wanted both men dead; eliminating any potential threat towards Angelique
Shaloub, the woman who had captured his heart. They died when over twelve
pounds of Semtex detonated; the two pounds in the laptop Torano was holding and
the ten pounds L. J., the Chameleon’s associate, had packed into the stove and
a brand-new BMW sitting in the garage.
The death of
Torano created a vacuum that Andres quickly filled; eliminating any competition
for the position. He was ruthless as his uncle, having proven his loyalty to
the Cartel by killing his own father, Carlos Torano’s first cousin, Reynaldo
Camacho.
Reynaldo had been
selling cocaine through alternate distribution lanes, skimming product from the
pipeline to feed his new suppliers. He managed to keep it going for over a year
before Torano figured it out. Torano called Andres to the compound, not certain
that the boy wasn’t involved, even having been told otherwise. It didn’t stop Torano
from torturing the 19-year-old. In the end, he was satisfied that Andres wasn’t
involved, ordering the boy to execute his own father to prove his loyalty.
He learned a
lesson the hard way from the experience. Torano denigrated and humiliated him
in front of his peers for killing his father while the man slept. “A woman can
kill a man in his sleep,” Torano had shouted at him. “It takes a man to kill a
man face to face, mano y mano.” As punishment, he made Andres a mule for the
man who replaced his father, rather than giving Andres the position he had been
promised. Resentment grew in Andres until he eventually reached out to Phillip
Weaver, a well-known CIA agent operating out of the American Embassy in Mexico
City, his cover being a cultural attaché. Andres cultivated a relationship with
the agent, becoming an informant. He provided information undermining his
enemies wherever possible, all the while plotting revenge on his uncle. In the
end, the Chameleon took care of his vengeance for him when he killed Torano in
Argentina. Andres quickly took over control of the Cartel.
Andres avoided
mentioning what he had in mind for Derek Grimsrud. He knew there was no love
lost between the two men, but CIA is CIA and he didn’t want Weaver interfering
in his plans. Perhaps if he had been a little more devious, he would have
learned of the GPS locator, but such was not the case. Weaver had no knowledge
of the actual kidnapping of Agent Grimsrud. If Camacho had told him of his
plans, Weaver wouldn’t have been all that unhappy to hear of Derek’s position.
Weaver was a decent agent, but he carried grudges, and the one he carried
against Derek would never be forgiven, let alone forgotten.
It wasn’t like
Andres didn’t have Intel on Grimsrud. Weaver often spoke of the ex-Seal’s
abilities and habits when drunk. The agent made little effort to disguise his
feelings about Derek, but Camacho didn’t believe Weaver. He found it difficult
to comprehend any man could be that good at warfare and not be hardened in his
heart. Andres thought of Derek as he thought of himself; ruthless, cunning and
willing to go to any length to complete the mission. He was wrong on several
counts which one day would come back to haunt him.
*****
Camacho’s men
whiled away the hours as they traveled south. They understood Andres’ reasons
for taking the gringo to the jungle but wondered about the wisdom – though
never aloud. It was Carlos Torano who started the tradition with Los Zapatos;
the tradition of the hunt.
The hunt was
something that appealed to the men in the van. Each of them had lost one or
more family members to the Sikorsky’s rockets outside of Los Trios. The fact
they had been ordered not to kill the gringo left a sour taste in more than one
mouth, not that anyone had voiced their objections directly to Camacho. One of
the men, Marcos Martinez, wanted Derek dead despite orders from the Hefe.
Marcos lost two brothers that fateful day outside Los Trios and he wanted blood
for blood.
Camacho had placed
his most trusted man, Ben de la Sedro, in charge of the operation. Ben would
make certain orders were followed, no matter his personal feelings. Yes, Ben
had lost a relative in the attack, his nephew Jorge, but that was business to
him. He had spent 20 years in the Cartel knowing that death was as much a part
of the business as anything. He didn’t want revenge on the gringo, but not for
any reason related to the attack. His nephew was dead. Many of his friends were
dead, too. It was life in Cartel – few if any, got out alive unless they went
to prison.
