by Rachel Renee
She turns slightly so that she can look me in the eyes. “But I will worry about you. Just as you worry about me. We wasted too much of our lives apart and now my biggest fear is that what we have will get cut short.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“You don’t know when someone is going to pull a gun and end your life.”
“It could happen at the mall or walking down the sidewalk here in Savannah. You should know that better than anyone.”
She pulls her bottom lip in at the corner, kneading the skin with her teeth. “I know, but…”
I put my finger up to her mouth, quieting her. We have this conversation anytime either one of us is working a case. She knows as well as I do that we can’t do anything to change our fates. We can be diligent and mindful of everything around us, but if it’s our time to go, it’s hard to argue with God.
“Just promise me anyway.” Her soft lips move against my finger. I remove it and put my mouth where it had been.
“I promise I’ll be careful,” I mumble through kisses. “But you have to promise the same.” I prop myself up on my elbows and stare down into the hazel eyes I know are looking up at me even though they’re hard to make out in the darkness of night. “Don’t you forget that you put yourself in harm’s way day in and day out. I worry about your safety as you fret over mine.”
“I promise I’ll be careful, too.” She rubs her fingers along my jawline.
“And you won’t purposefully put yourself in a predicament where you could get injured or worse?” Eliza is good about following her gut instincts, but she often foregoes telling others and has put herself in situations where she could have gotten herself killed.
She chuckles at my request but humors me and agrees she’ll alert others before she does anything crazy. That’s the most I can ask. After all the verbal promising is complete, the two of us spend a little more time making confessions in other ways before drifting off into the short respite that we call sleep.
WE GOT READY TOGETHER, as usual, this morning. I made Eliza some coffee as she showered and made herself presentable. There were lots of stolen kisses and touches as we passed each other in the frenzy of another workday. She kisses me hastily, wanting it to be just another day, as she walks toward the door. Any other morning, I’d allow it, but not this morning. I need something to keep me going for the months to come. “You aren’t going to get away that easy.”
“I tried to play it off as if I’d see you again tonight. Didn’t work, huh?”
“Not at all.” I pull her in closer, embracing her within my arms. She holds on tight to the back of my shirt and our kisses speak any words that had been left unsaid. This is yet another trial we’ll get through on our life’s journey. I don’t feel like this kiss is goodbye, but see you later, I’ll be back soon.
After she pulls away, she looks me dead in the eyes. I watch her lick her lips as I stare down at her. “When you get back we’ll have—” she pauses and swallows before continuing—“to work on that baby thing.” She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes.
“We will. These months will go by fast. We’re always so busy that it’ll seem like no time at all.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right.” We both chuckle.
“I love you,” she tells me through one more kiss.
“And I love you.”
By the time she is officially out the door, I’m worn out. Mentally, because of the stress this goodbye has taken on us, and physically, as there wasn’t too much sleep going on in our bedroom last night. I can’t imagine what this separation will be like when we actually do have children. We’ve talked about it, neither one of us agreeing to anything, saying, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
I yawn once more, stretching my arms above my head and debating my options. Technically, I could go back to bed for a couple more hours, but I want to get to the office, hopefully read over my initial role a little more and get to my briefing. The more time I have to prepare for my mission, the better. I can sleep in Mexico—I’m certain the action won’t start the moment I step off the plane.
I shower and take a little more time to make sure all the necessities are packed. After my checklist is complete, I spend time with the boys, scratching each of them behind the ears and begging them to be good for Eliza. Orion likes to act out when I’m away and I’m certain my words have fallen upon deaf ears.
Before pulling out into the street, I pack the suitcase into the trunk and go inside the shop below my apartment. Martha is humming a little tune that I don’t recognize but she stops mid-phrase to greet me. “Liam, my boy. How are you?”
When I don’t speak right away, she knows something is up. “You leaving?”
“I am. Eight to ten months is the boss’s estimate.”
“So long? I’m sure Eliza isn't happy.”
“You’d be correct in saying that.”
“Want me to set up our usual arrangement?”
“Yes, please. Just weekly, instead of daily since it’s such an extended trip. Don’t want either one of you overwhelmed by the number of flowers that would take.”
“This old lady knows what she’s doing. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take good care of her and those kitties.”
“You just take care of yourself,” I tell her.
“I can do that too.” She gives me a warm smile and then opens her arms up to my embrace.
“I’ll see you when I see you.” I give her one last wave before the bell dings above the door and I exit the building.
Since I was introduced to Martha, she immediately took the place of a motherly figure in my life. She doesn’t coddle me or tell me what to do, but she makes me feel loved and nurtured by her home-cooked meals and kind gestures of welcoming me and then Eliza into her life. Between Martha, the team of detectives Eliza leads, and the building owner, Brett, who lives down the street in another apartment, I feel better leaving for long periods of time. I know Eliza can take care of herself, but we all need help from time to time and I’ve got backup for my woman when I can’t be the one to catch her if she falls.