Antonio Ybarra was
Ben’s right hand, as it were. He had grown up with de la Sedro on the streets
of Juarez and owed his life to the older man. If not for Ben, he would have
been beaten to death by members of a rival street gang. There was nothing Antonio
wouldn’t do for the man he saw as savior and brother.
The rest of the
team included Jesus Veracruz, Rene Gutierrez and Carlos Martinez. Rene and
Carlos both lost brothers, while Jesus lost two nephews, the brothers of Marcos
Martinez. Rene and Carlos were good soldiers in the Cartel. They had no real
ambition to move up and were satisfied with the money and the fear they wielded
as Zapatos. Jesus was less inclined to toe the Cartel line. He was Marcos’
brother and shared the desire for revenge on the CIA operative, as well as the
rest of Derek’s team.
Ben, Antonio and
Jesus executed the kidnapping and were now headed to the Selva Lacandona,
the Lacandon Jungle which spread from the southern tip of Mexico through
Nicaragua. Their destination, a remote cabin east of the village of Ocosingo,
in the Mexican State of Chiapas. The only time Derek was allowed out of the van
was to take a leak and drink some water. It wasn’t much but Derek took what he
could get. The added benefit was identifying the occasional landmark that let
him know they were headed south, at least for now. Derek spent some of the time
sleeping. When he was awake, he worked his muscle groups carefully to avoid
attention and to keep the blood circulating. No matter where they were headed, or
to what end, there was little chance Derek would die alone; at least not the
way he looked at it. If it was his time, he would go out as a soldier; taking
with him as many Cartel thugs as possible.
~2~
November 11
9:00 AM – CST
USAF Captain Jason
Van Welkin was ready for wheels up by 9:00. He was semi-patiently waiting for
one Derek Grimsrud, civilian GS15 attached to Fort Bliss from God only knows
where. Van Welkin knew Grimsrud was CIA, but that meant nothing to him. Right
now, the captain’s only concern regarding Grimsrud was his delaying the
take-off.
There was no
hurry, Captain Welkin just didn’t like delays. His C-17 Globemaster was fully
fueled, with a KC-10 tanker scheduled for mid-air refueling if need be,
somewhere over Ohio. With a range of over 6000 miles, it seemed completely
unnecessary to the Captain, but it wasn’t his call. More than once he’d been
diverted mid-flight and having full tanks made pretty much the world his onion.
His co-pilot,
First Lieutenant Isabella Cantonal, suggested they reach out to General Fischer
to check status. They hadn’t gotten a phone call from Derek, which wasn’t like
the agent. She reminded Welkin General Fischer had personally requested the
favor. The fact Fischer was a Marine wasn’t as important as his current title,
Director of Covert Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency. That tipped
the scales in Derek’s favor, so Van Welkin made the call.
It took a couple
minutes to get through to the General. They were first told he was in a
meeting. Captain Van Welkin ignored the answer. “I understand what you’re telling
me corporal, but this is a classified call with high priority on a personal
matter involving the General.”
The corporal was
used to people trying to bully their way through to the General, but there was
something in the tone of the Captain’s voice that got his attention. The
Captain never raised his voice or changed tone or pitch. He stated the message
as a fact beyond question. The corporal made the call. “Stand by Sir,” he
stated, “I’ll let the General know you’re on the line”.
“Thank you, Corporal,”
said Van Welkin without gloating. “I appreciate this.” You get more flies with
honey, etc.
Five seconds later
Major General Nick Fischer, USMC, picked up the phone and cut to the chase.
“Sit-rep, Captain Van Welkin.”
“Copy that, sir,”
responded Van Welkin. “Our expected passenger is MIA sir, fifteen minutes
overdue as of 0915 local.”
General Fischer
took a deep breath before responding. “Understood, Captain; you are cleared for
take-off without Mr. Grimsrud.”
That caught the
Captain off-guard. “Excuse me sir, but I need to confirm your last order.”
“Understood, and
respected, Captain. I repeat, you are cleared for takeoff without Mr.
Grimsrud,” repeated the General calmly. “Thank you for the check-in Captain;
out.” The general didn’t even hang up, he simply punched another line and
started dialing. The number he called answered on the first ring.
“Good morning,
General Fischer,” answered a slightly gravely woman’s voice.
“Good morning to
you, Alice,” replied Fischer with a smile in his voice.
“What are your
orders, sir?” asked Alice without preamble.
“Light up the GPS
on Mr. Black, Alice. I need to know where he is in 5 minutes.”
“Done, sir,”
answered Alice as she ended the call and started punching numbers into a
keyboard.
Three minutes
later she had General Fischer back on the line.
“Go, Alice.”
“I have Mr.
Black’s current location at 28.6330° N, 106.0691° W, heading south on Highway
45, approximately 300 miles north of Chihuahua.”
“Copy that,”
replied General Fischer. “I want an update every 15 minutes via text. I might
not be in my office.”
“Understood, sir,”
replied Alice as the line went dead.
General Fischer
leaned back in his chair and wove his fingers together and placed them behind
his head. With his eyes closed he began to run possible scenarios. After ten
minutes his eyes snapped open and he reached for the phone.
“Yes sir,
General,” answered Corporal Kristofferson.
The corporal took
notes as he made a list. It was extensive and clear. This was not a drill and
the General wanted action. The corporal didn’t hesitate. He was a Marine like
his boss, and one of their own was missing. It was time to get him back.
*****
His first call was
to former Gunnery Sergeant, Craig Young Bear. The entire team was on R & R,
and Gunny was the man who would know where everyone was.
“What,” Craig
grunted into the phone, slightly annoyed that the call was so early.
“Gunnery Sergeant
Young Bear, this is Corporal Kristofferson calling on behalf of Major General
Fisher, Director of Covert Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
Young Bear didn’t
respond.
“Gunny are you
there?” asked Kristofferson.
“Yeah, I’m here,”
said Craig offhandedly. “I was just wondering who the hell would think I didn’t
know who General Fischer was by name alone?”
“Understood,
Gunny,” said the corporal. “That was per the General’s orders. He wanted to be
crystal clear that this was high priority.”
“Then get to the
point, corporal,” growled Young Bear, “we’ve wasted enough time already.”
“Copy that,
Gunny.” Corporal Kristofferson took a deep breath and stated flatly. “Agent
Derek Grimsrud is missing and presumed captive by hostile forces. The General
believes Los Zapatos are responsible, based on history and current Intel.”
Craig didn’t
hesitate. “Where does the General want me?”
“General Fischer
wants the entire team in Dallas within 4 hours. If transportation is an issue,
I will have fighters dispatched to pick up team members who don’t have ready
access to commercial or military flights.” The corporal looked at the clock on
the wall. “The sooner I know who needs a lift the better.”
Craig didn’t even
answer. He ended the call and started speed dialing the rest of the team.
Derek’s team was
an eclectic collection of operatives, even by CIA standards. Some of the most critical
members weren’t even US citizens. It didn’t matter to Derek. They were his
team, and each was the best or near best in his or her given specialty. Young
Bear led the way. Former Marine Gunnery Sergeant turned chopper pilot. Young
bear could handle a Sikorsky CH53-E with the best of them. Not only was he a
hell of a pilot, he was deadly accurate with the weapons systems.
Next was the 6’-
7” Master Sergeant Elijah Mohammed Mumphord; former USAF Para-rescue team
leader and recipient of the Air Force Cross for service in Afghanistan. Elijah
single-handedly went behind enemy lines to recover an F-15 pilot who had been
shot down. The pilot barely survived the ordeal. He would have died if not for
the skillset of Master Sergeant Mumphord. As an Air Force Para-rescue member,
Elijah was practically a field surgeon. Coupled with his expertise in small
arms, it made him a vital asset to the team.