My old Range Rover purrs to life and before I know it, minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of the local CIA office. I grab my suitcase and small personal item before locking up the vehicle. Someone will drive me to the airport when it’s time, so I make sure everything I need is on my person before walking up to the brick and mortar structure before me.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
My chief is standing right inside the building, watching me lug my baggage through the doors. He smiles as I look up at him, his six-five frame even towers a bit above mine. His baritone voice rings out once more. “I’m teasing. I just got here myself.”
“Must be nice,” I shoot back.
“Perks of being the big man on campus. Not sure what your excuse is.”
“The fact that you’re shipping me out on a mission for nearly a year.”
“That’ll do it.” He punches my shoulder faintly as the two of us walk toward the elevator. “The old lady give you a hard time?”
“Not really. She doesn't like it, but she understands.”
“Maybe you can surprise her and complete this mission before the allotted time.”
“I think that would make everyone happy.”
“You’ve got that right. If you’re ready, we can get you briefed and maybe get you on an earlier flight to Langley.”
This is news to me. “Why do I have to go out there?” It’s in the opposite direction of where I’m supposed to be heading.
“Your contact is there. He has quite a bit to hand over to you before you enter Mexico. Needs to be given in person.”
“So, just a pit stop.”
“So to speak,” my supervisor answers.
I’ve worked with this man for years, and it still drives me crazy that he won’t let us call him by his name or his actual agency title. Louis Wa
shington is my Chief Supervisor’s given name and he won’t let us use either moniker to address him. He latched onto the title of Lieutenant Colonel, specifically Lieutenant, when he was in the Army and has since decided that’s how he wants to be addressed despite the fact that it’s not his actual title here in the agency. So, Lieutenant it is. Sometimes Lieu, but I don’t call him that to his face.
“Lieutenant. Will I be working with anyone I know?”
“I’m unaware of your contacts in Mexico. You’ll know the one you’re meeting at Langley. Someone from your past.”
I’d like to say the list of those people is short, but I’ve had more missions than fingers on my hands so it could be one of many.
“Thompson. I believe he was someone in one of your earlier missions.”
Thompson doesn’t ring a bell. I search back through my internal hard drive, trying to picture a Thompson.
“Maybe you remember him as Pres or The Prez.”
“Seriously? He’s still an agent? I thought he retired after our last mission together. Cancer or something.”
“He beat it, married one of his nurses, and apparently has a new lease on life.”
Not even fifty yet, and he was a grumpy old man eight years ago, constantly down my throat even when I followed his direct orders. Nothing I did made that man happy, even after closing the case file. Hopefully, his new lifestyle has brought him a better attitude about his work. “Should be interesting,” I eventually comment.
I set my items down inside my office and follow my leader to the conference room. He has the projector on and the computer open when he takes a seat on one side of the table, pointing for me to take mine opposite him. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on the drug war in Mexico, as you’re aware. It’s gone on for many decades with the rarity of something new and big happening minimally since Escobar and ‘El Chapo’. Until now.”
“It’s been rumored around the office. The next Escobar, they’re calling him.”
He huffs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But yes, he’s been wreaking havoc from Chihuahua to Miami. Not to mention some parts of Europe have been influenced by this man and what he’s offering. His drug price is cheap but his affiliation price is a bit steeper.”
“How so?”
“He will let anyone who wants a piece of the action work for him. The only catch is, you get one chance. One screw up, even minimal, and your head is sent to your family in a box, your body left to rot in the Mexican desert.”
“I see. Not a very forgiving or understanding human being.” I swallowed the anxious feeling his words brought on.
“He expects perfection from his servants. Nothing but.”
I don’t think I like where this is going. “Am I supposed to work for this man?”
“That’s part of it. The main objective is to locate him. Find where he hides out, who his trusted suppliers are and his closest followers. We’ve only heard the stories. Nobody has been able to unearth the man himself.”
“The elusive type, is he? My specialty.”
“Which is why we called you in. You’ve never dealt with someone of this magnitude, but you’ve got experience in the arena of flushing people out.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I never make any promises to the boss so I don’t have the added pressure of that looming over my head. It’s never been an issue.
“I’m not going to lie, this man scares me. All those heads floating around, yet no one can actually finger the man committing the crimes.”
“Someone knows who he is and where to find him. I have no doubts about that.”
“Doesn’t mean those men will be easy to locate either.” Lieu touches the mouse on the laptop and the screen on the wall comes to life once more.
“These are pictures of men whom our own informants claim to be some sort of leaders in the cartel. You will learn more about each of them in your files. Memorize their faces, their specs, and then destroy the evidence. We have a soft copy on the computer, of course.”
“Will do. What else do you have for me?”
“If you get in too deep, call me. Otherwise, I want no communication with you on this mission. I’m handing you over to Thompson. He will give you further instruction.”
This is the first and only time he’s let go of my reins. Not sure if I should feel privileged or discouraged. It must show on my face.