Val Wilson, the
only female member of the team, was one of the most lethal. Another former
Marine, Wilson had been a martial arts instructor for 6 years, and taught close
combat for 5 more. Staff Sergeant Wilson knew more ways to kill a man than any
other member of the team. She was as skilled with knives as she was an M-4 or
handgun. The fact she could kill someone over 10 different ways without a
weapon was what kept the boys respectful. Her diminutive stature at 5’1” and
120 lbs. often led to interesting encounters with drunken men who consistently
underestimated the Staff Sergeant.
Army Sergeant
Jason Johnson was the newest member of the team, and the only other American.
Johnson had spent 6 years working counter-terrorism with Delta Force. He was
good at hand to hand, and an excellent tracker. He stood an even 6 feet tall,
weighing in at 210 pounds. There was zero fat on the former Delta member.
The foreign
contingent was led by the flamboyant Gustaf Reichart, former member of the KSK Kommando Spezialkräfte, (Special Forces
Command, KSK) is an elite special forces military unit composed of special operations soldiers selected from the
ranks of Germany's Bundeswehr and organized under the Rapid Forces Division.
Gustaf was a slim 165 pounds at 5’11”. No one knew his former rank, and he
never offered. What Gustaf DID offer was an almost unparalleled
expertise in explosives, whether standard military or improvised. The fact he
was openly gay was often the source of both humor and frustration within the
team. What was never at question was his commitment and loyalty, and no one was
tougher than Gustaf when it came to survival.
The UK Special Forces contribution to
the team was Lieutenant Thomas Sheffield, sniper extraordinaire. His weapon of choice, the L115A3
Long Range Rifle. A bolt-action weapon chambered in .338 Lapua Magnum (8.59mm),
with an effective range out to 1.2 km. It employs a Schmidt & Bender
5-25x56 PM II 25x magnification day scope. The weapon was augmented with a
Sniper Thermal Imaging Capability (STIC) night scope for low light or night
ops.
Sheffield’s longest confirmed kill was 1525 meters, or approximately 1670
yards; 100 yards short of a full mile. Sheffield was the shortest male member
of the team at 5’ 6”. His weight was unknown to anyone. It didn’t matter; he
was one of only two on the team capable of carrying the 270-pound Mumphord if it came down to it; Young Bear
was the other.
The final member of the team was
former French COS (Covert Operations Service), Sergeant Pierre Lafayette.
Lafayette and Reichart had formed an odd but special bond in the unit. History
will tell you there is little love lost between the Germans and the French.
You’d never know it by those two. They looked like brothers to a degree. Both
stood 5’ 11” and weighed around 170 pounds. Both had blonde hair that hung to
their shoulders. From a distance there was little chance of identifying which
was which. Up close, it was the crystal blue eyes of the German that set him
apart from the light brown eyes of the Frenchman. On or off a mission, they
could generally be found in relative proximity.
It took Young Bear an hour to track
everyone down. (It wouldn’t have been possible if not for their satellite
phones). Reichart had been hiking in the Rockies, while Lafayette was
snow-boarding at Breckenridge. It took some serious coordinating, but when all
was said and done, Mumphord was already in
Dallas, and Sheffield would be last, coming in around 1:30; a solid 15 minutes
to spare. Young Bear, Reichart, Wilson
and Sheffield were coming in on military hops; Lafayette had no problem getting
a commercial flight. Young bear reported back to General Fischer.
“Fischer here,” answered the General.
“Young Bear here, General. The team
will be in Dallas by 1330 CST. What are your orders?” asked Craig.
General Fischer decided the truth was
the best option at that point. “I don’t have an answer now, Gunny,” he growled
into the handset, “but I damn sure guarantee I will by the time you are wheels
down; fucking bureaucrats, anyway.” The General muttered the last part
under his breath.
“Begging your pardon, General,” said
Craig. “Could you repeat the last part?”
General Fischer grunted a laugh,
“Gunny, I know damn well you heard what I said.”
Craig laughed. “Copy that and out,
sir,” he replied as he ended the call.
~3~
November 11
9:25 AM – CST
General Fischer
wasn’t looking forward to the next call, but it had to be made. He pulled up
Derek Grimsrud’s personnel file and identified his next of kin; Dan and Mary Jo
Grimsrud. The file also told him Dan Grimsrud was a senior analyst with the
NSA. “Like father like son,” General Fischer thought to himself as he
picked up the phone, trying Dan’s work number first. Dan answered on the second
ring.
“Grimsrud, here,”
said Dan.
“Good morning Mr.
Grimsrud, Nick Fischer here,” replied the General, leaving out his rank on
purpose.
“Good morning
General Fischer,” answered Dan with a chuckle. “Did you honestly think I
wouldn’t know my own son’s boss?”
Fischer chuckled,
“Apparently I did.”
“What can I do for
you General?” asked Dan.
“Actually, Dan,
I’m calling on business, and out of respect for your position I will not sugar
coat it.”
That got Dan’s
rapt attention as a chill ran up his spine. “I appreciate your candor, General.
I take it you have bad news to deliver,” offered Dan.
“I don’t know how
bad yet, Dan, but you deserve to know,” said the General.
“I’m listening,”
was all Dan said in return.
“Derek is missing
and presumed captive by Los Zapatos Cartel,” stated the General without
emotion. “We are tracking him with GPS and as of fifteen minutes ago, he was alive
and well just north of Chihuahua, Mexico.”
“Do you know where
they are taking him?” asked Dan with no hint of emotion in his voice, the
General took notice.
“Negative at this
time, Dan, but we are working on it.” He continued, “His entire team will be in
Dallas by 1330 CST waiting for my directions.”
The General was
greeted with silence for a good two minutes. He didn’t speak. He knew Dan was
processing everything. When he spoke, it took the General by surprise. “You may
have his team gathering in Dallas, but you won’t have the best man for the
job.” Dan stated it as a matter of fact without explanation.
“Care to
elaborate, Dan?” asked the General.
“No sir, I can’t,”
answered Dan.
“Can’t or won’t,
Dan?”
“Either way
General the answer remains the same,” said Dan.
“Answer one
question for me, Dan, if you would?” requested General Fischer.
“I will if I can,”
said Dan.
“Is the right
person for the job available?”
“He has to be,
General, or I might not ever see my son again.” With that, Dan hung up the
phone, leaving Fischer pondering the answer to his question.
November
11
11:15
AM - EST
Duck Key, Florida
The final leg of
the journey from Rockport, Texas to Duck Key, Florida had taken a little over 4
hours, arriving at the compound just before noon. They were greeted with a
banner, stretched across the gate: “Welcome Home Lazarus, Angelique, Rebecca,
Langston and Cheyenne!”
Katsumi must have
been watching for them. She opened the gate as they pulled up to it. Baxter was
sitting at her side, if you could call it that. He was so excited at the sight
of Lazarus that his tail was a blur. Leonard
stood on the other side of the golden retriever with his hands behind his back,
smiling. They pulled the vehicles into the compound and the gate closed behind
them.
Langston wasn’t
one for formalities. He jumped over Lazarus and shot out the driver’s side,
heading straight to Katsumi and Baxter. Langston accepted a hug from Kat,
sniffed hellos with Baxter, tolerating a couple of licks along the way. The
shepherd gave Leonard The shepherd gave Leonard a cursory once over,
stopping long enough for a quick ear scratch, before heading back to Lazarus.
Lazarus and
Angelique had decided to bring Cheyenne out last, not sure how she would react
to Baxter, Katsumi and Leonard. Angelique kept her in the Jeep when she got
out, rolling the windows down to keep the Jeep cool. It was still warm in the
Keys and the sun was shining.
When they were all
out of the vehicles, much to Lazarus’ surprise, Katsumi approached Angelique
first. She gave Angelique a soft hug and handed her a little box, wrapped in
purple paper. Rebecca was next, receiving a bigger hug and a box that matched
the one given Angelique. The gifts turned out to be white gold sand dollars on
white gold chains. The ladies loved them.