“You’ve been at this long enough. I trust your judgment and knowledge of the position. You don’t need two superiors watching your every move. I’m here for backup, in case Thompson is still a son of a bitch.”
That makes me smile. “Let’s pray that’s not the case. I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“It’s more than confidence. You should know that, son.”
I nod my head. And, that, I appreciate even more.
“There’s a flight that leaves for Virginia in an hour and a half. With clearance, you should get straight through security. You better get going.” His gruff voice falls off as he stands from the chair, reaching his right hand out in my direction. “Get your man and get home.”
“That’s the plan.”
With a firm grasp, I shake his hand and exit the room. Grabbing my bags from my office, I head straight down to the sidewalk out front, knowing my ride to the airport will be waiting.
3
“IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME.” The voice sounds like gravel, but the man behind it looks almost youthful. Gone are the deep-seated wrinkles around his eyes, replaced with a warm glow and taut skin.
“It’s been good to you,” I tell the man, standing to greet him.
He chuckles. “And you,” he answers. “You’ve grown into quite the man.” He stares up at me, my six-inch height difference very apparent at the moment. There’s a smirk on his face and the rise of his brow makes me wonder if his comment is meant in sarcasm.
“Thank you.” My response can be taken either way as well.
“We’ve got a bit to cover in a short amount of time. The jet is getting fueled up and will be ready to embark on your journey within the hour.”
“Wasting no time, are we?”
“None to waste,” his reply is matter-of-fact.
“What do you have for me?”
The moment I stepped off the plane in Virginia, I was greeted by a soldier who escorted me to Langley and dropped me off at the office of Preston Thompson. I sat twiddling my thumbs for over ten minutes. I peered over some of the paperwork on his desk, but there wasn’t anything pertaining to Mexico, or me, within my line of sight. I typed out a text message to Eliza and got a response. When the man finally arrived, he appeared to be in a hurry.
“The war on drugs began all the way back in 1930, and leading the pursuit was the Federal Bureau of Narcotics. Back then, cannabis was the culprit, but as the tides changed and a bigger selection of illegal drugs was introduced, there were more people with a demand needing to be filled. With more demand for drugs, there was more need for producers, a bigger chance to make large amounts of money. As you may well know”—Thompson pauses to catch his breath—“cartels weren’t an issue until the early 1980s when Federal Police agent, Miguel Gallardo, El Padrino, ‘The Godfather’ founded one of the first and largest alliances in Mexico. He controlled most of the illegal drug trade across Mexico and the U.S. border, and has since paved the way for countless others to attempt to put their hands in the ‘pot,’ so to speak.”
I did know some of this but was happy to have the reminder before I’m thrust into nearly a century-old struggle.
“Rule number one. Trust no one.”
“I know this rule quite well.”
“It is especially important in this mission. We don’t know who is working with us and who is against us. Many people starting out as a part of one cartel get greedy, or find opportunity, and try to branch off and do their own thing. Some of them were successful, others never even had a chance to make a name for themselves. You wouldn’t believe the list of cartel leaders in the archi
ves of the CIA and those are just the ones we know about.
“As you know from past missions, people the agency would never suspect in the arms of the enemy have been found sleeping with them just the same.”
I nod my head.
“This will prove to be no different. Men in our very own organization have been caught and brought to justice for their crimes and there may be countless others who have slipped through the cracks.”
“That’s kind of alarming,” I mumble.
“Quite,” Thompson responds. “Moving on. Despite what we’ve told others, this is a very small organization we are trying to bring down. We believe the man is branching off from one of the bigger cartels in Mexico City. He’s using an automotive manufacturing plant as a base.” His brows wag and I now understand where my initial cover comes into play. He skips over it and continues. “There are a few players that we’ve noticed in Chihuahua who’ve been under surveillance for quite some time in relation to the drug trade.”
“How do we know that the cartel isn’t expanding?”
“A distinct split has occurred. We’ve witnessed killings of previously known cartel members against their own. The rumors of the beheadings are true,” he states as fact. “It is very rare that there would be a split of this magnitude. The member trying to disband is usually taken out before he gets very far. This time seems to be different. We can’t figure out who the ring leader is and how he has broken away with seemingly no backlash. It’s our hope that we can get this under control before yet another cartel multiplies its reach.”
In the back of my mind, the question still lingers. How do we know that the cartel isn’t expanding? If there seems to be no backlash, could the ringleader of the main organization just be sending men to other parts of Mexico to increase his business? Thompson doesn’t believe it, but this is an answer I need more convincing of.
I sit back and listen, intrigued by the mission and what Thompson believes to be happening. “You’ll be working with a man called Dom. That is the only name you need to know for now. Dom will get you acquainted with the area, then it’s up to you if you want to keep him around for more.” Thompson raises his brows and I give him a nod of understanding. “He’ll be waiting with a car on the airstrip when you arrive,” he continues. “Big guy, dark hair, and full beard. Might remind you of someone. Don’t trust him.”