Angelique fetched
Cheyenne from the Jeep, hooking her leash. Cheyenne was tentative with Baxter,
watching him like a hawk. But Golden Retrievers have a way about them; anyone
who owns one knows what I mean. Cheyenne sniffed Baxter from head to toe and
front to back. Baxter didn’t move. He wagged his tail slowly, waiting. What
happened next surprised everyone, not the least of which was Baxter. Cheyenne
barked and began bouncing up and down in front of the retriever. Before anyone
could blink, they were off like rockets towards the back of the property.
Cheyenne jerked the leash out of Angelique’s hand and bolted. Baxter was
desperately trying to keep up with the obviously much faster dog. To say the
least, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Katsumi commented
with pride, “I wasn’t worried about Baxter and Cheyenne, my big red-headed
handsome man can handle anything that comes his way.”
Now that the dog
situation was taken care of, Katsumi approached Lazarus. Unlike the hugs she
gave Angelique and Rebecca, she bowed deeply before him, her hands folded as in
prayer. She stayed that way for almost two minutes. Lazarus smiled with pride,
waiting patiently. The image wasn’t wasted on the women. They were beginning to
understand Lazarus meant far more to Katsumi than merely being her boss, or
even her guardian. He was her world in a way they couldn’t understand. That was
what Katsumi wanted them to see. When she straightened up Lazarus wrapped her
in his arms. With rare tears in his eyes, he kissed Katsumi on the forehead
tenderly. “Thank you, baby girl, for the amazing welcome you’ve given us.
You’ve made me even prouder to call you mine.”
“Thank you, Sir,”
said Katsumi formally, tears of her own trailing down her cheeks. “It is my
honor to serve and call you Master.” They stood there for a few moments before
Lazarus released her, kissing her once more on the forehead.
Lazarus approached
L J. “Leonard, my man, you’ve done
well, very well indeed.” He took the hand Leonard offered as he approached,
pulling him close for a quick hug.
Lazarus smiled as
he surveyed the group around him, realizing that all these people were
important to him now. His world had grown exponentially in the last 8 months.
Lazarus knew life would never be the same. He was intrigued by what the future
might bring, but also very aware that they were all now his responsibility to
protect.
They began walking
towards the main house, watching Cheyenne and Baxter racing around the
compound. Each of them, in his or her
own way, understanding their lives would never be the same here in their own
little slice of Paradise, tucked away in the Florida Keys.
Lazarus’ phone rang
as they reached the door. He glanced at the number and excused himself,
answering as he walked towards the water.
“What’s up?”
Lazarus asked the happiness obvious in his voice.
“It’s not good,”
said Dan.
“Talk to me, Dan.
Tell me what’s going on,” encouraged Lazarus.
When the
conversation was over, Lazarus pulled a Gurkha Black Dragon from a cigar tube
in his shirt pocket. He lit it, staring out into the Atlantic. His hand was
steady as a rock. You couldn’t say the same for what was going on inside him. Lazarus’
eyes told that story. They slowly turned black as midnight as the cigar smoke
drifted lazily on a gentle east wind. Two things were eating at him;
Why did Dan wait
so long to call him? He’d wasted close to two hours in Lazarus’ mind. One deep
breath later, he let it go. Lazarus had no reference point for how he would act
with a son missing. Also, how were Camacho’s men able to grab Derek, taking him
by surprise? How would they have known he was alone? How would they know where
to find him and when?
The answer was
simple to Lazarus. Derek had been sold out by someone he knew. It was that
conclusion that turned Lazarus’ eyes dark as midnight. Men were going to die
for this; it was just a question of how many to the man with the coal black
eyes.
*****
Lazarus wasn’t
just a friend of Dan’s. He was an international assassin, known as the
Chameleon. In fact, he’d been contracted by Los Zapatos to kill Dan and his
wife, Mary Jo several years before.
Lazarus refused to execute the contract
after digging into the Grimsrud’s lives. He discovered that not only were they
good hearted people, they were the parents of one Derek Grimsrud, aka Mr.
Black, a CIA operative that Lazarus had saved from the Cartel 4 years before
meeting his parents. It was a coincidence to some, fate to Lazarus. He gave Dan
the option of turning him in or becoming his friend. The phone call that Dan
just placed tells the story.
There was no
hesitation on Lazarus’ part. He would go get Derek. The one thing that he had
to deal with was making sure Angelique was okay with it. They hadn’t been in
their new home together for even an hour, and he was about to take off on a
dangerous mission to rescue Derek from the Cartel. He didn’t know if he would
succeed. There wasn’t enough time for planning and preparation, not the type
that kept a contract killer free for over twenty years. His eyes gradually
began to soften as a plan took shape. A wisp of smoke from the Black Dragon in
his left hand drifted lazily in front of him, bringing him fully back to the
here and now. He quickly made a mental list:
1) Derek
was missing, taken against his will.
2) Dan
wanted him to find Derek and bring him home.
3) The
CIA had a GPS tracker on Derek.
4) The
government was limited by politics and bureaucracy.
5) He
wasn’t.
6) Lazarus
considered Derek and his parents as friends.
There was nothing
to debate. Lazarus would find Derek and bring him home; by any means necessary.
Lazarus took a
draw on the Black Dragon in his hand as he contemplated the last point. Were
they just friends? He looked around the compound he called home in the Florida
Keys. Nine months ago, it had been just him, Katsumi, Langston, his German
shepherd guard dog, and of course, Baxter the golden retriever. Now there were
three more people and one more canine living on the property. Angelique and her
best friend Rebecca, along with Cheyenne, Angelique’s constant canine
companion. Then there was Leonard James, his right-hand man everyone called LJ,
who was in love with Katsumi. He might as well be living there, as much time as
he spent on the property.
Dr. Helen had
always talked about family like it was something he understood. He didn’t. He
didn’t want to contemplate the thought for now, he had a mission to carry out.
A mission he might not return from. For the first time in his life, it meant he
would be leaving someone behind if he failed to return. He took one last draw
on the cigar and laid it on the urn as he entered the house to find Angelique.
Angelique had
captured not only Lazarus’ heart, but his being as well, opening emotions in a
man who had spent decades detached from his feelings. It was how he survived.
It was how he plied his craft with such expertise. It was why he had never been
tied to a single murder he committed. It wasn’t her looks that captured him,
although she was beautiful; a former Parisian model. She stood 5’10” with olive
skin and black hair, thanks to her Egyptian and Lebanese heritage, with eyes so
blue they seemed fluorescent. She caught Lazarus attention despite her looks,
not because of them. It was something deeper, almost primal that attracted him
to her, and vice versa. Regardless, Lazarus would kill or die for Angelique
now, and for anyone she loved. It had changed the very core of his being.
Lazarus found
Angelique in Rebecca’s new room, a room she was putting her special mark on.
Rebecca was inseparable from Angelique. She had gone as far as threatening
Lazarus if he didn’t treat Angelique right, and that was after she found out he
was a killer. She had looked him in the eye and said, “If you break her heart,
you’ll have me to deal with, world famous Chameleon or not!”
Rebecca brightened
up the world around her in a way Lazarus couldn’t comprehend, and he didn’t
care. She made Angelique happy and made Katsumi and him laugh. That was enough
for Lazarus.
“Hey there,
beautiful,” said Lazarus as he leaned into the door frame.
“Hey there,
handsome,” replied Rebecca with a wink. “I gotta tell ya though, Laz, you
probably shouldn’t call me beautiful right in front of Angelique. She might get
the wrong idea, ya know.”
Angelique punched
Rebecca in the shoulder, who fell off the bed laughing.
“Hey, smart ass,”
said Angelique, laughing despite herself. “Lazarus was talking to me!” She
turned back towards the door and said, “Well hello there handsome, what’s up?”
Lazarus took a
chair near the door, his smile fading as he lowered his eyes towards the floor.
“I need to talk to you.” He glanced at Rebecca and added, “to both of you,
actually.”
“Something’s
wrong, Lazarus,” said Angelique. “I can see it in your eyes.” Rebecca joined
her on the end of the bed, no longer laughing as she took Angelique’s hand in
hers.
“Derek Grimsrud,
the man who led the rescue mission for Ernesto Vasquez’ family has been
kidnapped; probably by the Zapatos in retaliation for what he did for me.”
Neither woman
spoke; their hands tightening around each other.
“He was taken
around 8:30 this morning in El Paso and is now in Mexico. The CIA has a GPS
tracker in him, so they know where he is, which is heading south deeper into
Mexico.” Lazarus looked up. “His team will be in Dallas by 2:30 our time, but
they are being held up by government bureaucracy. I got that much information
from his father, who is also a very good friend of mine.
“I don’t know what
I can accomplish, but I have to try. Derek risked his life and career to save
Ernesto’s family. I can’t let it go, but neither can I just jump in my plane
and head out.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I have you to think about
now.”
Angelique held up
her hand, cutting Lazarus off. “Go find him, Lazarus. Find Derek and bring him
home to his family. That’s what you want, no, that’s what you need to
do. You know it as well as I do. It’s who you are, my love.”
Angelique
continued. “Derek is important to you and so are his parents. You aren’t alone
in this world any longer. They are like family to you, whether you know it or
not. You are family to them, too. They accept you for who you are, just like I
do, just like Rebecca does.”
Lazarus sat there,
lost in Angelique’s eyes. It was almost like seeing himself through her eyes.
Through them, he saw a shadowy image of the man Angelique loved, the man she
saw inside the persona he had built over the years. Another tumbler fell in
place in Lazarus heart, and he didn’t even realize it.
Rebecca chimed in,
“We wouldn’t want it any other way, Laz. You are who you are. You’re the dude
they call the Chameleon. The biggest bad-ass on the planet! Shit, Laz, you go
get your friend and we’ll take care of this place until you get back.”
Angelique stared
at Rebecca in amazement. She didn’t know whether to slap her, hug her or just
kick her off the bed again. She ended up laughing. “Jesus, Rebecca, can’t you
ever approach a situation gracefully?”
“Fuck a bunch of
graceful,” snorted Rebecca, who immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. “I
totally did not just say that, Laz. I would never steal your material; scouts
honor.”
It was more than
Lazarus could take. He stood, sweeping Rebecca up with him and giving her a hug
that nearly cracked a rib. He set her down and grabbed Angelique, kissing her
with all the passion in his soul. After about a minute, Lazarus felt a nip on the
back of his right thigh. He turned around and found Cheyenne eyeballing him,
which got everyone laughing and Cheyenne cocking her head at the crazy humans.
“Okay, Cheyenne,”
said Lazarus, “I get it. She’s your human, I only get to borrow her from time
to time.” That seemed to satisfy Cheyenne who hopped up on the bed and turned
over on her back for a belly rub. Rebecca quickly obliged her.
“I have to be ready in 15 minutes, but first I
have a call to make,” he said. “Thank you, ladies, both of you, for understanding
what I have to do.”
“I understand,
Lazarus,” said Angelique, looking as stern as possible, “just be sure you
understand you will come back to me, or your ass is grass and I’ve got the
mower, mister.”
“Deal,” said
Lazarus as he kissed her again. He even gave Rebecca a kiss on top of her head,
much to her surprise. Lazarus laughed. “Don’t get all cocky about it, Rebecca,
you ain’t the first girl I ever kissed ya know.” Rebecca had to laugh as
Lazarus fed her own words back to her.
“You got me there,
Laz,” laughed Rebecca. “You definitely got me.”
Lazarus gave
Cheyenne a quick pat on the stomach and pulled out his encrypted phone as he
headed back outside to make some calls.
For all those reasons, I support the impeachment. And, for all those reasons I find no justifiable reason to celebrate the historic event. The Senate has pretty much guaranteed many will not be impartial or treat it as a trial; his acquittal, already announced by the top Republican in the Senate.
For all those reasons, I support the impeachment. And, for all those reasons I find no justifiable reason to celebrate the historic event. The Senate has pretty much guaranteed many will not be impartial or treat it as a trial; his acquittal, already announced by the top Republican in the Senate.
